Pale blonde sits in a messy array atop this young man's head. Whisps fly here and there, certainly not well aquainted with a brush. The locks darken a bit here and there, the tone changing where there is less chance of a meeting with the sun. Only a bit overly long, his hair covers the top of his ears and curls somewhat at the base of his neck. A small clip holds back the longer hair in the front, keeping it out of a set of clear blue eyes. His face is a bit round, although that seems to be lessening with age. A faint mark is visible along his right cheek, a small scar curving down from nearer to his eye. The rest of his frame is a bit on the stringy side, appearing mostly bone with little muscle keeping things together. His height doesn't make up for much, bringing the youth only high enough to stretch slightly less than five and a half feet.
A band of green cloth is wrapped around his skull, tied into a knot at the left side. Though green, it has been tinted slightly darker in places due to dirt and sweat. A thinly made white tunic hangs on his frame, looking just a bit large for him. It's tucked in, however, to a pair of fitting hide pants. Hard leather has been fashioned into cuffs, tied around both arms from wrist to elbow. There is a number of nicks and scratches in the leather, most likely from firelizards and the like. He wears a set of sturdy boots that come up his shins somewhat, pantlegs tucked into them. A belt is wrapped loosely around his waist, appearing more for the carrying of a few tools than anything else.


Born in a small cothold settled on the shores of the Sea of Azov, Shaveek was a single child in a small family of farmers. Vermin, rodents and tunnelsnakes often plagued the people and their crops, there was no sign of relief save for the efforts of one old decrepid drudge, living in a ramshackle shed of weathered boards. The man would never say a word to anyone, often catching rodents and bringing the live creatures back to his abode, with not a witness to testify his behavior. The screams would echo into the evening hours, scratching and thudding emanating from within. It was sevendays that would pass before the man would emerge with a gryphhawk resting upon his forearm and it was this feathered creature that would capture the spirit or haunt the very souls that would set eyes upon it's cold, faceted gaze. This cold gaze would translate into something warm and wild for one such single child.
The child found his curiousity would bring him out to the vacant fields where no crops would grow, scattered by the remains of a great building of stone long since abandoned and left to weather beaten cobbles among the tall grass. Here, that gryphhawk of umber and sandy feathers would open long wings, extending powerful milky talons as it took to the air and let sail it's cries into the wind. It would glide down below, circling sharply before dipping below the grasses and reemerging with the flailing form of a rodent or a tunnelsnake hatching within sharp talons. The gryphhawk would return to it's master, killing the creature before dropping it into the outstretched bony hand held out before it. That man's golden gaze would turn to Shaveek, much like the gryphhawk perched upon his arm, only with a hunger of curiousity. That mutual curiousity would start the beginning of a relationship wrought with bloodied arms and shoulders.
As soon as the next harvest would fall upon the cothold, another hatchling would make it's cries into the world, heralding a new beginning with the boy. The pair went through many tasks, training, grooming, husbandry, how to tend to the talons and the wounds they often bring. Shaveek and the gryphhawk would soon become and extention of one another and inseperable. As the change in seasons would come, crops would grow, die and grow anew unlike the men and women of the cothold. One winter would pass and the old man would not emerge from that ramshackle shed set apart from the residents of this small established cothold. No candlelight or cries echoing from within, no seasoned talons to claim the rodents that threatened the fields or the harvest as their time came to an end. Just as the elder passed, his beloved gryphhawk disappearing into the night.
The residents claimed their relief that the old man was gone, gone passed his use and turns in any case. His training of wild birds had to be something akin to insanity. Why would someone go through so much trouble when firelizards were far more /intelligent/ and /loyal/. This would cause unease with Shaveek, bursting into tirades of where true loyalty lies and respect before turning to his own abode and slamming the door behind him. Things would be quickly packed and he would leave with his precious feathered companion, moving to parts where he and his companion would be more welcomed. He managed to make his way eventually to Keroon, where he was accepted into the Beastcraft and allowed to study avian life, before being shipped off to Western Weyr to continue his training.


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