"The Tribe of the Red Bear are nomadic people, like all the steppe tribes," you say. "Home is our friends and family, not the sand and dirt beneath our feet."
"Perhaps you're right," replies Drazha. For a few moments, all you can hear is the hiss and crackle of the wood in the fire. Then she continues: "It's funny, Basileios. I've known you your whole life, but we've never spent as much time together as we have now. Did you not have someone…special in your life, back in Tar-Domos?"
You hang your head a little. "You know how things are in our family, Drazha," you say. "Being the son of a tribal chieftain is not an easy life. It's a life of seclusion, of being reared for a very specific role. Being my father's only heir only made it harder. They were very respectful about it, of course, but whether it was my doing or theirs, most people seemed to keep their distance."
You pinch some dirt from the cave floor between your fingers and toss it into the flames, where it crackles for a moment before disappearing. "What about you?"
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