Welcome to Gaia! ::

With a nod to the other male Sentinel, Falchior shuffled further down the branch to swoop down to the ground, where the largest sticks could be found. He was fairly comfortable with the grounds... well, as comfortable as any could be. More like not terrified of it, really. And the other two were around, to give him a bit of warning if anything was coming. Rokku spiraled down the tree to help, contrite as a Waral could be. Keeping his eyes forward, Falchior called back up. "Keep picking sticks off up there, and I'll get them on my way back!" He began to root around for sticks, feeling for them with his talons while watching the area around him alertly.

"Oy, yes yes... Many much busy... Hunting sticks. Good ones. Leafy." The watcher inched nearer to Willow and seemed to be sizing him up.

"Strong?" It was unclear if it was a question or a statement. It was, in fact, a question. She didn't wait for a response. "What are you? Hunter? Gatherer? Medic? Apothocary? Watcher? Hmm, yes?" She squinted her eyes as she studied his face and then the chirop that clung to him. She didn't like chirops much. Every time she tried to use one, it would end up missing. That, and it wasn't so great at carrying her twigs and sticks.

“…Spending every midnight hour just to remember your name
Accusing another hour that, without you, is not the same.
And all the time the midnights speak whispers of the dead.
Here I with no Mystic’s ear, grasping not what is said….”

Sequoia was musing, in verse as he always was. It removed the labor of time that it took to get from his tree to his dear friend Rosinweeds. What better way to pass the time between here and there than to have a song, or better yet, a poem in your heart? Then again, he was sure that some would disapprove of the subject matter but as crafters crafted what came to them and what inspired, his only mused inspired such.

Again, it was another day and Sequoia was a bit merrier in the prospect of his rounds. He was to see some gatherers on whether they knew of certain berries that where in the area. Not ones for eating mind you, but dyes. The dyes where getting low and the ingredients even scarcer in his area, no doubt from his constant use. His Teacher would have been ashamed to see him not keep note of how much he used and not going from patch to patch and cycling the reserves so they where in constant supply. Luckily the old bugger was no where to be found and was no longer watching over him like when he was younger, all of which was a good thing. His Teacher had a tendency to pluck feathers right out of their spot viciously for not following directions. It certainly left no room for slow learners which was part of the reason Sequoia was so good at his art of Sentinel Dying Décor.

Smiling, he was more happy at the fact that he did find berries, edible, and thought the best way to share was to take a snippet of a branch to Rosinweed, who was always grateful for an addition to her reserves. Thus, making his rounds, he went to her territory.

It came as a sudden surprise as he made his practice way to her tree to see it dotted by two other occupants other than Rosinweed and her companions. Sentinels, two, where about the female. Though Sequoia was not a aggressive Sentinel, as his constitution was rather weak, he would defend the female when it arose. If anything, he would be in more dire sorts than he was now without her, the sole person who held the same affliction as he did from their wounded pasts and understood his nature from that and who held the answers that he did not know and he was still trying to get out more clearly from the other.

This wasn’t the first time that someone came to Rosinweed’s territory. Most stayed away but it seemed cruel habit for some of the younger Sentinels to poke at Rosinweed’s nerves by pretending they where being chased by the notorious Sky Fiend and scare her out of her wits. It took forever to get her out of her tree after such times and he hoped this was another occasion, though expected it.

In a flutter of wings from a picked up pace, he was quick to Rosinweed’s side.

“Me Morin Mon Mer?” He said, though remembered the twig of berries in his beak and pulling them out, repeated. “What’s going on here?”

Sequoia was just as happy to see Rosinweed as she was to see him. Though he did enjoy any manner of company on most occasions, Rosinweed had been his friend from the early days of fledglinghood, and while he could grow distant and unnerved by other people, he only brought out his true confessions in with her. Though she was not as eloquent in speak as most, though Sequoia’s was not either as it wavered at intervals, she did hold her own unique view when she gave advice.

It thrilled him to see that she liked the berries and felt proud of himself to have been so thoughtful and to have happened upon them. As he would have been usually merry in this case, he was more apprehensive to the visiting Sentinels, had he listened to Rosinweed. Her sentences where chopped and jumped on different points. Strangers, though to Rosinweed, most where. One Waral wanted to eat Chaucer, Rosinweed’s Mus companion, and now they where collecting sticks. “Eat Chaucer? I would not allow that to happen?” He said, appalled at the idea. It was so very hard to get a companion that suited Rosinweed that he put a lot of value on Rosinweed’s companions. Without them, Rosinweed would not have anyone to talk to when Sequoia could not be around or watch out for her. To have one threatened was just as bad as having Sequoia’s companion threatened. Speaking of which? Where was Basil?

