He stared at the candle in the center of the room. In his eyes it seemed to violently vibrate up and down in his vision. His stomach lurched, and his bound hands instinctively covered his mouth. Read more
A small village of Tabaxi lived in the wind-touched land of the Endless Plain. Grasses swayed gently, and reeds clicked like cicadas from a breeze carried from a distant ocean. Above, where the seasonal white birds scatter in the blue sky like shining minnows in the nearby lake, Sky’s Mirror, one could see the rolling waves of grain broken only by clustered glades of deciduous trees. An ancient event, unrecorded and lost to any prying eyes, made the shallow, circular basin where mist gathered every evening and listlessly rested until dawn. It was here, in the village of Misty Basin, that Standing Sticks was raised and lived most of his life until adulthood.