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 Posted: Sat Nov 08, 2008 2:34 pm
Rivers were good. Tousled liked them, despite the way that they cut a swath of unpleasantly open air through the comforting cover of the canopy above. Rivers came from places, and went to places, and sometimes, they brought things with them.
Shiny things, polished by sand and water and then nonchalantly dropped off along the riverbank, as if the ever-travelling water had grown tired of playing with them. Well, what the rivers didn't want, Tousled sure found use for. She had gathered some of her best and brightest jewels from the riverbanks - albeit not without a certain amount of terror: The openness of the air around certain rivers would get to anyone's nerves after a while.
She had had a most successful evening, having found smooth, ivory-coloured driftwood as light and delicate as sentinel bone, as well as a few rather colourful, sand polished rocks, on her excursion to the Swift Open River. However, it felt quite good to leave the waters behind her and head deeper into the forest again, deeper into cover.
She paused on a sturdy branch and gave herself a quick but thorough preen before happily pulling up the pouch tied around her wrist. She opened it and inspected its content with a pleased smile. The driftwood was as sturdy as it was light - it hadn't broken at all, despite having had pretty stones tucked in all around it. It would make for an excellent piece of... something. She hadn't quite figured out just what, yet, but it should come to her soon enough.
She was so absorbed in her own pleasant musings that the thought that she might have landed in someone's territory didn't even enter her mind.
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Posted: Sat Nov 08, 2008 2:52 pm
Dustfall was considerably less fond of rivers. Rivers were strange, wet, cold, and dangerous. This made them disturbing to the fledgling, given his budding tendency towards pessimism. He would certainly never fly over one - what if he fell? Falling was almost constantly on his mind; while he didn't have as much of a problem with crashing as his brother, accidents were inevitable. Still, his youthful curiosity sometimes spurred him to small adventures away from the center of his parents' territory, which was how he found himself stranded on this particular occasion. Now that he was here on this particular branch, well...maybe it had been a bad idea? And home seemed an awfully long way away...
Unaware that there was anyone to hear it - and yet hoping there was, so that he could be rescued - he let out a mournful hoot.
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Posted: Tue Jan 06, 2009 2:15 pm
Tousled's ear tufts twitched in surprise at the sound of another sentinel, but the hoot was so soft, so sad and so very young that it failed to really startle her. It did, however, raise concern.
She tucked the white driftwood back into the bag and looked around more carefully, trying to discern any sentinel-esque shape in the surrounding trees. And then, with a slight sense of dread, she glanced downwards. She found nothing, but that didn't really make her feel less concerned. Letting out a soft hoot - I am here, where are you? - she shifted her position of her perch and grabbed the pouch in her talons, ready to leave as soon as she had a direction.
The thought did cross her mind that she might have wandered into a territory, and that the hoot had come from a fledgling safely nested in his parents' home, but... well... it was better to be sure. And besides, the tinge of loneliness in the frail little voice had really hit a nerve with the little Crafter.
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