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!!!! WIP !!!! The last editing was from Nilstilar on 19.02.2023.
The story I'm about to tell you is based on a traditional Matis competition that I heard about from an old friend who had once entered it. I made a story out of it.
My friend's name was Collix and he told me what he experienced during that contest right here in Matia. But I'm going to tell you the story from the point of view of a young Matis whom I called Cillis.
“Cillis was afraid. But, like all young Matis of his age, he did not want to show it. Not in front of all the other Matis gathered in the shrine square of the Altar of Jena, and certainly not in front of his running partner. The floating machine, made of that strange material the Karavan used, hummed and buzzed over their heads. Its guardians looked at it with impassive eyes and watched the surroundings.
Cautiously, the young Matis glanced at Nehi. She looked calm and composed, her chestnut hair tied back in a ponytail and her milky skin glistening in the morning sun. She was clutching the coupler stick in her raised palm. Her grip was firm and her knuckles protruded slightly.
The kids had known each other for a long time and had started practicing running immediately after the draw two weeks before. He liked Nehi. There was only one thing that bothered him about her: when he looked at the girl, who was a head taller than him, he felt a strange pressure in his chest. As if something wanted to come out of him, but couldn't. She was a good running partner and despite her longer legs, she adapted to his speed and was careful not to pull too hard on the coupler stick. The smooth dark wooden stick, about three cubits long, didn't exactly make crossing the forest any easier.
As she listened intently to the words of the Yrkanis Intendant, Cillis's attention was also drawn to him.
"Homins!" said the Intendant in a loud voice.
"Proud Matis! Once again, a cycle completes its loop of eternal return. And once again, we gather here to celebrate this day and witness the traditional children's race."
His words were punctuated by discreet applause and here and there cheers could be heard.
But not from the runners. They were all tense and some seemed nervous like week-old yubos. Cillis hoped the others would not attribute his shiver to emotion, but to the cold that was slowly seeping through his thin jacket.
Lylanea Viccionna, Bard of the Four Lands
