Trivia

Character

(where's my kind i wonder)

You remember enough about your childhood to hate it. You don't remember your mother, not in color but in shades. The blue of her lips, the yellow in her cheeks and how pale she was when the breath was finally stolen from her. You didn't even have the gold to take care of her and bury her properly. You left in that bed, curled in the quilt your grandmother made - for someone else to find. 

Barayas was your sibling, older by merely two years but they grew up quickly, your hand in theirs. Between the two of you, you survived. Not lived, but survived and that was enough. You, nimble and quick on your feet, you stole whatever your little hands could hold. You dreamed, you dreamed of a life better than this - how could you not? You and Barayas would crawl to the highest points in the shingles, with hot, stolen pastries in your hands and you would trace the open skies. You would point as hippogriffs and griffons danced with riders on their back. "I'm going to be one of them." You whispered in Barayas' ears.  You were a child when Barayas was stolen from you. It never should have happened, if you were a better person, a better sister - if you weren't so stupid and hot-headed then nothing would have happened. But you wanted to see the griffon riders, and when Barayas wanted to stay home, you left them there - enjoying your loneliness bitterly. When you came back to your hovel, it was trashed. And Barayas - Barayas gone. And oh, you didn't know it at the time, but your heart broke and never really fixed itself.

 You went to every person, any adult - barkeep, authority figure - the captains with their silver badge. Nobody listened. Nobody cared. Your spot in the broken alley didn't feel safe. Nothing felt right without Barayas. Who was gone. Dead. And it was all your fault. You leave the city. You are a child, and your hands were quick to be stained with grass and dirt. You remember little of your time in the wild, these too were shades of your life. The grey of never ending rain, the white of your knuckles as you climbed the trees and dug out the splinters with your teeth. You grew - as all children do and you wandered far from the city, to when the trees whittled away slowly one by one until it was just shrub-land and the incoming desert would sting your eyes and throat. You were never brave enough to venture that far, so the woods became your home. You fell asleep to wolfsong, with your eyes on the sky. Nights would pass when you couldn't sleep - just cry. Mourn for yourself, for your mother, for your sibling as the haunting realization would dawn upon you that nobody else cared for you. Nobody else would mourn, so it was a mantle you took upon yourself. Nights would turn into days, days would turn into weeks, weeks into month and your tears would dry until you no longer wept at anything. Not when you nearly got torn apart by a wild boar, it's tusk digging into your side. Not when bears roared because you got too close to their kin. You ran faster than deer, you knew the woods - the fallen trees, the moss on the rocks - where the river laughed the loudest and where it was safest to stay during a flood. You knew it all like the back of your weathered hands. That the wind whispered in your ear in like an old friend, that your blood was more green like moss than red. You would watch and wait until the embers of the fire grew dim and you could rummage through their packs. For gold, and jewelry and other pretty knick-knacks that you didn't need but wanted anyways. And then someone caught you, and held you by the scruff of your tattered clothes like you were a stray cat. Their name was Septimika and they were more amused by your great impression of a snarling bobcat than they were frightened. They were the largest lizard you had ever seen, with scales that shimmered like a frozen river in the low moonlight. Their eyes were hard though, like glass and a permanent frown would grow more affixed to their face the more you encountered them. You scrambled away from them the first you had been caught, throwing your face over your shoulder to give him the best raspberry you could and also the middle finger which was the closest you had to a swear. Septimika would stay in your woods, much to your horror. Their friends would leave, speaking in a language you didn't understand but Septimika stayed. They fished in your river, ate the blueberries that grew by the great Sycamore and you watched and seethed. You tried to make Septimika's life a living hell - you stole from them, ravaged their camps. They met you with only quiet curiosity, offering you luxuries you only half-remembered - sweet, strawberry tarts and bread with thick, old cheese. They bought your company with food and in return, you slowly began to back off. It helped that Septimika was like nothing you had ever seen. Their face was pulled taut with scars, a face in a permanent scowl and they wielded the forest like they had been born there, or perhaps even abandoned there. Like you were. Septimika took your tiny hands and knocked an arrow into a bow and taught you how to shoot. During the day, you would separate - you would run with wolf pups and fish and feed the bears. But at night, despite your anger, you would crawl back to Septimika who continued to shower you in good food and song. Some nights you would wake up to the softness of his fur shawl, smelling like ash and pine trees.

They taught you how to be a ranger, that's the term they called it. They told you the language of their people which you butchered on purpose. Every time Septimika showed you kindness, you rebelled with cruelty. You had convinced yourself unworthy of affection. Still, Septimika took you in, taught you a valuable lesson in letting yourself be loved. You would force yourself to abandon their company every time though, unable to move past the hanging weight over your shoulders - this misanthropy, this acrimony? it would not go away. it would just get stronger.

tell me is there something good in being wrong?

You arrived in Korvosa with a mission - a simple thought. To get Barayas back.

(where's my kind?)

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