Soft-booted, small feet padded silently across cold stone floors. The pre-dawn air bit chillingly through her formal training garb. The dark black tunic was cut in the severe Yecine style to fit the child and make her look as androgynous as possible.
Qatrand er Yecine focused on walking tall and straight - on keeping her shoulders rigid like the older men who surrounded her. Their footsteps with harder soles echoed in the torch-lit corridors heading toward the Arena.
She had seen five winters and in that time spent more of it in a certain section of housing than any of these halls. The elders' she knew the faces of were unreadable as always. They offered neither encouragement nor censure.
Not in public. She was to prove herself worthy of being the heir to the others on her own. They would critique her with tones of disapproval during a later meeting, if necessary.
They usually found it necessary..
