It was a cool 70 degrees, on a sunny day with few clouds and a light breeze. If you happened to be on one of the low surrounding hills, smoke could be seen lazily drifting from a small section of the forested valley. . . and were you to be a bird and fly towards that smoke, and then swoop under the thick canopy of the trees, you would happen upon a semi circle of seven wagons, a few tents and cooking fires next to a narrow stream.
This is the camp of the Kaldera`roo Clan, which is to say, it is a rather large gathering of mostly family and extended family.
Daijek was much like the other young men of his people, tall and lean with shoulder length dark hair, and an golden earring or two. He had the traditional markings of his clan, which were the tattoo's adorning his hands and feet. His mother had added a few individual touches like the ancient designs that ran down his spine from between his shoulder blades to his lower back. That was not quite like the rest of his people, but his mother, Mirela, said she had learned them from her Puri daj (grandmother). They were ruins of protection, strength and health, and his mother hoped it would help to keep her chavo (son) safe and healthy.
Looking to the sky Daijek could see that it wasn't quite mid-day, but he'd already finished most of his chores. He had started his morning with a quick breakfast of honey cakes and apples, made sure the horses were safe, and had food and water, set several rabbit snares, and collected enough wood so that his mother could cook the evening meal. His mother and sisters (3 of them) would probably be turning the last of the deer meat into stew this evening, which was delicious, but would mean another hunt for him way too early tomorrow. . . still he wasn't complaining. This had been a good year.
Shaking his hair back from face, although it would quickly reclaimed it's place over his left eye, Daijek decided he should probably:
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