Skill:

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Aisling

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From somewhere on the Other-Side, he'd been warned of a Pharoah-Mercy. He didn't know at all what that meant, and so he'd entered the cavern with voluntary willingness. And it had been nothing but darkness that had greeted him. It sucked him up with a burgeoning violence, zapping him and inexplicably twisting his mind.

It slurped him in. And back out.

And he plopped out unceremoniously on the other side.

He was spat out from the abysmal heat into the cool grasp of the mountains.

Pap, tumble, skrrrrrrrrrrrt, splat,
and he was tumbled, ousted like some strange half-used part of a story as the cave shat him out into the cold air of the Alpines. And for a few moments, he simply skidded, blasted into the peace of the Alpines. And he lay there in the pristine silence. And it was ... so ... quiet ...

And the body would stir, lifting from the dust.

Cedar? His voice quivered, heaving from his chest as his long limbs scrambled beneath him in an attempt to catch himself. 

Oh no, where was .. oh! His purse!

He would panic for a few moments, scuttling about before finding the precious item and collecting it up in his jaws. It was only then that he would look around him, trying to discern the world around him (as if he had that skill to begin with). His nose would flare, flashing through the scent of decay as he tried to address his own location.

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SKILL : - - - ( 1 / 5 )

The world was alight with the buzz of runes - a concept Aisling did not entirely understand.

Her uncle had found one and, ever since, she had been spending a not-small amount of her free time creating runes for others to find. They were smoothed river stones and pieces of interesting drift wood brought up from the sea connected to the Shallows, decorated with various symbols she came up with herself... painted in colored clay.

Aisling had learned, through her own experimentation, that mixing things like berries and flowers with clay turned the sticky mud-like element into delightful hues - and it had all been downhill from there. She painted herself, her mathair, any of her siblings who would sit still, Foxglove, and - of course - her makeshift runes. It would be a shame not to share such vivid colors with the world, even though it kept her previously pale paws stained various tones, dependent entirely upon what she had been using to dye the clay recently.

Today was no exception. She dragged her cache of river stones to her workshop for the day and set about her typical preparation of the clay paints. She did, of course, sport her most recent flower crown - one could not make runes without one. It was messy and poorly articulated, more mass of shrubbery and sporadic flowers than actual crown. Aisling would need many more lessons from Bjarki or Sneachta before she could have any claim of proficiency.

It was in the midst of her paint-making that she heard someone declare the name of a tree, though she was not certain she had ever heard someone summon a tree before.

Should she be speaking to the trees, too?

Her silver-lilac eyes scanned her surroundings, one purple-splotched paw lifted mid-knead of her paint blend, as she sought to find the tree-speaker.

I don't see any cedars, Aisling called back. She glanced to the tree nearest her, remembering her mathair called it a 'pine'. Will pine work?

Maybe cedars were the chatterboxes of the tree world. It was a matter she would later ask Epona about - they had just celebrated Beltane, and eating the earth's bounty brought one closer to it. As Avon's Diviner and cupped ear to the gods and fae alike, surely she would know.

She lifted to her paws and began to meander toward the voice, failing to notice the gnarled root beneath her. Before she could register what was happening, a paw was snagged from beneath her and she stumbled forward with a yelp clipped short by her faceplant. The flower crown atop her head vaulted forward, landing just in front of her. Her mouthful of dirt and grass notwithstanding, she immediately noticed the ache of her captured front-left paw. The tenderheart winced as she tried to gather herself, favoring her afflicted limb. It was likely just a simple sprain, but she fought the temptation to cry all the same.

Skill:

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Aisling

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"I don't see any cedars."

Though he did not see the source of the voice just yet, the Cheshire boy would sigh deeply. How was he supposed to survive without His-Cedar? Cedar was so big and strong! He made such good shade! Oh, this was just a disaster!

"Will pine work?"

Pine?

That did not sound like it would work at all!

I've never thought to try Pine, Calyx would concede with a sigh, spinning around and finally trapezing his way toward the source of the mysterious voice. He wanted to know who she was, this Pine-Lover. This Cedar-Betrayer!

And they would dance, moving toward one another until ... inevitably ... they would meet. However, it would seem that the smaller of the pair would trip and fall, twisting her little paw on a branch. A crown of flowers, once nested atop a royal head, was splayed forward messily as the smaller wolf would whimper from her ache.

Oh my, the boy would clamour, darting forward toward the fallen princess, who seemed to be snacking on dirt. Who did such a thing to you? His smile was wide, unwavering in intention as he lowered his purse to the ground to exchange it for her forsaken flower crown. Gently, with tactful teeth, he would place the crown back atop her head ... and then slowly, his nose would move, sniffing delicately at her twisted paw.

I'd better have a look, he'd continue blinking a few times before tilting his head to the side in inquisition at her injury. (It was, of course, only twisted. A minor strain that would recover quickly. And yet ...) His eyes would widen. Oh, was she to lose it?

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