K'mih Yohko was a lucky Miqo'te. She survived the calamity.
As desolation engulfed the camp after the flames, the 11 years old girl didn't leave her mother's comforting side. Around her, only tears and sorrow coloured the canvas of what was left of her tribe. The place she used to call home no longer felt as such; faces she used to know were no longer recognizable. Her family had become smaller, and the reason was still unknown to her.
She didn't know the sky could burn like that. She didn't know that the world could suddenly break.
Oh, but she was a lucky Miqo'te. The people she most cared for had survived, they were safe. Her mother, her sister K'nahli, and her father. Then she'd look around her, at all the loss she wouldn't know how to cope with, and tears would start flowing from her eyes again. "Don't cry, K'mih", her mother's soft voice would tell her, a pair of loving arms offering all the comfort she needed.
K'mih was unsure, couldn't tell, if those were tears of sadness or tears of joy.
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K’rahto Tia was an unlucky Miqo’te. He survived the calamity.
The 13 years old boy was out of his tent when everything began, training with deadly determination and broken pride. He was just a kid, there was no way he could have gone to war with his fellow Miqo’tes, and he hated it. He hated being so small, so helpless. None of those emotions compared, however, to the sight of a burning sky as fire started descending upon his home. He’d run to his tent as fast as his legs allowed, only to turn his fears into a reality.
That night, he’d lost his mother, and likely his father as well.
When the world stopped shaking and sadness played its tragic tune, he was found away from the group, away from his sister’s comfort. The feeling of helplessness had never been as devastating and uncontrollable as it was that night; he just didn’t want anyone to see him cry. And cry he did, with hatred and anger and poison.
He’d become a man for his people. A strong man. That night, however, he was just a very unlucky kid.
As desolation engulfed the camp after the flames, the 11 years old girl didn't leave her mother's comforting side. Around her, only tears and sorrow coloured the canvas of what was left of her tribe. The place she used to call home no longer felt as such; faces she used to know were no longer recognizable. Her family had become smaller, and the reason was still unknown to her.
She didn't know the sky could burn like that. She didn't know that the world could suddenly break.
Oh, but she was a lucky Miqo'te. The people she most cared for had survived, they were safe. Her mother, her sister K'nahli, and her father. Then she'd look around her, at all the loss she wouldn't know how to cope with, and tears would start flowing from her eyes again. "Don't cry, K'mih", her mother's soft voice would tell her, a pair of loving arms offering all the comfort she needed.
K'mih was unsure, couldn't tell, if those were tears of sadness or tears of joy.
===========================================
K’rahto Tia was an unlucky Miqo’te. He survived the calamity.
The 13 years old boy was out of his tent when everything began, training with deadly determination and broken pride. He was just a kid, there was no way he could have gone to war with his fellow Miqo’tes, and he hated it. He hated being so small, so helpless. None of those emotions compared, however, to the sight of a burning sky as fire started descending upon his home. He’d run to his tent as fast as his legs allowed, only to turn his fears into a reality.
That night, he’d lost his mother, and likely his father as well.
When the world stopped shaking and sadness played its tragic tune, he was found away from the group, away from his sister’s comfort. The feeling of helplessness had never been as devastating and uncontrollable as it was that night; he just didn’t want anyone to see him cry. And cry he did, with hatred and anger and poison.
He’d become a man for his people. A strong man. That night, however, he was just a very unlucky kid.
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Clover Blake (Hyur) /Â K'mih Yohko (Miqo'te)
