Terakiel peered over the edge of the canyon, his hand resting on a raised metal wall to his left for support. There was a very short drop to another level in which a set of steps were constructed. These steps followed the twisted pattern of the canyon as far down as he could see, with cutout sections where other levels were etched into the canyon. On each level were a series of what he could only imagine to be hollowed out rooms. Some were very simple in design and functioned as little more than caves, but others had ornate wooden doors or cloth draped over the entryways. To his immense relief (and admittedly a little fear), Terakiel could make out the forms of people milling about the various levels encircling the canyon. It was a city.
They were primarily dressed in white or gray, although they exposed a great deal more skin than what Terakiel was accustomed to. Many were shirtless whereas others wore cloth draped over their upper torsos in the style of a tabard bound at the waist. Their garments were generally flowing and loose-fitted. He imagined the clothing must be quite practical for the climate here. For the first time in many days, he didn't miss his abandoned cloak, even if the sun's rays were already making quite the impression on his exposed pale flesh.
Terakiel was unsure how to proceed. He had no way of knowing what kind of people awaited him in the canyon city below, nor whether they even could communicate with him. As far away from home as he surely must be, what were the chances these people would speak a common language? If not, how then would he explain why he was here in the first place? What would happen if he were to be detained on sight? It wasn't a situation Terakiel could imagine himself resolving. Considering the difficult inherent to escaping that damn forest in the first place, he was more than ready to err on the side of caution.
The best course of action, he reasoned, would be to skulk around the shadows and observe, for the time being. He was hungry and thirsty, but none of that would matter if he was captured and killed. He had to find out if these people were friendly. However, he wasn't sure how he might go about getting closer without being seen. The sun was still high in the sky, imparting maximum visibility to all around. If he were to wait until night fell, he could potentially find a better vantage point from which to observe--but water was becoming a pressing concern and he wasn't sure this arid landscape was capable of providing for him. Still, any community as large as this one would require a reliable source of water nearby. As unrealistic as it might seem, there was water to be had. He had to find it, and soon.
"What are you doing hanging around here?"
Terakiel froze. It has been so long since he'd heard the voice of another human being that he wasn't quite sure how to react. Slowly and methodically, he wheeled around to face the man who'd accosted him, a gnarled tree branch of a man garbed in white much like the men and women in the canyon below. Despite the man's great age, he was very wiry and muscled. His skin and sunken eyes were as deeply brown as the willow his physique brought to mind. He was clearly appraising the young man's appearance before him. Terakiel realized he must not be a common sight.
"Where did you come from?" the man asked slowly, his voice rumbling like a boulder rolling down a mountain. The people here clearly spoke the same language, although the way this man formed the syllables was very strange in a way that Terakiel couldn't quite come to terms with.
"I. . ." Terakiel swallowed. "Tombolin. I came from Tombolin."
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