[size=11pt]There exists a place, so they say, where the elders of the Mountain Folk go to die. Nearing the final stages of their life, when their fur greys at the roots and their bodies grow frail and droop, they make the long journey to their final resting place--a beautiful lake, he's heard, where flowers bloom year-round and there is food aplenty. It's an honorable journey, if you've lived a live of productivity and fulfillment.
However, Deersong is hardly six seasons old. He is by no means elderly, and certainly not honorable. If anything, he's the very definition of a disgrace.
The marks on his face bear no meaning to the Pittians, but in his own clan, it makes it loud and clear to everyone around that he is scum, untouchable filth. The marks on his face give permission to everyone and anyone to treat him worse than the dirt between their toes.
He is no criminal, however; he is too gentle to ever commit a crime grave enough to bring this upon himself. He is simply a strain upon the Mountain Folk's resources; unable to hunt for himself, they chose to brand him so that he would not take from those more worthy.
It sounds awful to outsiders, but it's just their way of life, and he has no place trying to instill change when it has been this way since the founding of their tribe.
"You may call me Deersong. I am on my way to die," he blurts. [color=#67c0e6]"There is a place far from the mountain where my kind go to live out their final days."
His eyes focus on nothing. He stares straight ahead, right through the one in front of him.
[color=#67c0e6]"... however, I am not sure if I have taken the right path ... in any other case, there would be a guide, but ... not for me." Oh, how embarrassing. [color=#67c0e6]"Um, where ... exactly is this place? I had no clue there were other tribes beyond the mountains. Is there a lake nearby? That is where I need to go."
However, Deersong is hardly six seasons old. He is by no means elderly, and certainly not honorable. If anything, he's the very definition of a disgrace.
The marks on his face bear no meaning to the Pittians, but in his own clan, it makes it loud and clear to everyone around that he is scum, untouchable filth. The marks on his face give permission to everyone and anyone to treat him worse than the dirt between their toes.
He is no criminal, however; he is too gentle to ever commit a crime grave enough to bring this upon himself. He is simply a strain upon the Mountain Folk's resources; unable to hunt for himself, they chose to brand him so that he would not take from those more worthy.
It sounds awful to outsiders, but it's just their way of life, and he has no place trying to instill change when it has been this way since the founding of their tribe.
"You may call me Deersong. I am on my way to die," he blurts. [color=#67c0e6]"There is a place far from the mountain where my kind go to live out their final days."
His eyes focus on nothing. He stares straight ahead, right through the one in front of him.
[color=#67c0e6]"... however, I am not sure if I have taken the right path ... in any other case, there would be a guide, but ... not for me." Oh, how embarrassing. [color=#67c0e6]"Um, where ... exactly is this place? I had no clue there were other tribes beyond the mountains. Is there a lake nearby? That is where I need to go."
[align=center][font=times new roman][b][color=#67c0e6]blood on the leaves and blood at the root