Out of context

[Skoll]

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Sorry I kept you waiting until the end of the day, we can go ahead and have her figure out who he is at the end. That'll be kinda cool/weird maybe. In the Dampwoods, the growth was thick. Sound and sight were obscured by the overlapping needled-branches of the evergreens. All was silent save for a faint and rhythmic scraping heard from somewhere deep within the trees. Within the embrace of seven pines was a small clearing, where a solitary weed fought bitterly up through the carpet of pine needles. Beside that weed sat a golden form, contrasted against the deep green of the trees. Even sitting cross-legged, he was over four feet tall, lean but powerful. His flesh was a tapestry of scars, of old hurts suffered but overcome. He was not a beautiful figure, this wolf, his countenance--whatever appeal it may once have held--had been marred time and again by a path of war. His feet had carried him into terrible places and out again, but they had not carried him for free. The scraping continued, louder in here, not muted by the insulating wall of needles. In his left hand he held a piece of wood, and in his right he manipulated a small carving knife. The wood was shaped with every stroke of the knife, and had some time ago taken on the rough shape of someone's profile. Just someone's head...though the finer details of the person's countenance were not yet manifest within the wood. His deft cuts continued, on and on, the wolf's eyes focused on the changing wood in his hand, eyelids low, entranced in his work. He had been working on this piece for over two hours already, and he intended to finish it today. He had given his first figure of Galdra to Jantus's sister as a memento of their meeting, but his meeting with Angelique had given him a new idea. Instead of full-figures, more detail could be worked in the recreation of a wolven face than in an entire body. He wished that he could recreate her eyes...but he knew better than to believe any thing wrought in word could recapture that fire. Two more hours passed, and now it was late afternoon, but the carving was almost finished. He had done his best to create lines indicating fur, and her expression was close to the one he was trying to recreate. Her eyes...he would have trouble with them, he knew. The region around the eyes was the only one he had yet to put the finishing touches into. How could he instill life into those cold, wooden eyes? He didn't know, and so he paused, contemplating. ~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.

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