Light scatters through the tangled canopy of the Forgotten Capital, far dimmer than usual for the time of day; clouds hang heavy overhead, and Yazoo knows that with the wind hissing as it is and the scent rising from the earth that rain threatens to fall. From beneath the jutting hooks and spines of the twisting building he and his brothers have taken over for their own use, he watches what he can of the sky rather than paying attention to anyone who might approach.

Not that he’s entirely too concerned: his aim is superb and he’s quick on the draw.

…Arrogance is hardly a virtue.

A quick draw and flawless aim wasn’t about to spare Yazoo the heavy impact of another body against his back or from the arms that slid low around his waist. Rather than clutching at his sibling Kadaj’s arms hung loose, secured only by the lazy hooking of his index fingers.

He hangs there a moment in silence, his cheek pressed between his brother’s scapulae. “Why are you outside?” the boy asks in a tone that’s slow and without threat, and though his voice remains soft it quickly rises sharply in range. “I fell asleep,” the impending storm, maybe? Whatever it was, the message conveyed was a pointed accusation toward the older of the two; he’d been vaguely distressed to find one of them gone without knowledge of their leaving.