Farther in the woods, a colorful Parus was panting as it held a twig of berries in it’s beak. The bird had lost it’s owner, who was so lost in musing thoughts of poetry and giddy with the berries in it’s beak, that it forgot his companion was not as fast. Basil was fuming, grumbling in it’s limited speech as it flew to Rosinweed’s territory. The little bird was going to hit Sequoia the moment it spotted him.

Turning back to Rosinweed, he looked at her to see if she was alright and then to the new strangers. “So you all are helping collect sticks?” He said, his eyes narrowing. He wasn’t an aggressive Sentinel, most would call him very shy to violence, but he felt a mustering to puff a bit to show that if they tried anything funny with Rosinweed, he’d be there, if not just to be punching bag. There had been Sentinels that tricked Rosinweed before, saying they where helping, only to trick her. The poor Sentinel seemed to be the butt of jokes that they even sought her out in her own territory to inflict abuse. The evils of the world.

She looked questioningly from Sequoia, then to Falchior. Worry ws plain on her hunched features, but she picked up the small clutch of branches she had already gathered, though not the one Sequoia gave her. She and she alone would carry that one. "These they. These they, go to my tree. Stick pile. Go there, yes..." She mumbled. Rarely did anyone go to her tree with good intentions, other than her dearest friend.

Falchior looked where she indicated, and saw the pile of sticks, noting its location. Not too far to fly, but getting the sticks out might be a problem. ((It's in plain sight, right? Where Chaucer is/was?)) Shifting the pack once again, he turned to the older male. "Name's Falchior, friend. I'm awfully sorry about what Ro almost did... " He shuddered at the thought, then shuddered more about what he had to ask. There was no way he could get these sticks out of the bag by himself, and he didn't even want to look at Rokku right now. Stupid lizard... But this Shadow didn't know him, and didn't know how inadequate he was at everything. Helping Rosinweed, even a little, made him feel bigger inside, and, for once not puffing up in fear, he was able to ask for help. "Um, Sequioa? Do you think you could fly up there with me and help me get these sticks out? If you're a friend of Miss Rosinweed, then maybe... uh... maybe you know how she likes them arranged? Plus, if one of them falls, you might be able to dive down and catch it, so we don't lose the rest of them," he finished lamely. Besides, there's no way I have the Will to get these out of my pack as-is. He was afraid that if he didn't have help, he'd drop them all, humiliating himself once again and wasting all his effort.

(I hope you don't mind if I join! My character's approved, just waiting for it to be posted - I really wanted to hop in on some RP in the meantime!)


"Hmm hum hooo hurr humm," drifts a low, thoughtful song. It's heard before the Sentinel is seen. It sounds distracted, half-lyrical and not full of very many words. "Hmm har hoo whoop hummy hum rumpha!"

At the last rumpha there's a rustle in the branches and on some larger, stockier branch above and a little aways from the other Sentinels comes a mottled female.
She is looking extrordinarily intent on the length of branch in front of her feet as she shuffles along, humming her nonsensical song. Her brows are furrowed in concentration, and behind her follows a very curious Chirop.
What is she following? What's so amazing on that branch that she is so concentrated?
As she makes her way closer, its....obviously....a really shiny beetle. It's somewhat large, and trundles along oblivious to the giant monster behind it. And it's heading slowly but surely towards the other Sentinels.
"Now we'll find where all those berry trees are," she declares to her batlike companion confidently, unawares of the others just yet. "The beetles know where the best berries are!"

The thought of Sequoia not being able to come to her fortess seemed to dismay Rosinweed, despite the joking manner in which he said it. "Not too strong, not to strong. Strong 'nuff to 'elp me annnnd you. Strong 'nuff for Rosinweed annnnnnd Sequoia." She insisted and she leaned forward as if she was going to fly after her friend, but upon spying the stranger, she fell back and shrank into her fluffed feathers.

"Stranger... Stranger..." Her parus was nowhere to be seen, as Nettle had gone off searching for twigs and berries. That meant no obnoxious alarm to warn the strange sentinel. But Sequoia would take care of things. He was there to make things better.

He seemed to trust Falchior. Falchior did not say mean things. Falchior was gathering sticks. Therefor, Falchior must be a friend. She did not acknowledge this openly, but that was what her brain was settling on. Not a good friend, an aquaintance, but he would be a familiar and friendly face. One of the few.

OOC: Please join! ^^