18 Spring, 515 AV
Mid-morning
Mid-morning
“Why are we still here?” Dravite inquired; old, boyish undertones shining through in his words. He sounded impatient, eager to move on like wind that never settled anywhere for too long.
It seemed most of the pavilion was starting to get comfortable living on the outskirts of Endrykas for the season which was unusual for a group that had spent the majority of the last ten years out in The Sea of Grass. Windborne were a hardy pavilion that knew all about living rough, fighting wildfires, hunting to survive, and stalking predators to water. They were bronze and toughened by the elements with thick, leathery skin on the soles of their feet, and long, lean limbs. They weren’t designed for small, confined plots and lazy strolls through the city centre.
“We’ve done our trading for the season, what is keeping us here?” His grassland-sign was used to portray the odd word with no equivalent in their spoken language of Pavi.
“We’ve lost too many this winter gone,” one of the warriors spoke up, a woman in her late twenties that had two living children to the pavilion’s tanning expert, and had lost another one to the sea not two summers ago. “Resting our bones will do us good.”
Dravite could empathise with the woman as he too had a son to think of now and though he knew no loss like hers, he could only imagine how distraught he would be if he were to lose his flesh and blood the same way. The man nodded his agreement, rest would do them good, give their children time to grow strong; he just hoped he wouldn’t get too rusty while they sat idle.
“Rubbish,” someone interject and Dravite’s gaze fell on a young man who was barely fifteen years of age, but had earned his Wind-marks and thus had right to speak at council around the fire pit.
“We should be out there as we have always been. The strong survive.”
A low muttering erupted around the fire pit as people began to argue about the pros and cons of staying and Dravite sat, thinking about the adjustments he would need to make if they did decide to follow Endrykas for the year. “We’ll all need jobs,” Dravite admitted. “Not just our day to day jobs like hunting and foraging, but jobs that give back to economy.”
He already had something in mind.
Outside of the camp the sun was shining and the children were playing with young strangers from one of the neighbouring pavilions. Dravite watched them for a time, keeping a close eye on his son Kyanite, and glancing over at his wife Belkaia every now and then, who watched her child like a hawk. It was endearing to see just how much she loved him, though he would have felt somewhat smothered as a boy had he been in Kyanite’s shoes. “Let him play, he’ll be fine with the others,” Dravite encouraged, passing his wife on the foot-worn path towards Endrykas.
“And just where do you think you are going?” Belkaia smirked, lifting a slender, dark brow at her husband.
“To spend the rest of our money,” he teased, knowing how tight her hold was on the purse-strings.
She smacked his behind and grinned. “Bring us back something nice?”
“Always,” the man smiled before turning to move quickly on foot to the city of tents.
Dravite liked to run, loved the feeling of air moving through his knotted hair. He was relatively sure-footed, but tripped every now and then as he weaved his way down the track, catching the odd tuft of grass between his toes as he ran. He went through the mental list he had made himself as he slowed to a jog to half way down the path to catch his breath. “Shirts, jars, cooking pot. Shirts, jars, cooking pot.” .
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