Dragoncrest Cliffs comes in the name of peace

for clarification: scarab's technically in dragoncrest cliffs but is very close to rusalka's borders.

something had awoken within scarab: stirring from a bone deep slumber like something both magnificent and terrible all at once. dominance. this imperial feeling that his chest feels too small to contain. followed closely as it was by hubris. the naive assumption that rusalka was a birthright — it was no one's birthright. to lead is to fight tooth and nail to secure and covet it. the youthful innocence that convinced scarab that he was untouchable.

perhaps he is a bit slower than his siblings to feel the tug of an inner-hierarchy and the need to either assert himself or fall into quiet submission. his menagerie had been both time and thought consuming but with his hiding place secured for his treasures it is easier to stop obsessing over the things: seaglass, bones, weathered pelts, and petrified things ( he'd recently found a mouse to add to the collection though the sandpiper is still, by and far, his favorite ) and focus upon that which mother nature has been impatiently trying to nudge him towards.

the early morning is ethereal as it's painted the color of candyfloss pink, purple and orange as the sun begins its ascension to its sky throne as the sugared beams of the moon dull and it becomes a pearlescent and stubborn disc in the sky. scarab casts a look at it to admire it but ultimately keeps pressing forward on his path. his steps slow but do not falter as he approaches the sound's notable and freshly marked borders. he counts the steps as he goes: one, two, three and then ...four and he has stepped out of the veiled protection of rusalka and into the feral wilds that lay beyond with only a slight hitch of breath in his throat at the courage he'd mustered.

or perhaps it wasn't courage at all; yet this does not occur to the young boy: still full of childish purity and wonder.

Unlike his fellow sun-kissed youth, Xizur had long since found a penchant for roaming further than advised. He supposed his untamed nature lied in his blood, for neither his mother nor father was found residing in the grotto on the boy's recent return and he assumed, like himself, they were out exploring wherever it is they wanted and that'd eventually, they'd be back. So, with neither parent currently present to entertain the boy's rambunctious nature, Xizur took to entertaining himself in the form of pestering @Tizir. That however only lasted so long before even his sister grew tired of his tasteless tricks and chased him off to go bother someone else.

With nobody else close enough around for him to go make trouble for, the rowdy youth took to stealing a washed up horseshoe crab tail before slipping away with treasure in hand to go explore once more. This time he set his eyes upon the neighboring cliffs, mainly because they had been largely off limits to him when his mother had been around.

So with a spring in his step, the unruly child began his trek towards the prize, quickly closing the distance between himself and the fellow youth until eventually he spotted the warm shade of gold moving just paces ahead of him. At first glance Xizur wasn't sure what to make of the situation. The only other child he'd ever interacted with had been Tizir and while the wind told him this new face was from home, the Melonii still wasn't sure which direction to take. Should he get closer? Should he go around? Should he ignore him? Should he talk? Should he...

the sound of footfalls draws most of scarab's attention, despite that his gaze remains fixated on the potential paths he could take; his body taunt with indecision. it was such a waste to muster all this rebellion courage and not go anywhere. still; something in him warns him not to stray too terribly far from rusalka's borders. his goal wasn't to give the suns of his life heart attacks or cause them to fret if he went missing ...because he is afraid that if he wanders too far he wouldn't be able to find his way home. ankyra sound, the grotto — those were easy to navigate: he could find his way back to the rendezvous den blind. the neutral territories surrounding his home were uncharted waters.

as the footfalls draw nearer and then stop a distance away, scarab glimpses at the older, also sand colored boy out of the corner of his eye. for a moment there is a shiver of his guard hairs as they threaten to bristle: for while he's aware there are other children in rusalka he has no actual opinion of them. scarab'd begun to think they were myths because of the distance they kept. if he saw them in passing he paid them no mind and wrote them off as insignificant to him.

yet, here was one: in the flesh, looking at him as if he was as uncertain as scarab was about the path he should take from here. abandoning his own plight for the moment, scarab swings his head to face the other boy. the dahomey lifts his chin and assess the other boy with a lazy sweep of his gaze. you gonna stand there and stare at me all day or what? scarab confronts him with a small flash of his teeth in a wicked little grin, tone haughty.