Frozen River

Nemusko’s eyes scanned the frozen river with such intensity that one might think he meant to thaw it with his gaze. Foreigners who found reason to pass through this land of snow and ice often gazed on the frozen river as they traveled because there was little else to set their sights on other than the perpetually white horizon but Nemusko saw much more than glistening ice. His people were as much a part of the land as the snow. Their breath was in the wind and their blood rushed beneath their skin the way the water ran beneath the ice.

When Nemusko looked at the river, he could feel the water rushing beneath his feet and he was aware of the life that teemed within even when all that others might see was a barren wasteland. When the wind picked up, he closed his eyes and breathed in deep as he lifted his face to the sky. He had lost his faith the same way he lost his people but at least the land offered him something he could still believe in.

This land known as the Cold Plains offered a tangible and real power that could not be denied any more than it could be resisted and it was during these serene times that Nemusko truly felt at peace, as scarce as they were.
The day was young so the sun was not quite so high in the sky but even as a native of this land, Nemusko was wrapped in leather and furs to fend off the cold and boundless wind of this ancient land. His thick mane of jet black hair stood out in sharp contrast to the white landscape and made even more noticeable the small bundle of white feathers that ornamented his head.

Very little was known about Nemusko’s people as they rarely interacted with outsiders except for when trade became necessary, as it had become more and more these last few generations. Even so, they were a hard people to miss, even from a distance as their appearance begged one to question their origin in the Cold Plains. Their eyes and hair was dark and their skin was rugged and tan, as if they spent more time in the sun than the snow. Many rumors and myths surrounded the ‘dark men of the snow’ but even among their own people, their earliest origins were shrouded in mystery.

Makya crouched low along a scattering of snow covered rocks that lined the frozen riverbank. His claws found purchase against the rough stones, and his feline eyes watched Nemusko's approach with wariness. He was of the jungles of Hafirjan, and though he was physically as adept at handling the cold, he disliked the openness of this region. There were no trees for cover, nor any thick foliage to conceal his movements.

The open sky overhead left a tenseness to his shoulders, but he was a long ways from any trees or forests out here in this vast expanse of white. His grey and silver fur left him visually well concealed, and Le'thorian's blessing left him passing unnoticed by other means as well. Only the dull browns of his leather clothes would leave him standing out against the white backdrop should he rise from his place.

Beneath the embankment was the remnants of a campfire from the night prior, a washed out stretch of embankment that had provided some measure of shelter from the wind and cold during the night hours. Unlike back in Veshrac, Makya had found that the nights here were long and the daylight hours few. Furthermore, the sun did not seem to breach the horizon and even at the height of day the sky took on only the light glow of twilight, or early dawn. It would be weeks more yet before the sun managed to climb high enough into the sky to cast its warm glow across this frozen land.

As Nemusko's footsteps brought him close and closer to Makya's location, the young Mira warrior crouched lower. Back in Veshrac he had often made friends and companions of the humans from neighboring tribes, but he also knew well the danger that strangers posed. This man had the look of a tribesperson though, and he lacked the equipment that might have marked him out as one of the sky people whom the Mira were often at odds with. Still though, Makya remained cautious and undecided whether to reveal himself or to let the man continue on his way. Of course, it would see that Nemusko was traveling in the same direction as Makya, and out in the open plains it would be an impossible feet for the pair to not be visually aware of one another. Better to find out now the nature of this person.

Finally Makya stood from his hiding place, and Nemusko would be able to see the felinoid creature quite clearly even in the murky lighting. He had a longbow slung over one shoulder and a large hunting knife was sheathed at his side, but he didn't reached for either weapon.

The tribesman came to a sudden stop at the sight of the figure and managed a step back rather than immediately reaching for the hunting knife behind him. His dark eyes narrowed at the sight of the cat-like creature that stood like a man. He raised his right arm in greeting, his thumb folded against his open palm but kept his other hand down by his side, visible but poised for movement.

"Greetings, cat" Nemusko's voice called out, harsh but obviously tired. His knees were bent but his back was straight and he felt surprised by the sudden appearance. Catfolk did not sit well with Nemusko. He was once a hunter but more important responsibilities demanded his unique skills and so he has not truly hunted in many years. Nemusko did not like being around so obvious of predators.

Makya's eyes narrowed at Nemusko's greeting. "And hello to you, monkey," he retorted.

The man's usage of the word 'cat' was about as equally derogatory as comparing humans to their animalistic cousins. It was irritation that was reflected in Makya's eyes though, not aggression.

He picked up on Nemusko's tension though, and his own form remained poised to move if necessary. For the moment though, the pair seemed content to sizing one another up at a safe distance.

Nemusko frowned but not because he was insulted by Makya's retort but because he did not fully understand it.

As far as the Linutoko were concerned, it was an honor to be compared to any animal given certain circumstances. The monkey was in fact often attributed to the wild and untamed Spirits of the Linutoko children but Nemusko did not take offense to the cat's remark. "Thank you," he replied instead. "I am Yis-" he stuttered and then continued, "Nemusko of the Linutoko, children of these plains. I seek no enemies, cat."

Their diction could lead many to assume the Linutoko were a formal people but outside of ceremony, they were direct and actively avoided vague answers and idle chatter.