Life in Kishahn had its ups and downs. Eternal youth was easier amongst kids, where the boy was not so easily dismissed and pushed around. But Zyra's Haven was not quite a paradise; surviving the jungle was hard work. Ewan spent the morning picking fruit with three others. His knees were scraped and his arms were tired from shimmying up and down trees. The boy had just loosened a bunch of papayas, casting them to the forest floor, when he caught a glimpse of 'something' moving in the underbrush.
Ewan froze and hoped whatever it was didn't look up. His tanned skin might have proved effective camouflage against the tree bark, but the Children of Zyra insisted he be painted all manner of colors indicating gods-knew-what about his station, status, and perceived destiny. Being a sorcerer meant there had to be a bone through his nose, which was annoying and hurt like the hells.
From his perch Ewan make out a vaguely Avian shape in the brush and blinked. Judging by the gorgeous plumage it was a peacock, albeit one wearing clothes. Eager for a closer look, the boy crept along the bough of the tree. Not paying attention, the branch gave out under his weight and sent him tumbling to the forest floor with curse, "Ow! Agh! Damnit!" he groaned softly.