43rd of Summer, 498 The sun was hot, very hot, yet the two figures that trekked through the Sea of Grass seemed unaffected. The first was a man. He wasn’t tall, but he was lean with sinewy muscle. His face bore a strong jaw and slender nose, as well as stubble that couldn’t quite decide whether or not it wished to become a beard. He wore dull brown boots, dull brown pants, a dull brown tunic, and was covered by a dull green cloak that was mottled, as if it hadn’t been dyed properly. A longsword was at his hip, and a bow and quiver of arrows was slung across his back. Despite ten minutes of walking in the sweltering heat, his breathing was easy and regular. His companion, however, was a different story. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, boy?” he asked over his shoulder. The object of his question was a small boychild, not possibly more than six years of age. His light brown hair was an unruly nest atop his head, his golden skin shone with sweat, and his rich green eyes watch the man’s back intently. “No,” the boy replied. The man raised an eyebrow, but said no more. |