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Ithiel is by me!
The knife slid along the length of the straight stick. Ithiel scraped, drew his blade up, scraped again. His fingers held the would-be arrow lightly, and his blade expertly carved away the knots and bumps. They would alter the flight path, Ithiel knew, and so they must go. A pile of shavings sat before him, between his legs. A second pile of sticks, already carved to his specifications, sat beside him. A third pile of raw, uncut wood sat on his far side.
The dust-colored hybrid worked in silence. Though daylight streamed in through the entrance of his cave, the queer curve of the entryway kept most light out. One of his oil lamps was burning low, its meager supply of oil almost exhausted. It was enough for Ithiel. He did not need brilliant light to complete this work. His hands and fingers knew it as well as they knew the pages of his book.
His mind was blessedly quiet. The dust-colored hybrid did not want to think about his half-brother's departure and his cousin's newfound leadership. Ithiel felt no entitlement to the crown of Inferni, but there was a faint sense of disquiet in him all the same. Perhaps he should have gone with Ezekiel... but he could not even say if his presence was wanted. His brother might had turned him back. Birch brown ears twitched and his head snapped up to attention at the sound of a voice.
The dust-colored coyote stood and stretched sore limbs. He set the knife down on the rock shelf serving at his storage area and walked toward the entrance of his cave. The gray daylight grew brighter as he stepped forward. Sparrow stood outside of his cave, clutching something in her hand. Is everything alright? Ithiel asked, his tone even.
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