Used: Mountainside; indigo; spirits; falling
Offering: wind
Offering: wind
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Spoiler
Normally he paid better attention to his botany lessons, since it might prove useful when he was finally accepted into the Guardians of the Clan and was sent off down the mountainside and the swampland below. But not today. Today his mind was far too occupied with the fun he and his friends planned on having that afternoon than listening to old man Fraideoux drone on. And lessons were -just- about over for the day anyroad.
At nine cycles old he'd gotten together with his friends to make a team and today was their first ever Strikeball match after two moons of practicing. An informal match of course, as were all the children's games, but it gave status amongst themselves and that was more than enough. He was the youngest of the team and also the smallest. Which made him the perfect candidate to be the team's Dodger.
Today's match was weighing even heavier on his mind than it would otherwise, for they were to play against his elder sister, Vedelle's team. So instead of learning about marjoram and it's uses he was thinking about the bet the two of them had made the previous day. The winner got a Fetcher for practices and gloating rights. While the loser had to -be- the opposing team's Fetcher and wear a small cloth tied about their wrist that was the colour of the winner's team. For an -entire- season! And Spring had just started. Oh, he'd make certain it was -her- that was wearing indigo and the one fetching stray balls for his team.
So deep he was in his fantasies of grandeur that he didn't realize that Fraideoux had excused them for the day. He comes back to reality with a start when one of the other children brushes past him. Which he then tries to cover by quickly gathered up his things and heading away from the rooms that lessons were held in. When he was free of the small crowd filing away he breaks into a run. Spirits high he ignores the shouts that followed, telling him to slow down. He heads for the lower tiers of the immense central cavern the Clan called home. Once at the lower levels he ducks into one of the intricately carved tunnels. Here he is finally forced into a walk by a series of thick cloths hanging across the path to help dampen the sounds from the carved out arena beyond.
As was the nature of these informal children's games, they started almost as soon as both teams had all their players in attendance. And since he'd been among the last to arrive, he only had a few minutes to exchange taunts with his sister and warm up with his seven other teammates on their half of the court.
The court itself was longer than it was wide and marked down the center, splitting the court into two squares. At the opposite ends of these squares a smaller box was marked and it was this small box that he'd be spending his game time in. As the Dodger he couldn't leave this box, while no one else was allowed inside the small box. His job was to dodge the ball without overstepping or falling outside the lines as the opposing team tried to strike him with the ball.
Vedelle, on the other hand, was a Striker. The offensive portion to a team. He watched as her team gained control of the ball at the opening toss and worked their way down to his side of the arena. The ball always had to be in motion and she was dribbling it with practiced ease as she jogged the distance. She was occasionally passing between the two other strikers as they neared, working their way past his own team's defenses. He shifts his weight in anticipation, watching the ball and trying to anticipate where they'd try and throw from as the Strikers started to flank his box. Would they aim for his head? Or maybe his feet in a feigned pass?
No! A feigned strike in his direction turns into a handoff. Yet he manages to call the play by not dodging too soon, leaving him able to react to his sister throwing the ball -hard- at his chest. Falling to the side the ball soars harmlessly by to bounce out of bounds. So the tone of the game is set. And it was going to be a good one...
Normally he paid better attention to his botany lessons, since it might prove useful when he was finally accepted into the Guardians of the Clan and was sent off down the mountainside and the swampland below. But not today. Today his mind was far too occupied with the fun he and his friends planned on having that afternoon than listening to old man Fraideoux drone on. And lessons were -just- about over for the day anyroad.
At nine cycles old he'd gotten together with his friends to make a team and today was their first ever Strikeball match after two moons of practicing. An informal match of course, as were all the children's games, but it gave status amongst themselves and that was more than enough. He was the youngest of the team and also the smallest. Which made him the perfect candidate to be the team's Dodger.
Today's match was weighing even heavier on his mind than it would otherwise, for they were to play against his elder sister, Vedelle's team. So instead of learning about marjoram and it's uses he was thinking about the bet the two of them had made the previous day. The winner got a Fetcher for practices and gloating rights. While the loser had to -be- the opposing team's Fetcher and wear a small cloth tied about their wrist that was the colour of the winner's team. For an -entire- season! And Spring had just started. Oh, he'd make certain it was -her- that was wearing indigo and the one fetching stray balls for his team.
So deep he was in his fantasies of grandeur that he didn't realize that Fraideoux had excused them for the day. He comes back to reality with a start when one of the other children brushes past him. Which he then tries to cover by quickly gathered up his things and heading away from the rooms that lessons were held in. When he was free of the small crowd filing away he breaks into a run. Spirits high he ignores the shouts that followed, telling him to slow down. He heads for the lower tiers of the immense central cavern the Clan called home. Once at the lower levels he ducks into one of the intricately carved tunnels. Here he is finally forced into a walk by a series of thick cloths hanging across the path to help dampen the sounds from the carved out arena beyond.
As was the nature of these informal children's games, they started almost as soon as both teams had all their players in attendance. And since he'd been among the last to arrive, he only had a few minutes to exchange taunts with his sister and warm up with his seven other teammates on their half of the court.
The court itself was longer than it was wide and marked down the center, splitting the court into two squares. At the opposite ends of these squares a smaller box was marked and it was this small box that he'd be spending his game time in. As the Dodger he couldn't leave this box, while no one else was allowed inside the small box. His job was to dodge the ball without overstepping or falling outside the lines as the opposing team tried to strike him with the ball.
Vedelle, on the other hand, was a Striker. The offensive portion to a team. He watched as her team gained control of the ball at the opening toss and worked their way down to his side of the arena. The ball always had to be in motion and she was dribbling it with practiced ease as she jogged the distance. She was occasionally passing between the two other strikers as they neared, working their way past his own team's defenses. He shifts his weight in anticipation, watching the ball and trying to anticipate where they'd try and throw from as the Strikers started to flank his box. Would they aim for his head? Or maybe his feet in a feigned pass?
No! A feigned strike in his direction turns into a handoff. Yet he manages to call the play by not dodging too soon, leaving him able to react to his sister throwing the ball -hard- at his chest. Falling to the side the ball soars harmlessly by to bounce out of bounds. So the tone of the game is set. And it was going to be a good one...