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darkheart, deadlight
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I apologize in advance for the quality of this post. The holidays killed my poor muse! That said, anybody is very much welcome to reply.
In the span of days between the yuletide and the turning of the year, Theodoric had unobtrusively left the packlands. He had no intention of permanently leaving this comfortable abode, but he craved news of the more civilized version of lupine society. The greyscale male traveled quickly to the port where the shipped had dropped him the previous summer with the silent prayer that someone would be there to meet him. Luck was with him, for he not only received his fill of news, but the fellows were eager to trade goods for the blankets he'd brought along. Theo would return to the shadowlands with a fresh supply of raw wool (and even some cotton, thrown in during the course of haggling), a season's worth of grain for the pony and -- his personal favorite -- several bottles of strong ale.
Grateful as he was for the new supplies, the exchange heralded what he had long been putting off: it was time to go back to work. Surprisingly, he was ready to do so, for summer's travels and the autumn's adjustments rolled lightly into the industrious winter season. The only downside was that in order to get to the weaving his artisan self so much enjoyed, he first must spin a fair amount of yarn to work with. Distaff and spindle accompanied him on this day to the side of the fire in the den's main cavern, along with several hues of dyed wool. Soon the spindle was spinning under Theodoric's careful observation. As the time dragged on, Theo began to sing; his untrained baritone voice coinciding with each repeated movement.
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