Armand Temi
Orphan

It took no less than five days for Perla’s skin to turn a golden brown color under the warm sun of Dathomir, which after two years on Bastion, felt much like an enveloping blanket made from the hide of jungle cats who hunted near the Misty Falls.
Since her return, the Dathomirian native had lived quite nomadically, still afraid to confront Mother Zivka about her exile from the Great Canyon Clan. Just how much of a taste for forgiveness the now elderly clan leader would remain to be seen. She knew of fellow witches who’d been banished their entire lives and others who were welcome back into the arms of the sisters after one day. She supposed it depended upon the transgression and yes, Perla’s had been unforgivable, but yet a tragic accident at the time. But like the fellow witch she’d slain, she was just a girl on that fateful night. If she was allowed to return she’d have to make amends to Manju...
Stop thinking about it and concentrate, Perla. You need to bring home something to eat tonight.
Xana, her bull rancor stomped ungracefully across the field, scaring a flock of baz nitches. Her eye caught something else sneaking through the tall, reedy grass. As it raised up on two legs, she realized it was a juvenile rhoa kwi, and while their meat was a little tough, it would have to do.
Suddenly Perla heard the roar of a vessel as it broke through the atmosphere, leaving a trail of fire and smoke behind it. Xana bellowed and her first instinct was to turn around and go the other way, but curiosity got the better of her and she kicked her heels into the rancor’s flanks as the ship crashed just over a small ridge to the south.
[member="Daran Carn"]