ROLEPLAY

Day broke, greeted by the yawn of Armas.

In the camp, the travelers were already busy. Tent after tent was folded, and the bats of the mektoubs were once again loaded. Around the dying fire, some were quickly sipping a bowl of capryni milk.
The caravan leader, who was among them, approached his son.

He was sitting cross-legged, his eyes fixed on the glowing embers, his hair tousled from a night in the tent. He also didn't look very awake.

"Well, Cinabre, feeling well? " asked the father without waiting for an answer "Forget the discomfort of the night, and inhale the fresh morning air. Soon your feet will be treading the warm sawdust of the desert, so it's worth a bit of effort, isn't it? "

The weather in the forest, on the other hand, was rather damp.
"We'll be able to dry off a bit," said the child in a half-grumpy, half-playful tone.
He then turned his gaze to his father.

"But, Dad, Cuidero told me the caravan would stop at the Hidden Spring Outpost. Didn't you tell me we'd be going to Thesos? "

"Of course we're going, but only the two of us. I hope we'll find some craftsmen who aren't too hostile to "pale skins". We'll have to keep a low profile once we're in town. I want us to make a good impression. Especially since, from what I've heard, the akenakos of Thesos is a pure-bred fyros, not very friendly with Matis..."