the wind through the keyhole

[Tak an der Ruhr]

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It was unlike any tree he'd ever seen. It was a very large tree, but that alone was not what made Tak stop in his tracks. It was the decoration. His eyes were drawn to it and could not be pried away. He quickened his pace to get a better look and a soft smile played across his lips involuntarily. The tree was immaculate. It was chaotically beautiful, adorned with various paintings, carvings, and drawings all of which were unique and mesmerizing to the creature who had been raised among those who valued creativity and expression above all else. Of course, as an avid reader and writer it was the words that intrigued him the most. "Cercatori D'Arte" was not something he'd ever heard before and he figured it was safe to assume that it was the name of a pack, for his nostrils were filled with the warning scents that marked a territory.

Immediately, Tak wanted to meet the pack. He felt it was absolutely necessary for him to know these people, the artists behind the peculiar tree. The thought of what might lay within these boundaries brought on a wave of homesickness, for he felt that the tree was something members of his former pack might have done had the thought crossed their mind. It had been so long since he'd run into someone with an equal appreciation for art and creativity and he wondered if perhaps this was exactly what he needed. Careful to stay on the free side of the dividing line, Tak waited anxiously for the arrival of someone, anyone who might be able to explain something about this pack.

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[Taliesin Dir Rhiannon]

It was, in fact, just another day. Tal was wandering the pack lands, checking the borders as he sometimes did. He'd heard rumors of some kind of pack drama just before he arrived, and wanted to make certain that the lands were actually safe for his son. The boy in question was chasing a butterfly, the spotty patches of sun dappling his muddy coat further. Tal called out to Liam, a smile on his face. "Stay close, Kiddo." Liam rolled his eyes, but slowed down, watching the butterfly flutter away. A movement caught Liam's attention, and he darted towards the special tree of the pack.

Tal followed his son at a more relaxed pace. Everything seemed to be in order here. He froze when he heard his five month old son growl.

Green eyes narrowed at the coy-wolf. The young boy's voice was amusing, as if he were trying to be rough, but didn't have a mean bone in his body. "Who are you? What do you want?" Tal knew they often had visitors, trading goods and the such. He padded forward quickly, nipping his son gently, but in warning. "Manners, Liam. How many times do I need to tell you about manners?"

Tal turned his bi-colored gaze on the stranger. "Hello there. Can we help you?" His tone was neutral, but friendly, his posture laid back. His ears were perked in curiosity, his tail loose and wagging just slightly. In contrast, his son's ears were laid back, his hackles raised. The muddy toned boy was a picture of suspicion. Where Tal felt okay trusting others now, the boy, Liam was almost paranoid about strangers. Wolves in the pack, he could trust. Other wolves and canines, not so much.