[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/8QXSA1Q.png[/img]
[url=https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1332572][color=#00a86b][h2]Nergüi Pisacar[/h2][/color][/url][/center]

At first, nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. The air around the man clad in fur adorned leather armour was cold, but that was what he had got used to. The trip to the Northern parts of their land in early winter brought such misfortune for the tribesmen to endure, but they had geared up appropriately. The only part of him the cold bit was his face, and that had grown used to the gentle breeze one felt off horseback long time ago. What startled him was that he was no longer with his horse, nor could he recognise any of the shapes moving around him in the mist, not the ones standing nearby who he could see, nor the foreign voices of the caravan. And lastly, definitely not the children. He had never been around children much. He had not served the Khan well enough to earn a wife of his own. That was still in progress.

The man tried to draw comfort from what was familiar to him. The barred up buildings brought many a raid into his mind, for without the bars everywhere this place largely resembled a settlement their army had descended upon and sacked. Thing was, the buildings were in better shape and had been walled shut. But that nonetheless was something he could draw familiarity from. He laid his eyes on his armour, and noted that it was still there. His buckler was still strapped to his arm, his sabre hug on his belt in its sheath and when he reached back he could ascertain both his hat and longbow were unharmed. The only thing that was left to determine who these other people were, and where in the plains he was now. He couldn't be far from home... it hadn't been that long and he was still standing on his feet. He would simply need to find a way back.

But how would he go doing such a thing? Nothing came to mind. For now, the best thing he could do was see if anyone else would come up with something, for those around him, despite not carrying the standard of his Khan, might at least know where they were. But when the first [i]comprehensible[/i] words rang out, they were addressed to the children, by the woman with the coldest eyes he had seen in his time. And for someone of his background, that was no light merit. Yet it was she who had spoken up, and Pisacar found himself moving one fur boot after another and slowly approaching her and the children. Inaction would lead to no results, that much he knew. And with somebody taking initiative, they could get on the move. This mist that was enveloping them appeared borderline hostile, as much a weather phenomenon could.