There was only once place to find decent wood in Jaded Shadows.
It wasn't as if his home had "bad" wood, persay, but that Endymion was rather picky. The density had to be correct, relative of course to what he wanted to carve, and the tree from which the wood came had to be old enough. Selection of the lucky tree was a tedious and meticulous task, but the wolf felt it was worth it most of the time, if he was satisfied with his work. If not, he would feel rotten for wasting the bit of tree and give the piece of art away. He was quite particular when it came to his work, almost ridiculously so.
The decent place was quite deep in the Shadows territory, though it was a fair distance away from the pack den. Carrying a small bag slung over his left shoulder and a thick branch of birch in his hands, Endymion was making his way back from the glen where the grouping of large birches existed. He was rather satisfied; the branch was thick and its bark was so white and delicate that he took great care not to strip it. He had a good feeling about the project ahead, and accompanied by the nice weather he was quite cheerful. Why not stay out and work, instead of keeping cooped up inside?
Taking a different route than the way he came, he walked jauntily along, glancing at the blue of the clear sky winking at him between the thick evergreen foliage. He was so distracted that he nearly ran into the young boy (whom he had seen at the pack meeting) sitting just out of his line of sight, and dropped the birch section with something similar to a yelp of surprise. Picking the branch up tenderly and examining it, as if it were a sick child, he glanced over at his fellow pack mate. "Dreadfully sorry," he muttered. "Didn't see you there." He felt extremely foolish and chuckled at himself as he put the branch back down carefully.
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