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Zamanavyi, or Red as she preferred to be called, often played in the canyons of Ayr. She was wild tribe, and Ayr was her home, and thus the whole of Ayr was her playground. The young dovaa girl feared no crag or crevice, or dragon or beast for that matter. This was her world, and she was its 9-summers-old master.

She pounced, carefree, from rock to rock, as per usual, having evaded her adult supervision – again, as per usual and through no real cleverness of her own – Red wasn't the sharpest kid in the tribe. Rangion – who typically watched her in lieu of a family member - was, however, easily distracted by certain ysali dovaa healers and Red was just really good at wandering off.

Nobody worried about her too much. She was a tough kid, brought up by tough people – she was no babe in the metaphorical woods. As long as she came back safe and in one piece before sundown, nobody panicked and sent search parties out for her, and she usually did.

Today, though, the girl's play had a purpose – she had been asked to collect the pearly shells of the small light-loving Selala, presumably for use in some sort of potion or whatever. It didn't really matter to Red – the extent of her potioncraft was knowing that stuff went into a cauldron and came out as something nasty tasting for some unsuspecting person to drink. She wasn't into it.

Zamanavyi was also not normally a helpful person. She was, in fact, shortsighted, pigheaded, and unintentionally selfish by nature, only caring about immediate physical action and the step just ahead. But the alchemist – who happened to have once been a real hotshot warrior – had promised that, if she helped them out, they would give the young dovaa archery lessons. Dovaa were known for their magic, but archery was one of the girl's favorite things, right next to beat-em-down punch ups with other kids and bullying, so she had agreed. The good thing about Red was that when she said she'd do something, she'd follow through.

Selala were not hard to find – they liked light and hung around the calmer areas of the canyons. Red knew where some congregated, and the spot she was heading for, at her reckless pace, was a fairly constant one. No, finding them wasn't the problem.

Catching them was. Their size and their ability to flit through ones fingers made them tricky and frustrating, and many a day in the childhoods of the children of the tribe had been spent playing catch-the-selala, to little success. Even with nets the likelihood of success – because of their sensitivity to airflow – was low.

Which made Red very excited. Normally, she grumbled about going after weak prey that, like the Selala, had no teeth, claws, or other defenses. But the difficulty of catching the little bastards made it worth her while.

She found the column of Selala at midday, right when they were at their most concentrated, a pillar of shimmering, flutterying shapes going all the way up and down the canyon wall. She grinned, watching them move, and flexed her hands, bunching up her legs beneath her as she tried to lock her sight onto one of them.

And then she pounced. “I'm gonna get you!” she crowed, her hands clapping together as she landed, catlike, among the chaotic, dispersing cloud of bugs. She opened her hands, just a peek: nothing.

“Damn.” she cursed, swiping for a Selala just over her head. It fluttered easily out of her way. “Damn it you stupid...”

Moo

The sound, a low moan, distracted her from her goal. Red was easily distracted from any task: oh, she'd follow through, but that didn't mean that the road to her goal wasn't winding and lined with detours. Weird weather phenomenon and strange beasts were usually what did it, things that were big, tough and scary that the young Dovaa could challenge herself on.

This time, though, it was merely unusual – a sound not often heard in Ayr. Distracted now, Red clambered over the rocks towards the sound, noticing the odd basso tingle of a bell that told her it was both unusual and close. She hid behind a rock and peeked out, eyes glittering curiously.

A man passed by, an Orderite. Apparently a traveller, not a native or a Wild Tribe member from his clothes. He led a large, blocky, horned beast by a harness, and it made the sound again, echoing mournfully along the walls.

A Sheron. Red realized. She had never seen a Sheron before – they were not suited to Ayr and so her tribe relied mainly on hunted game instead of the domesticated animals. She knew what they were, of course: big, dumb, herd animals full of meat.

Mmm. Meat.

Red licked her lips, watching the man and his beast slowly plod by. Meat was good any, and she'd heard that Sheron had especially good meat – that was what they were for, made by stupid city-dwellers so that they wouldn't have to get off their butts and hunt for proper meat. That wasn't the Sheron's fault, though, that they were as stupid as their masters. Red decided to try to steal the sheron. She didn't think it would be too hard: he was just a stupid city-dweller after all, and she was Wild tribe. She could relieve the beast of the burden of having to be meat for this idiot, and she could relieve the city dweller of the privilege of having good meat. Let him hunt it himself like a real person!

“RAAAAR” she shouted, pouncing out from hiding, grinning broadly.

Except, he wasn't where she expected him to be.

“What in Oblivion...?”

She looked where he had moved to, further down the path, as he stared at her, an eyebrow raised...