[Center][h3][sup]Ko-Congro. Late Afternoon.[/sup][/h3][/Center]
	"[color=0076a3]Ah, Kumanu, is it?[/color]" the Turaga replied, mildly taken aback by the sudden appearance of the Kanoka Launcher wielding Matoran from the ceiling, "[color=0076a3]No, there's nothing that requires your services. Let me show you out.[/color]"
	Reaching out across the small room, the Turaga of Ice tipped his Hammer Staff, and opened the door, beyond which laid a large warehouse. An icy mist hung in the air, rows upon rows of giant metal crates were stacked three, sometimes four crates high, creating aisles into the mist. Many Ko-Matoran were working below, using ladders and small tools to arrange smaller boxes, removing them and placing others in their places. The landing outside the door was metal, and had a set of corrugated metal stairs winding down to the warehouse floor.
	The Turaga, instead of gripping the rail, took a running stance and held out his hand. A faint glow came from his mask, and in an instant, he was gone. A sheet of ice appeared beneath Telur's feet, his Noble Kakama propelling him down the stairs, curved tracks taking him around the bends. The ice vanished soon after the Turaga slid over it, but the act of the elder moving at such great speeds was quite the sight to behold. In only moments, Telur was at the large bay-style doors at the warehouse's front. Letting out a slight cough- more a stale breath from the effort, Turaga Telur casually tapped his staff to a button on a panel on the wall, causing the great doors to rise.

	Several rows away from where the Turaga opened the door, likely on Kumanu's way to the exit, were a particularly dense group of Ko-Maotran. They seemed to be having quite the conversation, as only one at the moment was working. This Matoran seemed the focus of the gathering, as some other, more burly workers, seemed to be attempting to lighten the mood.

[Center][h3][sup]Bo-Congro. Late Afternoon. Same Day.[/sup][/h3][/Center]
	The setting sun filtered through the leaves as a single Matoran made a trek through the Green. He was nearing Le-Congro, that much he could tell, because the air was getting warmer, wetter, heavier. To be honest, he preferred the more brisk mountain air near his home to the humid, thicker air around Ga-Congro and Le-Congro. His crystal blue eyes shifted about, casting their faint light towards the trunks and low hanging branches. He was after one specific tree in particular. Unfortunately, he had to pass very close to a Brakas bed to get there. There was something unnerving about the Brakas. Maybe it was the way they moved, or how they almost looked like a Matoran, but not quite. Perhaps it was the stories he heard, how they had terrible tempers and could fall into fierce howling fits. Whatever the reason, Hura felt a chill amongst his armor, despite the muggy air near the undergrowth.