An undulating single entity, its surface a myriad slivers of a million colours, forming and disappearing in chaotic serenity.
Tomas trudged through grass and mud, perfectly stepping to avoid losing his moccasins to a particularly tenacious hole. His jacket kept him warm enough, although he had lost feeling in his fingers almost an hour ago. His left hand rested on his blowpipe, its length balanced atop his shoulder, fingers cold on the copper barrel; chilled by the brisk, but gentle morning air. In his right hand he carried a wicker basket, its contents covered in a weave blanket. Strapped across his back, his sealed leather knapsack sagged uncomfortably as he walked.
He came to a stop as he reached a solid patch of ground, placing the basket down gently and glancing around in the subdued morning light. Behind him was a wide bog, flanked on one side by a grand lake, stirred only by the comings and goings of wildlife and the wind. A thin layer of golden hued fog coated the lake. Above he could see the great light of Ahua, veiled by coalescing clouds, and in all directions he could see the great curve of the world reach up and over. Distant lands, mountains, oceans and islands stretching up and away in every direction where they would meet on the other side of Ahua.
Ahead was a grassland, a tranquil verdant plain dotted darker with trees and shrubs. Somewhere amongst it, tucked into the side of a small mound, overlooking the bog and the lake was his father’s hide. He had spent a few weeks hunting xik here as a boy, the handful of times his father had let him come in lieu of his older brother. Now he was looking for something else. Resolution? Release? Tomas wasn't sure he knew.
Tomas hitched his knapsack further up his back and tightened the strap with one hand. Picking up the basket, he set off again. As he skirted a patch of shrubs, a flash of distant movement in the sky caught his attention. A ta’xaral dove from the clouds, its brilliant orange wings flashing as they caught the rays of Ahua breaking through the grey. It was chasing a flock of small white xik, darting and diving, agility matched with raw speed and power. The small creatures were no match for the great winged beast; it caught one in its talons and another three in its jaws before careening off to land atop a rock jutting out of the landscape a mile or so away to gulp down its prizes.
Tomas continued on, skirting the lake until he spotted a partially collapsed cairn atop a hillock. Rounding the mound he saw the hide, dug partially into the dirt constructed with ber'la bark and camouflaged with branches and brush. It was in surprisingly good condition.
Perhaps he had still been coming out here all these years, he thought to himself. But as he approached he could see disturbances in the dirt around the curtained entrance to the hide, and heard a rustling within. Tomas gently placed down the basket and blowpipe, pulling his totem from his left sleeve and grasping it tightly in his hand. The small stone carving was rough against his palm. He felt the power flow through it and into his body. As he crept forward silently, he guided the warmth down through his chest and right arm, before sparking an ember on the tip of his right index finger. As he approached, the rustling from inside stopped. Slowly he raised his left hand to the edge of the curtain, and peered in. Through the dim light he could make out the shape of a person, sitting cross-legged with their back to the entrance, fiddling with something in their lap.
The figure spoke without turning, in a gravelly voice that sent a ripple of shivers down Tomas’ back. “It’s been a long time little brother, I truly thought I would never see you again,” a pause, then a slight cough, followed by, “well? Are you going to come in, or keep crouching out there like a damn nak’anik? It’s up to you, I don’t mind either way.”