northern magic

[Tristan Nakado]

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The den Tristan had dug was in the base of a hollowed out tree. It was large, one of the older trees in the forest. What made this tree remarkable was that it was still alive—bugs must have gotten into the base, or disease, and made it soft. The space was wide enough for two people, if shifted, though he spent most of his time on four legs. Today though, he was shifted, hands working with a knife on the outside of the tree. One of the truths about his family was that they were all of them artisans.

Quietly, the red-haired man found form in the wood, letting it reveal itself as he went. A chunk of his long hair fell into his face and he pushed the wavy locks from his face, behind one ear. The design in the tree was becoming a detailed celtic design, one he had seen long ago. Shifting his weight on the rock outside of the entrance, he paused for a moment to brush away the scraps of wood and then went back into his work.

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[Melisande Sadira]

Melisande could hear him, as she came near. He was carving away at a tree near his newly-made den, and she couldn't help but smile as she walked up. She didn't know Tristan very well, but Melisande knew that it would be important for her to get to know the members of her pack. If they were going to work together through good and bad, it would be her and Fatin's job to know them, and Fatin apparently knew most of them quite well.

She gave a bow as she approached, politely, but held her tail automatically high. Her grin took over her face as she spoke, wagging her tail happily. "So I see you are making a home out of this place quite quickly." Melis realized then that she didn't have a den of her own here yet. Of course, she didn't have any real reason for one either. The last one was for art supplies, and they'd probably been burned in the fire. And she certainly didn't have any young to keep safe. Besides, how could she have a den when she was so far from the lake back home, Ceres' grave, and everything else familiar? She thought she would get used to it eventually, though.

[Tristan Nakado]

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Above the smell of wood and dirt came a feminine one, though Tristan did not turn from his work until she crossed an imaginary line. The bow was returned with a dip of the head, which caused his hair to fall back into his face. Using the free hand to pushed this back, he smiled faintly in response to her statement. “I’ve been here for a little longer then the rest of you,” he said, explaining no further. Tristan’s patterns were as unplanned as a flash flood and as reckless. Where he went and where he lived varied upon the alignment of the stars and the direction of the wind.

“How are you settling in?” He asked, pale eyes still remarkably cold despite the distant concern in his voice.

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