Izotz was brooding. This was something he did all too often these days. Sometimes it was productive; sometimes it wasn't. For instance, he still couldn't bring himself to talk to Oihana or Arnas. It was too hard, too close to the pulpy center of his heart. Oihana had killed his father before his eyes--that was a hard thing to forgive. And harder to trust Arnas after what felt like a betrayal.

He moved through the camp, eyes and ears open to any talk of his tribe. Theirs was a small one; he didn't expect to hear much, or even receive much recognition. All around him, fires leaked smoke toward the sky, and he saw many faces he didn't recognize--and a few he did. The Warlord, the Warlord's son--who had an eye-patch over one eye. So those rumors were true. He knew, of course--everyone knew--about the successful raid on a Thiasan garrison. Izotz was of mixed opinion on it. It almost seemed to vindicate his father. But no--nothing could vindicate Hibai.

It was very hot, and he was glad he wore only trousers. He slid a hand through his short hair, pushing it back off his face, and looked around again. There was Renna, with her weaving, talking to a handsome, scarred man he didn't recognize. He was unmistakably flirting, but Izotz wouldn't disgrace himself by approaching her publicly, showing he had less than perfect trust for his concubine. Instead he gritted his teeth and continued on, looking for more people he might recognize.

There! His heart skipped a beat.

Lirain and he had been friends as children; their tribes lived close by, and they had often shared grazing lands, before Hibai became to proud to allow it. He had engaged in his first sex play with her, before, of course, either of them had even known what was what. But still. "Lirain alab'Munoa?" He waved a hand at her and moved rapidly forward, catching her by the elbow. "How have you been?" His own tribe had taken up so much of his time that he had hardly given her a thought for years, but seeing her brought back fond memories of childhood.

Lirain often felt awkward and out of place when the time came to attend such large gatherings now that her brother could not be by her side. Though she had long since accepted that the rumours had ceased and most of the tribe had recognized her distant behaviour, a sense of paranoia still served to keep her aloof and evasive despite the festivities. It wasn’t as though she was bothered by the speculations others made. But she did feel as though she had somehow – in the turn of things and without her knowledge – become a separate entity from the rest of them. She was alone, but she shouldn’t have been.

Standing alongside one of the tents that had been propped and strewn with coloured silks and thick skins, Lirain watched as a group of young children laughed and chased one another outside of a circle of women, some sitting quietly while the others spoke in hushed but pleasant tones. Her absence there was not noticed or had been completely disregarded. She stood out of the way, fingers fiddling with the jewellery at her wrists as her eyes wandered to follow the coils of smoke which rose up into the sky.

Despite being accustomed to the heat, Lirain found herself uncomfortable in spite of what little clothing she wore. The knotted wrap that bared her shoulders and golden midriff left little to the imagination, toned legs also evident beneath the long but slitted skirt. Dark tattoos encircled her ankles as well as a formal golden anklet that had once been her mothers before she had passed. Even her long hair had braided and strung with various trinkets, though remained down and slightly tousled as evidence of her jaunt through the meadows.

She’d been about to slink further into the shadows when the touch of someone’s hand upon her elbow caused her to turn, immediately greeted by an oddly familiar face.
“Izotz sem'Hibai,” she returned with a smile and took both of his hands in hers. “It has been a very long time. Your face has matured.” Pausing, she allowed herself the space of a second to appraise his strong features before shrugging casually. “I have been well enough. And what of yourself?”

"Yours has, too." Izotz studied her, a little troubled. The weight of misfortune weighed too heavily on his soul for him not to notice it in others. And Lirain wore her misfortune like an intangible cloak, like he wore his own, even though he'd given up wearing the undyed clothing of mourning long ago, before they'd even set out for the Gathering.

He thought Hibai had once talked to Lirain's parents about a marriage. But this was hardly the time... even if Amalur did say he ought to find someone. Granted--Renna would be displeased. He knew that. But she was with the Zerui now, and she'd have to accept their ways. Besides, Lirain might be married by now, or her parents might have forgotten old promises, or any of a hundred things--it had been years.

"How's your family? How is everything? I'm--" Izotz glanced aside for a moment, then let her hands drop, aware he had held them for too long. "I'm the chief now. My father's dead." The words were unemotional, as were all of his words.