Nearby, a shaggy-haired Miqo'te winced, shouldering a wooden training sword. No more than twenty-five cycles, he had an overall lazy look about him, with heavy-lidded eyes, wavy blue-grey hair, and abstract face painting that marked him as a Keeper of the Moon. He turned his head to spit out the reed he'd been chewing before approaching the younger Hyur.
"You okay, kid?" He asked, then continued, without waiting for an answer, "I swear. Kids these days've got no sense of coordination. Must be a lack of calcium or something." He combed his fingers through the back of his mop of hair as he spoke, a faintly annoyed expression on his face.
Having said that, he eyed the Hyur's broken weapon with a soft tsk. "Well, drinking more milk won't save that thing, but you seem none the worse for wear." He held out his hand, simultaneously offering the other man a greeting and a lift to his feet. "The name's Ken."
"You okay, kid?" He asked, then continued, without waiting for an answer, "I swear. Kids these days've got no sense of coordination. Must be a lack of calcium or something." He combed his fingers through the back of his mop of hair as he spoke, a faintly annoyed expression on his face.
Having said that, he eyed the Hyur's broken weapon with a soft tsk. "Well, drinking more milk won't save that thing, but you seem none the worse for wear." He held out his hand, simultaneously offering the other man a greeting and a lift to his feet. "The name's Ken."
