13th of summer, 514 a.v
not yet noon
It was a hot day at the Spit Fire, air scorched by the cloudless sky and thickened by the acrid stench of tanning and leatherworking. It was late morning, although the midday heat had begun its cruel oppression of the plains. Business had become slow for the two pavilions, as few people had the desire to expend energy in the choking heat of the summer, but Shahar Dawnwhisper was one of the exceptions.
The clanless hunter was nothing if not preemptive. His take had been scarce this morning, with only a hare and a grouse to show for hours of effort, but prey seemed to be dwindling everywhere as the rains that the city hoped for continued to evade them. Every now and then there would be a wisp of cloud on the horizon, and it would linger just long enough to give false hope to those who watched before vanishing beneath Syna’s unrelenting glare. It was this heat that had driven Shahar to seek the Spit Fire even as the sun climbed higher; in this weather, it wouldn’t take long at all for the insects to set into his kills. He needed them butchered as quickly as possible.
He had spoken with one of the skinners and had been informed that many of them, like the rest of Endrykas, had taken a break as the day wore on to noon, and had been told that he’d have to wait until those still working had an opening. And so the hunter had taken a position on the western side of one of the pavilions, where the shadows were just large enough for him to sit to wait for that time.
It was due to his position, however, that he was one of the first to catch sight of the rather distressed-looking individual that entered the clearing between the two pavilions.
He wore the purples of an Amethyst clansman, though his clothing was light enough not to hinder him in the heat. He was older than most, although not so old as to have lost all strength. In that regard, he seemed quite healthy and lively––at least, aside from the concerned frown on his face.
Shahar watched the man curiously; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen an Amethyst at the Spit Fire, and with good reason. The Spit Fire was home to hunters and butchers and leatherworkers, and it saw Emeralds and Rubies almost exclusively aside from a few Diamonds now and again. The Amethyst horsemasters simply didn’t have a great deal of business that could possibly bring them to such a place.
As the mysterious man moved towards the center of the open area, which was almost empty with the heat of the day, Shahar shrugged and returned to his shade, not willing to give up his comfort to sate his curiosity.
not yet noon
It was a hot day at the Spit Fire, air scorched by the cloudless sky and thickened by the acrid stench of tanning and leatherworking. It was late morning, although the midday heat had begun its cruel oppression of the plains. Business had become slow for the two pavilions, as few people had the desire to expend energy in the choking heat of the summer, but Shahar Dawnwhisper was one of the exceptions.
The clanless hunter was nothing if not preemptive. His take had been scarce this morning, with only a hare and a grouse to show for hours of effort, but prey seemed to be dwindling everywhere as the rains that the city hoped for continued to evade them. Every now and then there would be a wisp of cloud on the horizon, and it would linger just long enough to give false hope to those who watched before vanishing beneath Syna’s unrelenting glare. It was this heat that had driven Shahar to seek the Spit Fire even as the sun climbed higher; in this weather, it wouldn’t take long at all for the insects to set into his kills. He needed them butchered as quickly as possible.
He had spoken with one of the skinners and had been informed that many of them, like the rest of Endrykas, had taken a break as the day wore on to noon, and had been told that he’d have to wait until those still working had an opening. And so the hunter had taken a position on the western side of one of the pavilions, where the shadows were just large enough for him to sit to wait for that time.
It was due to his position, however, that he was one of the first to catch sight of the rather distressed-looking individual that entered the clearing between the two pavilions.
He wore the purples of an Amethyst clansman, though his clothing was light enough not to hinder him in the heat. He was older than most, although not so old as to have lost all strength. In that regard, he seemed quite healthy and lively––at least, aside from the concerned frown on his face.
Shahar watched the man curiously; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen an Amethyst at the Spit Fire, and with good reason. The Spit Fire was home to hunters and butchers and leatherworkers, and it saw Emeralds and Rubies almost exclusively aside from a few Diamonds now and again. The Amethyst horsemasters simply didn’t have a great deal of business that could possibly bring them to such a place.
As the mysterious man moved towards the center of the open area, which was almost empty with the heat of the day, Shahar shrugged and returned to his shade, not willing to give up his comfort to sate his curiosity.
