“No, like this! Man doesn’t have all the time in the world for knowledge!” Havnaba angrily took the knife from Loh’tar’s hand, resting the fruit longside on the cutting slab as she carefully sliced even fingers of the crunchy orange fruit.

Loh’tar bowed his head, frowning softly as his white plait dangled over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, ba’beii. I thought I was doing it correctly.”

“Child, that cross-eyed Xi’tah could cut straighter than you!” his grandmother remarked, a smile pulling back the wrinkles on her terra cotta face.

Loh’tar faintly smirked, looking out towards the wider circle of Ha’vantu village as the midday sun hung overhead. The large river ran adjacent to his grandmother’s hut, the chattering always soothing him on nights when he could not sleep. A few boats were tied along the bank’s edge, shaped like leaves as their bent bows allowed them to float.

They were a short distance away from the main circle of the village, the great Center Tree towering over the nearest huts like a storm cloud, cloaked in green leaves. Rainbow strings tied with colorful plumage hung from the lowest branches, swaying in the breezes that graced the village every so often. Just beyond the clearance of the village was a shroud of trees, the verdant landscape consuming the hem of the mountain range to the northeast.

Close to the ridge of the forest was one lone hut, to which children were forbidden to go near. The inhabitant had been stripped of his name, and was only known to the people as Drifter. Unlike the males of the village, who wore their hair in plaits, Drifter’s hair was loose and free with only his bangs tied back, as was the symbol of his abandonment of the village. Many children were warned not to go near Drifter’s hut, or to speak with him as it would defy law and custom. Because of this, children wove tales that Drifter was a soul stealer, draining children of their creativity by dying his fibers in their blood. Despite his crime of desertion, they forgave Drifter on account of his return, allowing him to live within fifty steps of the village perimeter. He would receive a portion of any hunt and harvest, but was forbidden to attend any of the rituals, including Unities and Departings.

Loh’tar now looked beyond the village point towards where Drifter’s smoke lingered up from his hut like a lethargic snake, spreading out to the winds. Havnaba smartly cracked him on the back of the head with the bowl of her spoon, slightly irritated.

“Child, I don’t care if the Duskbringer chose you or not, you still need to learn how to cook!”

“Ba’beii, what is the difference? I burn everything anyway!”

To this remark, Havnaba’s dark brows rose in shock.

“You are a Huunti, Child! Creativity is what the Duskbringer embodied in all of us, may it manifest in song, art, weaving, cooking, the list goes on!”

Loh’tar bowed his head, whites and teals crossing over his face like the changing clouds as his eyelids lowered. Havnaba relaxed her arms, reaching out and rubbing his multi-colored back consolingly.

“Perhaps then cooking is not your Route.” She said softly, Loh’tar looking up with a glimmer in his eyes as a grin spread across his face, “Go, before I change my mind and tell your mother why the meal was late!”

“Many thanks, ba’beii!” he blabbered eagerly, kissing her temple before he scrambled to his feet and raced out of her hut.

She chuckled and sat back as she watched him run into the main circle, bare feet dusted with the rich earth beneath them. A faint twinge rested in the back of her mind as her smile faded slightly, resolving to return to the fruit as she tossed the slices into the bubbling pot.

Loh’tar looked up Center Tree at the tied feathers with wide eyes, adoring their brilliant colors as yellows and oranges speckled across his body like the spots of a leopard. He could feel the ground beneath him hum with life, his toes the roots and his arms the branches as the wind caressed his body.

He was too caught up in this meditative moment that he didn’t notice the leather ball smack him hard in the back of the head. He stumbled forward, cupping the curve of his skull as he turned to see who was responsible.

“Loh’tar! You can use your head but you’re supposed to stop the ball from falling, remember?”

“Bi’ji! Kasalha!” he called back, watching as his two closest friends raced up to meet him and retrieve their ball.

