Tentatively, young Xerin approached old Zysle where the elder Draith labored.
“I am instructed to serve you, Master,” Xerin said.
Zysle muttered “Gorge dub you Bush”, struck a small black stone with the rod, and produced two identical stones. He did not acknowledge the youth.
Awkwardly, the youth continued, “Master, do you require any assistance?”
Zysle turned his gray-green eyes toward the youth and finally asked, “Is this something that you want to do?”
“It is my privilege to do the will of my elders and people. What I want is not important. Your question confuses me, Master. Should not any Draith accomplish whatever he can for the betterment of our people? Our teachers say we should strive for excellence and accept nothing less than being the best at any task. The new arena is filled every amber period. Competition grows fierce, even among the older groups. I look forward to my days as a scout. Perhaps it will be me that breaks the stone of Ooranth with my hand,” Xerin answered.
Zysle’s facial expression did not change. Draiths seldom showed emotion. The rigors of life in the mountains and the constant wars with giants and ogres had hardened the Draith people. Emotions and feelings were driven deeply into their consciousness. Zysle found the youth’s answer acceptable.
“The elders and the council reveal their fear of Magick and the shadow of the gray sun. My eyes have changed to gray. This enhances their fear. I can now see movements in the dark,” Zysle responded flatly.
benjamintowe 