Backstory

My name is Thomas of the Amber Comb, of the Water-clan. I serve my clan and loved ones as a scout and a defender of the caravan. I have seen 38 turns of the sun.
Yet, man is a social animal. One must understand him through those that surround him.
 
 
Hypa of the Great Numbers: A warrior of the Fire-clan, and a wanderer. Apart from that, my mother. A wild intelligence, which could be great if focused. A great sense for numbers, proportions and ratios. Alas, she prefers the rough and ready life. Mostly pleased to travel, alone or with semi-ruffians. A penchant for fighting, and acquiring valuables. Some say she has committed banditry, and has raided the lands of the outsiders. I try not to mind such gossip.
 
I did not see her much as a child. Nowadays, I mostly hear the occasional rumor. Have not seen her in three years. I think she is still alive. We are not close.
 
 
Clitus the Sage (the Dark, the Obscure): A sage of the Fire-clan, and my father. What drew him and Hypa together, I do not know. The mystic and the warrior, a fairytale. Their shared penchant for strive?
Regardless, Clitus has always lived on the fringe of society. Always with one of the many Fire-clan caravans, but never engaging as fully as most others. Given to what he considers truthseeking, reflecting on the nature of the world and its inhabiting souls. Part of his view was that to speak clearly is for the cheap. He prefers spouting obscurities.
 
Even to me, one of his sons, he remained obscure. And yet, after hearing him time and time again, a picture emerged. “Panta Rhei”, he would whisper and shout. The rivers had told him that phrase. It means “all flows”, or so he thinks. He taught me that everything is in constant flux, pushed onwards by the raging elements and by strife. That is the only way to keep from getting decayed, to flow along and meet the other elements. The strongest, only ever stronger, moves on ahead.
 
I doubted him in my heart as a youngling. Now I know that he was wrong. Not all is river. Some things are lake or sea. Movement, but calm and determinate. These live and yet stay the same. The agitated mind of Clitus lacked the calm to see this. My own time alone, hunting and scavenging in the forests, and later on the long tracks of my scouting assignments, showed me other things, better things, than strife. How a flower can slowly grow up through the layers of the earth near our camp. How it flourishes, and dies as the season progresses. The next season, it does the same. The flower does not fight, it just is. That suffices.
I sometimes speak to Clitus on Council days.
 
 
Peter Gecko-Collector: My half-brother. We share a father, but no mother. He is seven years my junior. He never cared for father much. He lives in the Air-clan now. He seems to appreciate the slow days herding the cattle.
 
 
Thalia of the Honey and Salmon (privately, Moondroplet): My planet, my daily bread, my call of nature, the silverfish of the pond, the edelweiss of the lonely high, the softness of moss.
I entered the Water-clan late into my seventeenth year. I was unsure. I was drawn to their sense of purpose and tradition, their idea that going through life was a matter of perseverance and not struggle. Yet, I had not lost my father’s touch fully.
 
I met Thalia when I was nineteen. She two years my senior, Water-born. Never had I met anyone who so beautifully and naturally embodies the ideals of water. She is not angered, she is not scared. She has a calm sensibility that I worship. When with her, I was a peace. Slow, deliberate, that is her way. She knows more stories of old and remedies for the aches of the now than there are pebbles on the beaches. It is through her that I know of the ways of water. It is through her that I maintain these ways.
 
What she could see in this old reflective soul, I do not know. Maybe she sensed my need for constancy. Maybe, she likes to have a pupil. Maybe, it just felt right and natural to her, our union. No matter.
From that time to now, we have shared a cart. At times, we sleep apart, me in the land and she at home. At the times of Council, she will meet her friends and I meet mine. At other times, we are in the same cart, owned by the two of us, though shared with friends of her and mine.
 
 
Misja Quickshot (privately, Winterchild ): My eldest son, born towards the end of my twenty-second year. He has seen fifteen turns.
 
My firstborn. I feel close to him, though I do not know how close he feels to me. Often, I have shown him the lake, the sea, and the land. I have talked to him about the ways of water, and some things of what my father told me. I do not try to sculpt his mind in my own image. Such is not the way of the Nations. But I try to impress on him some of the values I hold dear. To be dependable, to not be too hotheaded, to tolerate but not swallow all. I let him make mistakes, and then I try to make him see the reason behind things, the way we can follow nature rolling through our lives.
 
He listens to me patiently, but usually does not reply. He does seem to want to develop new skills, and that I am not his only teacher as far as practical skills is concerned. It is unclear to me how he acts with the other clanspeople. I know that when I take him fishing, hunting, or scouting, he is fairly obedient and capable. He could be a beautiful person. Yet, I do not know what is in his heart. The time of choosing is soon upon him. I can only hope that, whatever he chooses, he will keep some of the values I have taught him.
 
