Flashback the days long gone by.

[Ruari Darkwind]

69 Autumn 506 AV

The many small feet of the Darkwind children stamped the ground furiously as they ran, playing at the feet of their superiors, their parents and their aunts and uncles. Something had happened to bring them all together, every member of their family that still cared and still wore their satalu. Of the young ones, they weren't all entirely ignorant that something had changed among them. Iollan, an elder among their parents, had become ankal, and the clan seemed divided in their loyalties towards it.

It was blissful ignorance that let the children gambol happily. It was the promise that change weighed onto their small shoulders, because they may not all see one another on good terms for a long while.

Ruari played, too. She had just earned her ninth autumn overnight and was celebrating the vibrancy of her youth, her friendships with her siblings and cousins, and cared not for the heavy feet of her parents as they moved around.

It didn't phase her when Cidhna, his hair very red and his cunning eyes very green, took his wives aside and made what must have been unkind words with them, his gestures open and revealing even to ignorant children, as a stranger not in the colours of the Emerald clan joined them.

That stopped Ruari, because she wasn't too acclimated to unfamiliar faces in her family. They had been reclusive from ages ago, a feat that was near impossible to pull off in their society, and Ruari was immediately curious as to the new face. Playing it coy in the way that small children often will (even though Ruari wasn't as small as she might try to act) with shy glances and curiosity-imbibed whispers with her older brothers.

They played a new game, one where they peered around the corner of the pavilion tent and the much smaller and more personal tents to get different looks at this stranger in their midst, before withdrawing and relocating, as if they tried enticing him to play with them.

[Wikus]

It felt difficult to hold himself together. These strangers had tried to cheer him up, celebrating something unknown to him, yet even he could notice the tension. They offered him a bed and a play to stay while he recovered, plates of food and tasks to do if he wished to distract himself. Nevertheless, they still feared him as they knew what he had done. His hands, although now shaking due to the poisoning, were still the hands of a monster. They didn’t show this, but they knew. After a round of presentations and exchanged names that didn’t stuck, they gave him a friendly slap on his cheeks before leaving him in the small and isolated tent. Wikus, back then known as Ponchai, awaited a few chimes before standing on his feet and walking outside. The day seemed dull, and he clearly stood out in his thin clothing that shined brightly as only the white could. Wikus couldn’t pay much attention to anything, not because of his weakened state or some sort of mental discussion. In fact, he felt free of thought, a strange sort of meditation never experienced before.

As he stepped outside, even he could spot the many wary gazes thrown towards him. Some offered a grassland sign in greeting, but the majority offered nothing but cold gazes towards him. They stared openly, some even showing their expressions of disgust. It was fine, thought Wikus, as he was somewhat used to those expressions. Despite the intense pains in his stomach, and his weak strengths, he still wanted to walk about and find something to do. The grounds around the large campsite were mostly bare due to the feet that had stomped the soil, thus killing most vegetation. There were still some spots which were untouched, or at least barely damaged. On the corners of his temporary tent there were still a couple of wild flowers, plain and simple as expected. Crouching with a grunt, a hand moving to his wounded stomach, the other would move to pick the small daisies. Carefully breaking their stem by clipping it with his nails, he would then press them against his untrimmed beard – a decoration he often used whenever he walked Diamond grounds.

It was inappropriate, not only for being in another Clan’s domain but also for having lost his Clan’s respect. If they found out, however. Despite the pain, despite the guilt and all the doubts, he was still determined to claim the seat of the Ankal that lied at the end of the table. That place was him, and only his blood could rule the Whiteblood pavilion. Immediately after this, Wikus removed the flowers from his beard and stood up, showing a bitter smile across his bearded features. It was mostly for him, not at all directed to anyone. His eyes, blue as most Drykas’, caught the sight of the eager and unpreoccupied children that joyfully ran about. Children always had that special something that brought a smile to one’s features, and the Whiteblood was no different. Dubious at first, the idea amused him so much that he was soon hooked to the giggles, and with his slow wounded pace he began following the trail of children. The Clan members were obviously alert, as a stranger between the children was not something quite tolerated, yet his slow pace would not allow him to do anything other than fall behind as the children ran away as if being chased. Truly, his great height and messy hairs would provide for an appearance worth of a monster.