[jianwai]

‡Name: Araxie
༼ ❝A river said to inspire poetic expression❞ ༽
‡Gender: male

‡A fun fact/quirk/activity they do/have:
98/250

It is the little things, almost always unnoticed, but still ever present. A constant tick to run his tongue over his teeth, regardless if he's eaten or not. Talking? Watch his tongue run across the point of his teeth, near fiddling with the bone before he starts speaking again. It seems like a nervous tick, something he does when he's started or in thought, but it's not nervousness that dictates the way his tongue glides over smooth teeth. No-- he just enjoys the feeling, something that he did as a child and never quite vanished as he aged.

‡A short story involving anything about them in the past:
634/750 words

Swiftly as the river runs. Aching paws, caked in mud, he continues to run past the trees. Branches whip, strike his face, push him back and seem to usher him back into the depths of the forest, still he retaliates. Shakes the burs from his shoulders, whips his tail in hopes that he will knock a branch away from his rear. Eyes narrowed, he continues ruining, running until the earth beneath his paws becomes a fine, grainy sand. Like silk between his toes compared to the squeals of mud, although the fine grits stick and force him to trot instead of run least he cut open the pads of his feet on a particularly sharp grain of sand.

Every breath he takes is a burn to his lungs, it seems more fitting to think he swallows fire in thick, desperate gulps than air. Air-- 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen with traces of water vapor, carbon dioxide, argon, and various other components. With each breath he reminds himself of the components, helps to dull the pounding of his heart and the roar of blood in his ears. Deep breaths, deep breaths, don't look back at the forest and take. deep. breaths.

He continues the trot along the sand, eventually slowed to nothing but a walk as he nears the lapping waves. Salted water rolls over his toes, he flexes them, wiggles them and nearly giggles as the mud and grit wash away. Nearly, still too frightened, he swallows thickly. Something-- somehow he had seen the ghost of another. Blue, like the ocean, creeping from the corner of his eyes and chasing him away from his own home. Too scared, something drove him to the water, and now that he strolled along the beach he could evaluate his fears. If it had been a ghost, then why did it usher him towards the ocean? He shakes his head, stands stalk still, letting the foamy waves crash over his feet and cool the over-heated pads.

His lungs burned lest, though tickled on the addition of salt in the air. Another swallow, tongue lolling out to wet his chops. Too much salt, the running made him thirsty, but he was too consumed by thought. Ghosts didn't exist. Science, basic thought disproved them, so what had he seen? What was it? A trick of the light? Had he had too many coconuts for dinner?

Every answer he had gave no reassurance, blankly starring into the depths of the water that surrounded the island. The strange island, with a strange forest, tropical and yet ... not. As strange as it was, it was his island, and he knew that it should have been impossible for any other Kalon to inhabit it. It had been him for ... for ... he couldn't remember how many years or the exact date he had left home for an expedition to this strange little island. Science had demanded research, his paws tingled at the very thought of discovering the secrets that others seemed to fear; Araxie had stood with a puffed chest and declared that he, the youngest researcher, would go and study everything on the island: plants, animals, soil, air. Anything and everything that could be observed, although air was technically unable to observed by the naked eye, that he would do it.

His island, with strange secrets. As frightened as he was, Araxie felt ... felt something for the land. For the mysterious blue Kalon that chased him to the dark ocean, the sea-foam rolling over his toes, making a tingle along his spine. "I'll find you," it's muttered, nearly covered by the islands natural noises: cawing birds, buzzing insects, the crash of water against grains. "I'll find out what you are, everything about this island, too. I'll know."

He'll be the expert. He has to be.

‡A list:

Lamp | Backpack | Baskets | Bells | Candles | Chests | Crowbar | Fishing Nets | Hammer | Ink | Pens | Pencils | Clay Jugs and Pots | Paper | Pitcher | Signet Ring | Spyglass | Tent