Worlds Away Book 1: Crucible

Chapter 1, in third person pov

For fun I have rewritten the first part of chapter 1 in third person to get a feel for how the story would feel from a different perspective, let me know what you think! And as always be as blunt and straight forward as possible!

On top of a hill lies a quaint little hovel made of lumbar and twine, the first of its kind. Once there was an ogre of an Elder who lived there, whose voice boomed like a thunderstorm with even the faintest of effort while speaking. He's thought to have been one of the greatest Elders the small village tribe, the Falconers, has ever known. A man who was able to calm a storm in his people with only his words, don't get me wrong, he was a fierce man, calm yes, but when the need arose he was always the first to thrust himself forward into danger. Because of this he was trusted as the leader of the tribe's Hunters while still on his teen birth years. He was a peerless hunter who brought the islands animals to the brink of extinction just before he passed away. His name was Darthrack Exhulm. Inside now lives his oldest son, Victah, who motions towards waking up his own son.

"Wake up Croix," Victah grumbles in his rough baritone voice, while poking his sons gut with the handle end of his spear. "It's time we get a move on, we are to meet Milo and the rest at shore by half day."

The tanned long dark haired boy awakes in his one room home thats shared with his father. Though, it's not much of a home anymore, since the tribe has decided to leave.

Thin branches stacked one on top of the other lean against four broad poles of a trunk with mud mashed in-between chinks of wood, forming the only remaining solid wall of their home. His quilts and bear pelts are set to the opposite side where only the tree trunks are left of the wall and a hefty bear pelt is draped in replacement of the missing wall, separating him and his father from outside world. Croixs spear and shield rest on the floor directly next to him if the need ever arose.

To him it more closely resembles a shelter quickly made for a one nights stay, not a place for comfort, but a hollow remnant of better days, when his mother's laughter used to fill the hovel.

Croix stands up stretching off his last bit of grogginess before pushing back the bear pelt wall revealing the sun as it blooms into the sky for the first time today. Croix squints down on the tribe below. When Croix finishes scouting out the village for others awake he drops his bottoms and with a sigh of relief takes a long piss off the steepest portion of the hill and sticks his middle finger high in the sky aimed at those below, aggravated with the decision they've all made for this day.

All the huts are lined up in assorted rows and columns creating a simple square village with the Elders house directly in the center for safety. I know, it would make more sense for the Elder to be perched up on the hill instead of Victah and his son Croix, but you see, this hovel is the home of the Exhulms. Croixs father's father's father's father's, Rucknuck Exhulm, had been the first to convert from simple tents crafted from pelts into sturdy wooden houses using the trunks of trees as the foundation of all walls. Cementing it as the Exhulms home for generations to come. Always has been and always will be. Well, it would have been that way. Croix, being the eldest and only son of Victah's, would have been the 6th generation of Exhulms to live there while raising the 7th generation of Exhulms to succeed him. That is how it would've been had the tribe not unanimously decided to leave their island of Umbriax.