I have heard—When Ip’id was five years old, he found himself lost in the village market - separated from his mother. She frantically searched for him in all directions; in this alley way and in that one, down this road and that—calling him as she ran.
Finally, she went back to the spot of his disappearance, and asked all the vendors; some knew of Ip'id but they remembered seeing him with her. Hearing this news, her heart pounded and mind flurried with anxiety as never before - he is her only child.
Close by in the tavern, the men and women were drunk and 'having a time', as laughter and filthy jokes spewed from the entrance. She would never purposely enter a place like that, “But,” she thought, “the mob would love to make sport of him.” And she knew he’d at least be safe there, so off she ran. As she bound through the door, the horde fell silent at 'her sort' venturing in - the red and glossy eyes stared upon her.
Someone knew of her. “Ahh! Nahra! Come for a drink, have ya? There’s room enough on my knee fur ya. Ha! Ha! HAAA!” The horde laughed in unison.
“You’ll have my knee in your groin if ya don’t tell me where my Ip’id is.” Her tone was serious and sharp. “Have ya seen him?” He and others had not. “I’ve lost ‘im at the market.” Her speech meshed tears and desperation.
“Mother,” the voice came from behind her, “were you thinking of that day, again?” Ip'id observed a familiar expression on her face.
“Yes, I was.” She agreed. “Even the day you were given to me, didn't teach me of value until that day.”