My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts
34th of Fall, 514.
Some days, the mouse wished he'd stayed back in Pyconia. He could have done anything with his life - could have taken up medicine and traveled far and wide, healing the sick and injured and making goodness-knew-how-many Miza's out of it all. He could have become a blacksmith, made friends with an Isur and traveled to Sultros. Of course, the chances that he would succeed in any of these things was pretty slim, but that didn't mean that he couldn't give it a try and hope for the best. There were so many things that simply weren't expected from Cyq, because he was a Pycon. It was accepted, that he'd never become as 'skilled' as the bigger creatures for no other reason than because they were big. They could lift more, they could run faster - ergo, he'd never be able to create the same things as them. He'd never make a castle the same size as theirs.
In some ways, it was unfortunate. He wanted to be known. Famous, even. In other ways, though, it was a great weight lifted from his shoulders, knowing that he could bask in mediocrity. All that was ever really expected, from his family and friends and culture, was that he 'find himself'. Experience all that he could, so that he could eventually find his true form, as if it was some achievement to be able to finally pick whether he wanted to be a hedgehog or a mouse. Like it was even a difficult choice to make, all things considered. He could do anything, anything at all, and he'd be able to figure that out. Everything, except this...
He'd run out of bones to maledict, which meant he was on the hunt for more. It didn't matter whether they came from the remnants of some unfortunate prey animal, or whether it came in the form of whatever even-more-unfortunate predator came across the mouse. He still held his walking stick in one paw, and leaned heavily against it to support the thick Maledictor's Kit that was still slung over his back, pressing down against the base of his tail with just enough pressure to make it uncomfortable. The various tools inside, brushes and chisels, were all clattering against each-other and making stealth completely impossible. At least there weren't many places for animals to hide, among the thick rocks jutting out of the ground, and the few tufts of grass that surrounded them.
"If I had one of those fake-children made by Kaik, I wouldn't have to carry all this stuff by myself..!" he grumbled angrily to himself, stopping with the walking stick practically buried in the loose soil to support his body while he adjusted some of the straps to make the weight hopefully more bearable on his shoulders. He wasn't weak.. but the tools were pretty heavy, and the weight constantly pressing onto his back for the better half of three bells was really beginning to wear the little mouse down. "If I had one of those fake-children of his, I wouldn't even need to come out here at all.. I could just tell it to kill whatever small animals it could find, bring them back, and I'd never have to leave the city again..."
Not that it wasn't oddly peaceful. The thick mountains and scattered hills, pointed rocks cresting the ground like misshapen tombstones in memory of those that had trekked these hills and lost themselves. From the peak of some of these hills, one could see far and wide over the Unforgiving - the little clusters of animals fending for themselves during the day, ever-circled by birds of prey and scavengers alike searching for the smallest morsel. True that the brief spouts of rain had left a bit of a bog developing in the lower valleys. All of the water running all the way down the hills and mountains, pooling at the bottom and forming these thick piles of sludge, only occasionally washed away by the streams passing through. Others were just left to develop.
