While the elements dealt with the remains of the bear’s head, Larkspur had set about a new task. He had been lucky with Anathema’s cave system and its experienced herdsman, but there was no safe land for the sheep to go at night. He was worried, especially with so many ewes carrying young. Their small flock needed to grow to ensure an endless supply of food that was not fish (for he was sick of fish and craved red meat) and this was part of what drove his plan further.
The wolf had taken to using his four-legged form more often now that his mare was getting late on in her own pregnancy. This pleased him, for two horses would be more useful in the scheme of things. For now, though, he was more focused on the situation at hand. Borgata Tecolotl, with its young plant growth and pre-existing buildings, was the perfect area for any sort of pen. In his burly Optime form, Larkspur had begun moving some of the salvageable beams and sticks from the surrounding area. He had not gotten very far in this plan; a ten foot line had been laid out but nothing much more had been done. Nearby, his horse grazed contently—she was growing daily and rarely left this area.
The gray stone tower the boy had used to shelter himself for the second week of life in Salsola had been decided upon as his permanent home. It remained empty as it was in arrival, reduced to only a large circular room with a dusty hard floor. Citlali had made his sleeping quarters upstairs, where he had first spent the night. Despite the missing bricks forming the odd window and the slight notch in the roof, the tower was completely stable.
After deciding to shelter there for however long he would live in Salsola, the tawny boy began to shift it to his liking. More shards were removed from the tattered and broken door and carefully stacked besides the building. The dust was cleaned from both levels as well as the spider webs from the curved corners. He had plans for adding a work desk, but found he was unable to venture out without coming across another member. For now, only his hand woven sack occupied the small space as well as the light beams from the down stairs cracked window.
Aunt Tlantli had told him about Larkspur's plan a few days ago. The boy would have been a fool to deny such a request from a higher authority figure. Of course he could weave a fence. On the morning of the designated day, Citlali awoke on the ground and left immediately, leaving all his belongings behind in the tower. He headed straight towards where his half relative had pointed him to. Well, almost straight. Citlali couldn’t help taking the path besides the worn trails and scouting for others on occasion. The trail was lost several times in his frantic attempt to avoid conversation with a wolf that passed by. Eventually, however, the sand-toned Kimaris spotted Larkspur.
He approached him silently, lingering beside his lines of a fence. The obvious lack of a greeting may have been unsettling or awkward to another, but the boy was used to being slightly mute. Fingers tapped once on the boards of the rough fence before retreating immediately, not wanting to be caught dawdling on the wrong sights.
The truth of the matter was that Larkspur did not care for the coyotes who shared the pack, believing them to be savages. He did not spent much time around them if it could be helped, though both Eris and his daughter tended to do so. Like his son, Larkspur kept to himself. Socializing was not something the D’Angelo had been brought up to understand and he made no real attempts to do so now. Of course, when it came to work on a larger project, any and all assistance was desired.
While the coyote-boy’s silence might have unsettled someone else, Larkspur lacked social graces and thought nothing of it. He glanced up at the rapping on the wood. With only a few beams set up, more simply laying on the ground, Larkspur was certain his little project looked quite unfinished. “Y’here t’help?” The Arbiter grunted, lifting one rough beam as he stood to his full height. Dirt caked his clawed hands, which had been used to dig the holes his poles were placed in. Unfortunately, Larkspur lacked any sort of simple tools better suited for the job. A small hatchet was close by, used to hack notches in for the longer beams. It was a rough construction, but would serve its purpose.
Unlike the majority of the Kimaris family, Citlali was not prejudice towards wolves or hybrid coyotes. He hadn’t met any unpleasant canines that further changed his perspective. To his aunt, any wolf or coyote without the full blood of a coyote was considered a disgrace. Often the boy wondered what she would have done to him if he were not the true bred coyote he was. He knew that was one thing she enjoyed him for.
The Arbiter spoke immediately, breaking the silence brought forth by his canine nails leaving the wood. He could see the tightness of his face as gold eyes surveyed the limited work. Citlali nodded at his question, watching as the man rose with another plank of wood. His appearance claimed that he had been working since morning.
Citlali waited for further instruction, lingering by the established boards. He had never built anything by his self. Things had been made by his hands but never a fence. Doubt filled his mind as the boy tried strategize. If a fence was like a string of jewelry, he could easily weave a thick rope about the boards.
The boy said nothing, but Larkspur did not mistake his silence for stupidity. He was wise enough to recognize that not everyone was vocal in their communication—he and his son, for example. Still, he could not expect the boy to know what to do and so Larkspur hefted the beam in his hands up and into the notch cut for its position along the top of the railing. It was a simple design. Poles lines every five or so feet, and two longer beams were placed to form a shape similar to |=|. There was enough of a gap for small animals to get in and out, and this was where his concern lay.
“Sheep ‘r stupid,” he explained with a heavy huff, leaning against the beam to test its strength. “They’ll try n’ fit through th’ fence if they can. They’ll eat pretty much everythin’ too, so I don’t know what’d keep ‘em away from this.” It was a problem he did not fully grasp how to solve. Anathema’s caves had been an easy work for their shepherd, but Larkspur was faced with the grand problem of building one from scratch.
Larkspur was silent for a good moment. His eyes went over the work again, board still resting in his grasp and upon his dark shoulder. Citlali admired his strength and height for a wolf. Dull eyes still followed the Arbiter as he sturdily walked to the established frame and locked the plank into its pre-determined space. The cut of the panel was muddled but created a rugged and intricate design.
The man spoke as soon as he was done, claiming his dilemma. A simple plan had already begun, and it was now Citlali’s job to fill in the cracks. He looked around silently to try to find some kind of rope to express his idea to Larkspur. There was nothing around besides the other man’s wooden supplies and the boy had failed to bring any such himself. So he tenderly unwrapped one of his many accessories, in this case the moon pendant on his wrist, and held it taut. The orange-cinnamon Kimaris bent towards the gap in the wood and expanded the small leather at an angle across it. He gestured to assure the Arbiter that the general idea would include a larger band and another one tilting the other way to form a reassuring ‘X’ that gave enough space between for only a sheep muzzle to fit through.
The suggestion was the first method he thought of, being the weaver he was. Citlali further continued to show his plan by extending the necklace towards the top of the one board and around to the other side. He moved the other end when it got short to wrap around and created the other side of the ‘X’, symbolizing that the rope would wrap around. Looking back up at the older man, Citlali sought his acception.
Had he been a smarter wolf, clever, he might have become irritated by the silence that the young coyote. Yet his own son rarely spoke unless needed, and so Larkspur was used to such a thing. His eyes followed the Kimaris boy as he went to display the proposed design. It seemed like a simple enough idea, and one that would certainly make sure that the sheep did not flee during the night when unsupervised. Pleased, Larkspur nodded at the suggestion.
“That is good,” he said aloud. “D’you need leather? My slave, she can help y’too.” Though useless in most aspects, Rowan was talented when it came to the working of fabric and the like. She was smart enough to learn; he had been pleased to see she picked up on her role within Salsola. Though a slave, and therefore no better than property, Larkspur treated her well enough that she never showed any sort of resentment towards her role. Especially once she had seen the way the pack had dealt with the trader coming for her—she had been nothing less than ecstatic.
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