Veni, vidi, vici

Over waves of Crystal Sea

She had been on a pilgrimage -- along with nine others -- to cross the glittering expanse of the Crystal Sea and headed towards the very root of the red Claw Mountains. A journey for those who had reached the age of etching and had to catch an Urcyn for themselves. For the Urcyn were sacred to the Dousan clan, their spines and ink uniquely used to mark their bodies with elaborate patterns, symbols and swirls, as to wordlessly tell their story and wear it for others to see. For Fifen, this was her first time leaving the safety of the Wellspring, to brave the open desert and find an Urcyn for herself.

Fifen was not yet marked by etching. 'You have yet to have true life experience,' or so the Shaman had told her. Unlike others travelling with her, her lilac skin was entirely void of any story to tell. Having always lived in the shady sanctum of Wellspring, a devout member of the Dousan choir, she knew only of comforts and blessings of home, of their private worship, and so very little of the world outside of it.

But it was time, and Fifen was not deterred. Having always dreamed of adventures in the wilds of the desert and beyond. She had dreamed of sweeping sands, of stone and metal, split in two, of red caverns filled with all manner of trinkets, of a song for her out there in the great expanse of Thra. Wiping the sweat from her brow, pushing silvery tendrils from her face and trilling her tongue, a high and wavering call, she urged Keya -- her skimmer -- to swiftly move on. And the chorus erupted, as her fellow pilgrims followed suit, clinging to their soaring mounts, strapped tightly into their saddles, knees tucked against the broad and sweeping fins.

The three watery suns were beating down against the blushing sand. The Crystal Sea - - as it was aptly called, though not a real sea at all -- undulated, glistened and wavered with the heat. A silent land, an endless rosy landscape, inhabited by only the harshest and hardiest of flora and fauna, rough plants and scuttling insects. Ever changing and shifting, great crystal bergs and sheets drifted silently through the sweeping sandbanks, blasted on their journey by the hot desert winds. As deadly as it was beautiful, even the desert dwellers themselves took a moment of breathless silence to take it all in.

'Lower --' it came on the air. Aiya, the shaman leading the pilgrimage, was signalling into the next gust, and her own skimmer -- clinking and twinkling, adorned with crystal, rope and bone -- dove ahead, a colossal guide, it's tail whipping as it flew. Stout and strong, Aiya's rich azure markings told of her spiritual path, while deepening creases at her knowing silver eyes told much of her living one. Aiya smiled and swept on by, Fifen's hair whipping at her cheeks as the shaman passed. Leaning in hard, Fifen pressing Keya to catch up, curving sharply into the same tunnel of wind.

'To stay on course -- keep your eyes trained between the two tallest peaks!' Aiya called.

The shaman's shouts were met with more trilling, as ten Dousan strong rode their skimmers fearlessly, a hand's reach or less above the sweltering sand, a tall gelfling swayed on his saddle, reaching out to skim the surface with a brush of his fingers. Fifen squinted through the dust and grit stirred up by his touch -- through the beaming rays of the three suns -- she could see in the distance, the momentous and jagged red mountains of old, reaching up and into the shimmering sky.

'Ready your nets!' Aiya cried.

Fifen reached back, fiddling blindly with the knots on her saddle. Heard the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, as nets were released one after the after, dropping down and into the sand. Finally, the ties loosened, a net of her very own flew from the saddle and down to the ground, dragged heavily by the stone and bone she had added as weight. She had woven it carefully together -- and it had taken an entire trine. Fifen breathed a prayer to herself that it would work and watched from above as it disappeared down into the crystalline surf.