You'd been with the "Masters of the Nightwind" for about a week now. You had lost your old home during the Abyssal War, and the tribe had been kind enough to take you in. You were still... getting used to living so high up on the cliffs. Yes, you were now somewhat watched over by the Iktomisaurs, the bat-like saurians that would catch you if you fell, but your heart had leapt out of your damn chest more than once.

At least, you could appreciate the ability to be able to slow down. The tribe was very quiet, the people appreciated their silence and meditation. Not like the "Scions of the Canopy" or "Children of the Echoes", who both favored adrenaline and creative expression, the tribe you were with focused much more on honing harmony within themselves, practicing potions and divination and caring for their connection with the Wayob- their god.

You'd never had much of a sense for any of those things, and as such felt a bit out of place. Ironic to feel weird and out of place in a tribe deemed "the tribe of weirdos..." Maybe you simply needed more time to settle, or maybe... it was something deeper.