For Endy. Hope it’s okay that this is set in the commons of the pack den.



He had been accepted into Jaded Shadows once again. The thought was a comforting one amongst the chilly season. Sprawled on the ground in the den, half inside and half-outside he stared with icy blue eyes at the sky. He had been glad to find his old den was still vacant, a den that Salvaged had inhabited once upon a time. Now it was merely a memory, little scars of writing on the wall from Teri’s maniac days and the very faintest scent of the former demon. Ignoring the writing he packed up a few things and set out to explore the territory.



Midday had long since past and now the beginnings of the evening were just breaking into the skies. Dusk was still half an hour away, give or take, and Sedition wanted to finish the outline of the carving before evening and darkness took away his attention to detail. His small tool belt was securely around his waist, his Optime form the prime way to carve with the most dexterity but not the prime way to travel. Taking long strides and avoiding the underbrush as much as possible the silver and white streaked Wick made his way to the pack den and then within, following the path towards the source of the concentrated scents.



Near the worktable he spread out his tools, lighting a very small fire and igniting a candle one of the Berowick elders had made for him. Extinguishing the fire and working by the light of the candle he let the scents of the world inspire him and let his fingers and his instincts move on their own.

thanks for getting this up! and of course, that's fine.

The den was unusually silent and still when Endymion crossed the natural threshold. He thought, perhaps, that most of the Shadows creatures would be out celebrating, or else playing in the snow. This supposition did nothing to prevent the Spaher from feeling odd as he moved through the warm expanse of the Central Cavern, noting the small flames purring and licking at the pallid logs clustered in the center of the room. The temperature was wonderful in comparison to the coldness outside, but Endymion moved on.

Border patrol was lonely work, but the amber wolf didn't mind. Unlike Fatin, social interaction often made him slightly uncomfortable. That's not to say he was a recluse; he enjoyed the company of his family and friends as much as anyone would. Yet, he lacked the grace and sangfroid his mother owned, and instead had a certain knack for tripping over his own feet. So, consequentially, the pirate-son kept mostly to himself. However, this unexpected dreariness upon entering his home was nothing he was thankful for. The russet young man frowned as he moved through the stony corridor, a strange loneliness setting in. He felt like a ghost.

Moving deeper into the cavern, where the darkness grew steadier and the heat from the natural foyer dissipated, Endymion finally came upon the sharp right which led to the Commons. Soft candlelight flickered from inside, and as he turned the corner, he was taken by surprise yet again. A man, someone he had never met, occupied the room. The light from the candle cast strange shadows on his somewhat familiar face, throwing his features into harsh relief. Then the stranger's scent hit Endymion, and the young man ceased walking abruptly. Though the properties of the scent deviated from him, the most astounding quality Endymion noticed was of Salvaged Eternity. The Spaher could not see the stranger's eyes.

He is dead! This echoed harshly within the wolf's head; even reason's voice had a hint of hysteria. Fatin had told him, upon first arriving, that the green-eyed monster had been finished. Then, who was this before him? Endymion swallowed. "What—" began the amber wolf awkwardly. "What are you doing?"

No problemo. How was your Christmas?



Oh no, this wouldn't do at all. He carved away a small whirl that he had originally thought would fit with the rather tribal style design, instead it had made the picture look cluttered; almost childish. Setting the smooth rock down he turned towards the candle and let the rock pass through the flame watching as tiny sparks ignited on the rock burning away the traces of earth and grass that the now quarter carved rock had held. Running a silver hand through his hair and mane he set back to work, ignoring the shadows that passed like ghosts along the walls. He glanced up at one particular shadow, flickering as the gentle cavern breezes moved the flame and threatened to extinguish it - but it didn't go out instead it just flickered and danced and he couldn't help but reminded once again of his older sister. Vorraussetzung was an amazing dancer when she put her mind into it.



As his hands came back to their craft he heard a voice shortly following a few light footsteps behind him. The scent was of Jaded Shadows so he relaxed but pivoting on his chair and nodding his head he couldn't help but see a resemblance to Fatin. Fatin Kali... the name had come like a ghost itself out of the blue and into his head, she had been very kind to him and had been, a pause to think, a beta at the time of his arrival he believed. But back to the question the other male had asked. "I'm a carver, I'm making a tribal design out of this river stone. Lighting a second candle from the first he patted near where he was sitting as an invitation before adding, "I'm Sedition Wick, mind if I ask your name?" Sedition would be friendly to the very end.

quite good, thanks! how was your's?

Wick.

The name stung him and calmed him. It was enough to make the connection; it had been Valerik's after all. Sedition was not (quite obviously) Salvaged, but had the same blood running through him. The same blood, in fact, which flowed through Endymion.

Stunned, the two-year-old drifted toward the seat Sedition had indicated. "Endymion Russo," he muttered, sitting down slowly. He figured his name would also ring a bell or two for the older male. Momentarily his pale eyes wandered to the carving in his hands, admiring the intricate design. Endymion was a craftsman himself, though hadn't ever worked with stone. His trade was leatherworking and woodcarving. His gaze returned to the face of the stranger, yet another part of his extended family he didn't know a thing about. It was a nice face, silvery and blue-eyed. At first glance, the man didn't look a thing like the Spaher's father. But there was something about him, which Endymion could not place, that made him think of Salvaged. Perhaps it was the name, and he was just imagining it.

"I suppose you realize we're related," said the wolf, scratching at a spot behind his ear.

Good, got lots of stuff and spent lots of time with family.



The other male sat down next to Sedition and he pushed the candle out of gesturing reach. Sedition, like many Wicks, was known for gesturing while he spoke. The last thing he needed was to start a fire in his new home. Putting his carving tools on the rock and turning his focus back to the other male he tipped his head. Endymion Russo. Ah, Russo. Salvaged had talked endlessly about Thorn Russo and his brother Rurik, no doubt this young one was the ying to Valerik's yang.



Blue eyes, always twinkling, gave a quick once-over before concluding that indeed he did look like Fatin and therefore was Teri's, rest in peace, son. This made everything even more interesting. He hadn't expected to meet extended family here. He knew that Teri, or rather Salvaged, had done his part to keep the Wick bloodline alive and now he would meet just one of the offspring that came from that. "Pleasure to finally meet you Endymion. I've heard a lot of good things about you from your late brother." He hated to add the word 'late' but custom back in Berowick had drilled the practice into his mind. When you came from a tribe that often named children after deceased ancestors it got to be quite confusing without it.



When asked if he realized they were related Sedition let a smile graze onto his features and answered with a nod of his head. "Yep makes us cousins. Your dad's mum was my mum's sister." He gave a big smile and picking up a tool he scratched away a little more before putting it down. Now wasn't the time to carve, not when there were thousands of questions he wanted to ask his newly found family. Jaded Shadows was nothing like Berowick. It accepted newcomers were no bloodline relation and yet he was finding family after only a day of being within the boundaries of the pack.



Setting his feet up on the work table he leaned back a little bit, the three top ear piercings glittering faintly in the candlelight. "So tell me Endy, mind if I call you Endy? What trade have you taken on? Your brother seemed very interesting in religion, if a bit too interested for my taste. I heard your mother is a very good herbalist and healer. Your dad had been really into writing..." He hoped that if he had gotten the facts wrong the other male would correct him. Perhaps this little conversation would be a good time to tell Endy about the book his father had been writing before his demise.