72nd of Summer, 511AV
The early morning drizzle that scattered through the clan comforted her. Her mother had risen bells before dawn, left with her bondmate for a mission in the heart of the city. Her father had gone to the coast with a few of the other men in an effort to gather some of the more rarer items that the clan always yearned for. So beside her seemingly hundreds of cousins, aunts and uncles, Ixzo was more or less alone. She was used to the early mornings by now. Just barely mature and not even considered a teenager by most human standards, Ixzo still worried that she was falling behind her peers. It didn’t help that she was about ten years younger than any of her Myrian counter-parts, or that she had yet to turn two. There was an air of competition among her clan-members and even as the odd one out, the Kelvic always found herself caught up in the mayhem.
And so the child slug her bow across her back, tied the quiver of arrows to her hip and slid the two tomahawks into her belt. Barely standing at five feet, the small arsenal of weapons she carried was considered fairely normal among her Myrian kin.
The rain must've been a very light drizzle, but once the water had filtered down the large leaves of the canopy above her, and pooled together, it came across as the occasional large water droplet, falling on her shoulders or nose or into her short dreads.
The early morning drizzle that scattered through the clan comforted her. Her mother had risen bells before dawn, left with her bondmate for a mission in the heart of the city. Her father had gone to the coast with a few of the other men in an effort to gather some of the more rarer items that the clan always yearned for. So beside her seemingly hundreds of cousins, aunts and uncles, Ixzo was more or less alone. She was used to the early mornings by now. Just barely mature and not even considered a teenager by most human standards, Ixzo still worried that she was falling behind her peers. It didn’t help that she was about ten years younger than any of her Myrian counter-parts, or that she had yet to turn two. There was an air of competition among her clan-members and even as the odd one out, the Kelvic always found herself caught up in the mayhem.
And so the child slug her bow across her back, tied the quiver of arrows to her hip and slid the two tomahawks into her belt. Barely standing at five feet, the small arsenal of weapons she carried was considered fairely normal among her Myrian kin.
The rain must've been a very light drizzle, but once the water had filtered down the large leaves of the canopy above her, and pooled together, it came across as the occasional large water droplet, falling on her shoulders or nose or into her short dreads.