Shelter in a storm

[Hattori Kieren]

Emerging from a swirl of sand, the young priest gazed warily through the dark of the Dojo. Checking that his companions were with him, he uttered a small curse. Of the six he had started with, only five stood with him now. He could only pray that the Mother would protect the one he had lost, and guide him to the village, for the storm that raged was too fierce to search. Rest friends. We will be safe here for now. It was early in the morning, earlier then most would be awake he suspected. Still, the Dojo had a reputation for welcoming travelers regardless of the hour, and with storm that had arisen outside. Moving deeper into the building, the man entered the main arena. Pushing back the pale yellow hood of his cloak, he gazed around the arena with ice blue eyes that seemed to pierce into every shadow as he searched for threats to his team that he knew weren't there. Brushing his black hair behind his ears, he ran a hand over his tanned face, drawing down the sand covered mask he'd been wearing. He still remembered the first time he had come to the Dojo, he'd been so naive then. He'd actually believed the fight in the arena was real, that the warriors meant to kill each other. The idea of combat for sport had been foreign to him. Sure, his tribe sparred in training, but not as a spectacle like this. A small smile creeped at the corner of his mouth as he turned back towards his companions. It had been a dangerous journey from their tribe, but they had made it. Hopefully the rest of their trip would be less eventful then the sandstorm.