Kamurda groaned as she pushed back a strand of silvery hair from her face.

She didn't remember when was the last time she had just relaxed. Back when she had lived with the Azurite Seas, training and honing her talents to provide for the Clan as well as to follow her soul's calling were the norm; but they also knew how to celebrate the gods by enjoying down time. Then the cataclysm had ravaged Dathomir. Even though they had been threatened later than other who were more inland, they nevertheless had to run for their lives, keeping very few possessions with them.

The witch rested her long fingers over the large pouch that contained her inking instruments, a gift from her adoptive father. It was a rarity for a witch to be raised by a male, but he had found her as a baby and occupied a position high enough for a brother to get permission to be her guardian. These tools were the only belongings she had carried with her, besides the clothing on her back and a knife.

She gave a silent and quick prayer to the gods to watch over her lost people wherever they might be, here or in the great beyond. The two others she had reached the previous survivors' enclave hadn't chosen to go further when Mother Anjali and Great Sister Cearia had spoken of Elder Matier's haven.

Kamurda couldn't blame them; but her heart's magick had made it clear she was to follow. She belonged with these people and would help providing for her new clan, the Ember Claws.

She was a potter by trade, and an ink artist and amulet crafter at heart. When she had spoken to the Clan's leaders, Elder Matier had allocated her a dwelling near old stone pillars, where a pottery oven could be carved and installed. It was next on her list. She had carried some stuff she had acquired, crystals and a few tools she had been carving during her short time in the previous enclave.

She had been working on installing her few possessions there. She needed to explore the area to figure out where to find appropriate resources.

Kneeling to the dusty ground, she opened a small wooden box in which some leather binds made by Sister Nerolia, as well as some metallic strands and crystals, the latter gathered along the long and tortuous road that had led her here, rested.

Then she felt a tingling on her inked pale skin, and she knew someone else was close to the entrance of her dwelling. In the past months, she might have reached out for her knife at once, which was still strapped to her thigh, but now she simply looked over her shoulder.

"Reveal yourself."