 
Ramsy, Flychaser (privately, Bolting): My second child, gotten around my twenty-fouth year. She would be thirteen, almost fourteen now.
 
An energetic child. Going to and fro, endless adventure. I never really managed to get a hold on her. She always told her fantasies to Moondroplet instead. I lacked too much creativity for her taste I think.
She drowned when she was eight, a cruel retort from the element I had spend a decade learning to appreciate. An unexpected riptide, where there should not have been one. Cruel unpredictability from the softest of elements. Nothing to do. We found her body the next day.
 
Near to her, a young elemental. Water, but of a weak kind. Of course, the death of one mere child does not impress nature so much…..
 
Thalia took it harder than I did. I think anyway. She never spoke much of it to me, but she lost some of her spark. Maybe she should have spoken. Then again, maybe I should not have increased my scouting missions around that exact time…
 
All people have things unpronounced.
 
 
Rose Wulfnibbler (privately, Sugarcane): My third child, gotten around my twenty-sixth year. She is twelve now.
 
Not quite as much energy as Bolting had. Sugarcane wants to talk to everybody, learn about all. I do not know how much knowledge sticks, but she is a sweet child.
 
She listens to me speak when she feels to. Sometimes she is merely indulging me, sometimes she really feels like listening to my rambling. She is compassionate.
 
As one could guess from her nature, she has stayed in many different carts. She never knows in the morning where she will be in the evening. But she rarely gets in trouble, she has a good nose for people. She is intuitive like that. Still, we see her in our cart every once and a while.
 
 
Bernadine the Willful (privately, Juniper): My fourth child, gotten around my twenty-eight year. She is ten, pushing eleven.
 
Stubborn, full of strange and strong convictions. Has her own way of doing things. Has a great sense of what motivates people. The most baffling or mundane behaviors of the people in the camp, she can explain effortlessly. “That women throws our her fish grates so late because she misses her man, who used to do it.” That sort of thing.
 
Currently, she does not care much for me or Thalia. Because she is young, me and Thalia make sure somebody is looking after her in all the carts she now frequents. I hope that things get better, but I am not worried.
 
 
Langshaw Honeysuckle: My fifth child, gotten around my thirtieth birthday. He would be eight now.
 
Honeysuckle died at roughly eighteen months. Unclear of what. Before, me and Thalia had a child about every two years. Since Honeysuckle, she has not gotten pregnant again. I do not think that Moondroplet will have any more children. Ultimately, I came to peace with that.
 
 
Jack Pokey: The water elemental we found near Bolting. He cites his relative weakness as a reason for not using his magic to aid the clan. Prefers to play around with rapiers instead. Manages to be arrogant despite his relative lack of use.
 
Heard him complain once about being created by such a small disaster.
 
I do not like to reflect on him much.
 
 
Zeno of the Aureole and Luke in the Garden: My closest friends in the Water-clan. I have shared carts with both, especially Zeno.
 
Zeno is calm, stoic. A bit cold at times. Stocky even. Loyal to a fault. But a very friendly creature, once known better. Earth-born.
 
Luke is more relaxed, more humorous. Likes to sit out and talk to his friends around a campfire. Becomes more serious as the situation becomes more serious. Earth-born.
 
 
David, the Humid: My old best friend from my Fire-clan days. I still have many acquaintances amongst the Fire-clan, but David is the only one I’m still close to. A joker through and through, but ultimately respectful of what truly matters. Maddening lad sometimes, but very popular amongst the women. Probably has children everywhere. I think he likes seeing me to engage in more reflective talk. See him every Council meeting, and whenever we realize we are close by each other.
 
 
Barucchia Spinach-Eater and Wilhelm No-Body: Friends in, respectively, the Earth-clan and the Air-clan. Barucchia is a highly idealistic women. Thinks highly of fate, and believes that everybody can be taught to be good. Open, trusting, warm. Wilhelm is more taciturn. Devours knowledge whenever he can, spends a lot of his herding time writing up things he notices. Strong interest in nature.
 
 
 
Ah, Thomas of the Amber Comb. Stuck between the fiery anger of Clitus and the moist calm of Thalia. Between his need to consolidate and the calls of flux. Seeks something to hold on to, and yet knows he has to let go of all in the end.
In good moods thinks the diversity of the other clans is a good thing, in bad moods mourns their lack of sense. Does not understand the choice of outsiders to live without nature, and yet wishes to hear their tales. Wishes to move about and wishes to stay put.
-An old folks tale.