Working with some of my POV exercises last night, and this just tugged at my poor heart.
A little backstory from Dayline.
“The boy watched from behind the thick, shaggy bark of the enormous tree. His mother often met her sisters on the days when his Father was sequestered with the other mages, sometimes she let him play in the dim little dugout cabin hidden under the thick copse of ground oak, but today she had insisted he wait in a cluster of trees a little ways off the dusty track. His mother’s sisters were not like her. One was tall, and graceful as she was, but her long hair was muddy red and unruly, her skin golden brown. She spoke like fire and wind and moved with heavy, deliberate strokes. The other was small, with quick eyes and words and skin like coffee and milk. Her hair shone like raven’s wings, braided in a thick crown about her head. He knew his mothers sisters were outCountry, just as he supposed his mother must have been. His father called the outCountry mechrats and farmers lowly, less than human, but as he watched the three women, he wondered how much his father really knew of the outCountry, of the trees, the wind, the sun, the Light and the people. The boy longed to know more of the forest, the streams and meadows, so much more. There must have been others like him, children, who lived among the tall trees, in houses or burrows or perhaps even structures built among the windblown branches so high above. Sometimes, when his mother left him in the copse, he would work spells, spells to hide the stooped entrance, to make it unseen and unnoticeable. If his mother could not find it again, perhaps she would forget him there and he could live under the sun and stars instead of the mists and rain of the city. She always found him, and used her quiet, firm words to coax him from his dreams, to show him the reality of his power, and of the line the land had drawn between the forest and the city.”