Daemon had yet to make any real connections with anyone in the pack. Fion was all for exploring the territory, and had, in fact, come across several interesting places that lured Daemon into following him--but they hadn't met any more of their packmates, aside from Micah and the woman they'd met when they'd first joined--Skye, the one Daemon had compared to the star-spangled ceiling of night. Daemon was uneasy about those people, as they addressed him with...pity? No, it wasn't like that. Familiarity, that was the word he was looking for--like he was one of the clan. It hadn't been long, but he was already treated differently--and that scared him, a bit. He wanted to gradually ease his way into their family, but it seemed he'd dived in head first.
That was mostly the reason he'd come out here. It was far enough away that he didn't feel threatened, and close enough that, should he need to, he could ride Vivica all the way back to the packlands in only the time it took for the sun to come up. He'd spent the day riding here, thanks to Vivica's wonderful healing ability--she could stand to be ridden for long journeys, without needing the wagon, if he made sure she wore her own cloak. He had one of his own hand-made shoulder bags, filled to the brim with his supplies, banging lightly against his thigh as he moved through the ruins of the old city, Vivica following after him faithfully and occasionally lipping his shoulder through his cloak. He absently considered making saddle-bags for her, now that she was rider-able, so that he might be able to pick up more of the fascinating things he was finding.
Thus far, he'd discovered several books, one of which was a journal, the likes of which he'd seen only from Silviu, who had several and documented his research in them. Daemon wondered if he might be able to do the same; leave journals for Fion, in place of visual lessons that would slip through his fingers like mist on an autumn morning. He'd tucked it into his bag, just in case. A few others he'd found had distinctly furless creatures on the covers, usually a man holding or cradling a woman or a woman standing and looking pretty on the front--he could recognize the gender, but not the species. He wondered if perhaps they were the creators of this city, though he could not remember enough of his old life to call them humans, or to recognize these books as romance novels. He still tucked them into his bag, though it soon became apparent that, with all his supplies in there too, he didn't have enough room for everything. He supposed, with all the leather he'd brought--as well as the needles and thread--he could add another pocket to his bag, to make it bigger. Or...with a look into his bag and a bit of shifting around, Daemon concluded that he did have enough material to make a whole new bag.
Leading Viv to a quiet place with a small stream, Daemon began the process of softening the leather, wishing the water were warmer, before he began carefully cutting out the pieces he wanted and working them over a large, flat rock he found by the stream. He didn't usually put patterns or designs in things he made for himself, but after some debate he took out his stamps and rawhide mallet, and began carefully tapping, his mind focusing entirely on his work and ignoring even Vivica, who lipped his head lightly, enough to pull his hood back and reveal his unmasked face, before she wandered off to a green patch next to the water and began grazing, her tail flicking now and then from beneath her black leather cloak.
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