A boy of tall stature and skinny limbs sat on the pebble beach, taking one of the biggest and sharpening his spear. It was basically a crude weapon; a long sturdy stick with a slate point joined onto the tip with bounds of string. But still this man, more of a boy actually, continualy cared for it and kept it in good shape.
It was in this crouched position that a woman, short and stout with touseld mousy brown hair and rosy cheeks found him. "Oi! Krys! We need your help at the clan, not sharpenin' that infernal peice of weaponry!" His Mother cried out to the boy Krys, rustling her faded brown dress and cursing under her breath before waddling away.
Krys stood, straining the cramped muscles in his forearms and legs. He pulled on a shirt to keep Winters frosty bite from him, and shook his dazzling silver hair, making the water droplets that had come to rest there flee. Stiffling a yawn, Krys inspected the 'Infernal Weaponry' as his Mother called it. The point was sharper than any sword, and before battle would be filled to the tip with a poison that bit through a mans flesh and bone. It was named Sethre Oil, and was extracted from the petals of a plant that grew in a safe haven not far from the clan.
Dropping the pebble, he flexed his arms and started towards the clan, silver hair like melted moonlight split into strands of amazing delicacy.
Krys was a warrior, and it had been brought to the surface of his conciousness when his Father had been murdered in an invasion for the clans Sethre Oil and goods. His Mother hated fighting because of her brave husbands deasth, but Krys loved it.
Krys briskly kept the fast pace beside his round mother, grinning as she breathed heavily from the exersise. Krys sped ahead of her and trurned, now walking backwards, still able to keep his balance on the loose stones and gritty sand that littered the shoreline, stretching for some many metres before surrendering to the seaweed where the water lapped inwards when the tide was low.
His mothers face was flushed from the jogging, and her soil brow hair fell in little strands from the tight and knotted bun that rested on her head. Her dull gray eyes scanned Krys' face, searching for a tiresome gasp from her fit son. Seeing none, she grimaced in embarrasment and slowed to a gentle walk, calling Krys back with gestures of her slightly tanned hands, too out of breath to speak.
Krys rushed to her aid, grinning madly at his mother. She looked up from her concentrated breathing and glared sternly at him.
"Krys, you go on ahead. The cheif's got something important to say to you, an' seeing as I can't keep pace with you, go yourself. I'll be waiting in the tent."
For no reason Krys swept his moonlight hair back and embraced his mother, before turning and sprinting in the direction of the atll mountains, loosening some overlarge pebbles from there sandy sanctuary. Swinging his spear from side to side, smiling weakly at his mothers disapproval.
After the short travel to his clan, tucked away in a little valley that sprouted at the end of the pebble bay and at the start of the immense mountain range named 'Hearts Peaks'. He entered and grimaced at the clanmembers, his heart hammering wildly inside his chest.
The clan cheif! What would be so important that he would need to speak to him on his own?! Krys silently pleaded to the Gods that it was not some nasty deed that hasd to be done, or had been done by others and blamed on himself.
Worry and caution crept into Krys' movements as he made his way slowly but persistently up the slightly sloped and desterted land that wound towards the cheif tent.
Once he reached the end of the stretch, Krys stared at the cheif tent, trying to distern what awaited him within it's furry walls.
The tent itself was charming, delicatly made of the finest furs, the animals caught by himself or other worthy hunters, and skinned by the woman of the clan. The wall hides that were held on tall oak pole held two kinds of animal fur. White stag hide and black wolf fur.
Both were extremly rare and hard-to-catch animals, and the hunting parties had travelled far into Hearts Peaks to find them, three being murdered along the way. All for this magnifecent tent. The roof consisted of snakeskin, an easier predator to catch, sewn together with extremly thin and knotted seaweed. The inner walls were lined with eagle feathers, the beds within also had Eagle owl feathers on the underside, providing an extremly comfortable matress. There were no homes in the clan that had this much luxury in it, and the sight made Krys' home look like a run down piece of goats fur.
But the tent wasn't important, what was was the slightly crooked man waiting at the front flaps of the tent, beckoning Krys forward.
A curious expression replaced his fear as he saw his leaders face was calm and gentle, not harsh and scolding as he had expected.
The mans name was Fin Keddin, andf he was respected by all clans, situated in the mountains or at sea. His chestnut skin was now lined with deep set wrinkles, his peircing blue eyes now sunken into his skull, and liflelessly dull. Fin Keddin had long snowy white hair that reached his waist, and a murky and tangled beard fell from his face and rolled down his chest, finishing by being tucked in his belt. The mans figure was that of a once stealthy and athletic man, but now it was bent over from age, and a knarled and twisted wooden staff with a silver smoky orb the size of Krys's fist welded at the top was clenched in Fin Keddin's withered hand.
Black robes that contrasted greatly with his hair hung loosly off his drawn figure, making Fin Keddin look dangerously thin, and the material was brought in at his waist by a thick leather belt. The material was half an inch thick, and long enough to wrap around his waist and double on itself. A sharp axe hung by a small loop fixed onto his belt, the handle of white and blue tinted marble that was found deep within the mountains. It was lined up the side with priceless amethysts, and it welded with the axe head without a flaw. The head was of white metal, etchings of a great writhing dragon took up most of the space of the axe. Overall it was an attractive and deadly weapon, passed on for generations from the clan leader to his son.
Fin Keddin silently turned and lifted the tent flap, disappearing inside with silent approval for Krys to follow. The unusual nervousness returned, and Krys' heart fluttered frantically, as he stepped into the shadows to await the announcement.
This work was submitted by- Weeeevee
