A young Namican overlooked the steep valley below, or at least parts of it through thick fog. She squinted, trying to see her favorite of the many ancient patterns lining the sides of the opposing mountain range. Each were like deep charred marks carved by an ancient giant, though she knew it was really the work of vast army of historians. The one she sought depicted a radiant sun watching down upon a strange figure, surrounded by the more familiar individuals of her species. As yet, it was among the distant sights hidden from view.

"Bilda? Bilda, what are you doing up there?"

She turned, spotting an older female's approach, barely visible through the enshrouding grey. She waved.

"Over here, mother!"

"There's nothing to be seen right now, we might as well return to the den."

Bilda sulked her head, slowly walking up to meet her mother. "Ok."

They grasped one another's paws, navigating their rocky course home. About four feet tall when fully grown, Namicans were primarily humanoid, with long limbs and slender tails about half their height. Their faces were flat compared to most animals, but not quite human. Rather than a set of head hair, fine fur covered their bodies, pointed ears sticking out at an angle. Their color ranged from gray to yellow to orange, a few rare individuals sporting a ruddy coat. But like humans, they were heavily garbed in long tunics.

As the light from their den's main window gradually penetrated the mist, Bilda turned her gaze up to her mother. Signs of age faintly showed as weathered eartips, though Bilda knew that at her mother's stage she would show considerably more had it been in an earlier era. Bilda had never known much discomfort growing up, but she'd heard of stories that her mother experienced in a time before the Dawning. There were many terrible events as well as grand adventures; she'd heard them all. But there was still one story, even before her mother's time, that Bilda still wanted to hear.

"Mother?"

The older female gazed down, smiling. "Yes?"

Bilda swallowed, thinking her request through. "What was it like... in the very beginning? Do you know stories from then?"

Her mother momentarily glanced ahead, the outline of the den visible. "They were long before I was born. But I do know them. They are written in volumes. Come, if that is what you want to do while we wait for the mists to depart, then we shall discover them together."

Inwardly cheering, Bilda only nodded excitedly. Answers at last!

Pushing their way slowly into a cobblestone structure, the older female slowly closed the door, looking toward the mass of blankets across the room. "Are you awake?"

Her mate poked his head up through the covers, bleary-eyed. "Is the sun out?"

His mate and daughter shook their heads. He made a half-grimace.

"Then I'm going to get my rest."

His mate shrugged. "Suit yourself. Come, Bilda, I think it's over here..."

Grasping a worn book off a nearby shelf, pushing their way to a large rocking seat. Sometimes Bilda wondered how her mother kept track of anything, as dens were typically cluttered with memory-related items. Every ancestor left behind one item that described their lives the most, and Namicans found something a bit disrespectful about arranging them on shelves as though they had different degrees of importance, or in hiding them away into a chest just to be forgotten. The coaxing of her mother drew Bilda's attention back to reality.

"Come, sit on my lap."

Bilda eagerly clambered onto the armrest, her mother scooping her close. She leafed backwards through the pages, turning open the very first. Elegant quill writing marked the worn pages. Bilda's mother began slowly rocking as she started the story.

"This is from almost the Beginning of Time, during the third generation. There were two brothers, named Maldore and Palluck, who one day began an adventure that changed the course of our peoples' history forever..."