The chill of the morning air in Oasis seemed the perfect time to work on weapon drills. At least, that seemed to be sincerely held belief of several Gerudo women, scimitars in hand. Their twirling, flowing style of fighting with two long blades held a great fascination for Cricket; his native method of combat insisted on utilitarian moves and economy of motion. 

Still, the enigmatic Sheikah youth wanted to learn more. He stood parallel to, but apart from, the group of Gerudo soldiers as they went through their forms and footwork, drilling and sparring. The slender Cricket stood, mimicking their movements and approximating their stances, with a pair of his own Gerudo scimitars. Well, maybe not his [i]own[/i]; the word of a Sheikah training with the women of the desert attracted the attention of a few natives. Just now, some three dark skinned, red haired girls sat with amused looks on their faces, each armed appropriately to their standing except for one - curved scabbards adorned her well-toned form, presumably the rightful resting spots of the weapons Cricket wielded now. 

On the ground near the desert maidens lay a long, brown coat with two Sheikah blades atop it. Kodachi, they were called by most. Shorter than a long blade, larger than a dagger, designed for close work and variable fighting conditions. The youth himself, an odd young man who answered to Cricket, could have easily been mistaken for a knife merchant with the number of sharp implements on his person. He was garbed mostly in functional, tactical black and grey, the cut and fit not a common sight in this part of the world. A black half-mask covered the lower half of his face, giving feature to his bright, red eyes and the tattoo of his people's symbol around his left eye: Three triangles above and a teardrop below. 

Were it not for the events which had unfolded elsewhere in the world, Cricket would never have been seen openly here. He surely wouldn't have been learning the techniques of the Desert Folk, and he sure as hell wouldn't be this up close and personal with a Gerudo woman. But it was a strange time for everyone. Strange, and very dangerous. 

Cricket's stark white hair blew in the cool air as he looked up from his practice, noting a hawk descending from the sky in the distance. It was a message, certainly. Hopefully it was good news. There was a convoy expected soon, perhaps this was the Fortress confirming its arrival. At least, he hoped. Something inside of him told him that it wasn't. He had come to trust these flashes of intuition, be they fairly recent arrivals in his skill set. 

No, he needed to stop what he was doing and go see if he was needed. 

The out-of-place Sheikah gave his borrowed twin scimitars a quick twirl and backed out of the morning's exercises. He jogged up to the three Gerudo girls, knelt before the unarmed one, and presented her swords to her with a touch of dramatic motion. She stood and sheathed them, regarding the strange boy with interest and amusement. Cricket pulled down his mask, revealing pleasant features and a wide, genuine smile. 

From the corner of his eye, Cricket noticed the other Sheikah rounding onto the thoroughfare near them. He glanced over toward the man, and returned his attention to the lady standing above him. He took her hand and traced a triangle pattern on it with his finger, gave it a quick kiss, and rose. Recovering his coat and swords, he winked at his new friend and moved to meet the other Shiekah in town. 

A series of hand motions seemed to ask a question, it was responded to in kind by the other red-eyed man. A look of puzzled urgency came over Cricket, and he fell in line behind the messenger, following him to Resistance HQ as their first volunteer.