It turned out that Master Fernon was not only available, he was also looking to talk to Aven as well. Aven had started at the village center, hoping to catch Master Fernon before his class, and was instead treated to another Master giving a lesson. The village center was one of several amphitheaters, circular depressions in the ground with layers of steps that ran the circumference. Where the earth lacked stone, the layered slabs of white, quarried stone. Contrasting with the slate gray of natural gray, it gave the gathering place an air of intrigue, which warranted the lesson that was currently going on.
Another mentor paced the bottommost layer, explaining to an audience of twenty or more children about the history of the Nepol tribe. She must not have been far in her lecture as she was still discussing their life before the Feudal wars. Like so many others, they had been a sedentary people - happy to live off the produce they could farm while donating a portion to their Lords who in turn kept them safe. They felt no need to search the grasslands for fresh water deposits, the woods for game or the mountains for safe caverns. Safety was in stasis, remaining in one place that they could bolster and defend, rather than migration.
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Few of the kids seem interested, and even those few had difficulty staying awake with the mentor’s long, droning voice. Aven couldn’t relate, as while Master Fernon was a stickler for details, he managed to keep his lessons straight and to the point. It made it easier to listen to, as the boring bits would never linger too long and the good ones would never devolve into tangents about the current state of the tribe or the world at large.
“Young Aven, I have been looking for you.”
“Ah!” Aven gasped, whipping around to find Master Fernon staring down at him. “I-I have likewise been searching for you. I wanted to ask… about my golem.”
Like the other mentors, Master Fernon was dressed in robes of dark blue, the right side folded over the left and fastened with golden buttons. Around his neck hung a blue scarf a shade lighter than his robes, which trailed down his front to just past his stomach before ending in black tassels. The darker colors highlighted his graying beard, average for an adult tribesman as it extended no more than two fingers-widths from his chin and wrapped around his face.