Both were the exact same age as Loh'tar, given a minute or two difference. Bi’ji was the prized first son of Ku’bani, expert weaver in the village whose blankets and tapestries rivaled even the Duskbringer’s creativity, or so many had said. Bi’ji’s earth toned skin seemed to glow in the sunlight, his mismatched amber and water blue eyes always catching the other person off guard, including his mother

Despite their age, Kasahla was taller than Bi’ji, though not too noticeably. Her ebony black hair remained mostly loose, save for the plait cradle that was custom to unmarried women in the village. Her skin was a shade darker and redder than Bi’jiha’s, reminding Loh’tar of the clay pots his mother made to hold water whenever a dry season occurred. While Bi’ji was a pacifist, Kasahla was always up for a game of rough housing, and would be considered for a Shield when she became of age.

Loh’tar stooped down and scooped up the grapefruit-sized ball, his other hand on his hip as he smirked.

“Oh really? Did you invent a new rule stating you can hit friends to invite them to a game?” he questioned slyly, Kasahla laughing as Bi’ji rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Loh’tar shrugged before he suddenly let the ball slip from his hand, swinging the side of his foot up to hit it back into the air, “Your call, Bi’ji!”

The three of them ran about the village, trying to keep the leather ball aloft. Every time it fell on the ground, the last one to touch it had to give up a body part to hit the ball with, until there was only one person left who could touch the ball. Bi’jiha was hopping on one foot while Loh’tar had both arms folded behind his back, bouncing the ball off his head while Kasahla used her hips. Many of the villagers watched the three of them running about, each one smiling before their gaze faded and their heads bowed.

Loh’tar was distracted by this phenomena at one point, which caused him to miss the ball as it flew out of the perimeter of the village and rolled into the forest. Kasahla groaned as Bi’ji caught his breath.

“Well, as you’re the one who forgot about the ball, you go get it.”

Loh’tar chuckled, waving the two of them away as he bounded into the woods, feet stepping on grass and twigs as he searched for the ball. He felt about the earth, purples and reds careening down his back like the waves on a shore before swirling into mixes of white and green.

“Child.”

Loh’tar stopped, frozen in a crouched position as white blotches trailed up his face like drifting glaciers. His vibrant blue eyes drifted upwards slowly, stopping when he saw a pair of earthen feet, leather straps wrapped firmly around the center of them. Loh’tar swallowed hard, spirals of green and red spots rippling down his back as he refused to look any further.

“I dun bite, Child.”

Drifter smiled, although the expression was hidden in the tangle of sepia locks as his dark eyes glimmered in the spots of sunlight through the thick leaves. A short cape of muted colors was slung over one shoulder and tied under the other, his right hand gripping the ball with callused fingers. Loh’tar stood up hesitantly, trying not to make eye contact.

“You’re not breakin’ any edicts by lookin’ at me, Child.” He tipped up his wide, diamond-brimmed hat, the edges curled through years of wear, “Do I offend?”

Loh’tar shook his head slightly, shoulders drawn close to his body as he forced to look at the ground. Drifter smirked and tilted his head to the side, stretching out his arm and offering the ball back to Loh’tar.

“There is no crime in speech, Child.” He took a step towards him, Loh’tar instantly backing away like a skittish creature.

He stopped, taken aback before he stooped down, bending his head to try and look into Loh’tar’s eyes. He looked up with a doe-like gaze, cerulean eyes wide and fearful as they connected with Drifter’s dark ones.

Drifter smiled once more, his lower eyelids curving upwards as proof since his mouth was lost in his beard. He shifted the shawl of mute maroons and navy blues on his shoulder, leaning forward and offering the all again with a steady arm. Loh’tar remained motionless, eyes more focused on Drifter’s face than his arm. Realizing his ball was within his grasp, he reached out slowly before he snatched the ball and bolted in the opposite direction. Drifter tilted his head up as he watched Loh’tar flee, his brows risen in defeat as he sighed with a bemused smirk.