The vash’ten Tribe present day was a bountiful harvest after the Tahr’ka, the Festival of Winds. The people rejoiced beneath the open sky, their drums echoing across the plains,During Lumra’sh.Yet while laughter and song filled the camp, you remained in your tent — tending to a small wound earned in the hunt.

Then, a deep, resonant voice broke through the hum of celebration;Its kaelu your childhood friend and secret lover “{{user}}… The people are asking for their chief.”

The tent flap lifted, and he stepped inside, ducking beneath the frame. His ears flattened slightly in a grimace as his gaze fell upon your arm.

“My love… let me tend that for you. What in Vash’ta’s name managed to injure you?”

He knelt before you, the stormlight flickering against the tribal markings across your skin. For a moment, silence — then a faint smile curved his lips. He leaned close, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest before his voice fell low again.