17th of Saun, 717.
Nir'wei was quite sure that nobody he knew would really enjoy waking up on a little bedroll, inside a tiny one-person tent in the middle of a largely-unknown forest a good distance away from the nearest city. He did, though. It felt so good, waking up and staring at the translucent fabric stretched overhead between two narrow tree-trunks, that he could cry. His campsite was small. Stones ringed a small fire he'd built last night with small dry sticks layered over thick, oily leaves to keep it on a long, slow burn. All of his belongings still rested in a thick pair of saddlebags resting inches away from his head. The trees here were packed so tightly together that he couldn't find enough room for his tent, small as it was, so he'd improvised and nailed the struts to the neighbouring trees at about chest-height instead, stretching the fabric at a slant in case it rained over the night. It wasn't a particularly large camp, nor was it well put-together, even from Nir'weis inexperienced eye, but it'd been so long since he'd last done this, it really didn't matter.
He'd boarded up all the spaces between the trees with a combination of thick-barked branches knitted together by intertwining their leaves and smaller branches into an arguably crude and flimsy structure, but it at least hid most of his camp and gave a notion of camouflage. The widest gap he'd left unhindered, mostly because he couldn't find enough materials to cover it up and he didn't want to snap branches off the neighbouring trees and disrupt the natural cover provided by the forest, and it was through here that he climbed out of the little nest he'd made for himself.
Malice sat off to the immediate left, a spare blanket draped over his flanks for warmth. Jasper had a hollow log that Nir'wei had picked up and dragged from nearby; the insides were thickly covered in moss to provide a very comfortable bed, although as he crawled out from inside with a sleepy yawn, Nir'wei was rather dismayed to find that he'd taken most of the moss with him, and it now clung to his smooth fur in thick patches. Greyhide, of course, had his own little construct that the Sev'ryn had spent a break or so making, alongside building the camouflage for his campsite. Smaller branches had been knitted together into a wall that rested against a thicker branch sticking out near the bottom of one of the more sturdy tree trunks surrounding his campsite, making a little shaded area where Nir'wei had folded another one of his spare blankets and left as the wolf's sleeping area; however, it looked like he'd gone hunting a little early, since the bed was empty.
It didn't matter; Greyhide could more than take care of himself. While Jasper shook off much of the sticky moss and curled up to groom himself, and while Malice snored loud enough to wake the entire forest, he spent time searching through the small collection of sticks he'd gathered on his way through the woods. Discarding those that showed significant flaws like knobs, bends and uneven surfaces and refining those that didn't, he made small cuts down the bottom of each new arrow-shaft and bored small chunks away from the top to give it little hooks where he could tie the new metal heads to with excess thin string from his pack. The metal heads he could re-use time after time; though sometimes they became dull and he didn't have the tools at hand to sharpen them, it wasn't an outright necessity to have razor-sharp arrow-heads when all he was really using them for was to take down small- and medium-sized game. In the case of smaller animals, stunning was just as good as killing, if not more so. Sharp arrows puncturing small prey just tore them to shreds, and he didn't like picking up his prey one piece at a time.
"Four," he grumbled to himself. Four arrows added to what he already had, it'd have to do. He didn't have good aim, but he had plenty of time... and in the long run, that counted more. As he gathered his short-bow and fixed the new arrows into his quiver, he patted Malice's flank, making the horse wake with a start and a snort. "Look after the place while I'm gone, alright?" If the horse ever understood a word he said, he'd eat his own shoes. "Guard. Stand. Ahh, forget it."
He set off at a slow trot, bow in-hand, leather bracer folded over his right shirt arm and a glove over his left hand. "Let's see if we can't find some meat, eh?" He missed eating food that he'd caught and killed himself. Nothing else ever felt as... well, satisfying. Even if he was a terrible cook, even if he didn't know anything about spices, or flavours, or textures or any of the other things he'd heard Faith speak of in the brief moments that they'd ever talked about food; nothing was made by him, from what he hunted, from what he killed. The gratification that came from the knowledge that he could look after himself and survive in a world of predators that wanted to kill and prey that didn't want to be killed... that went beyond simple taste-buds.
Surprisingly nearby to his camp, following what he believed to be a trail of some undetermined animal, he heard a low growl. Immediately he drew an arrow from his hip-mounted quiver, knocked it, drew it back and scanned the nearby trees, crouched down so that he nearly rested on one knee. The woods here were sparse, with nary a few trees covering most of a thin veil of foliage. He should have seen anything big enough to growl like that from thirty feet or more. Loosening his bow but with the arrow still nocked, he stalked forward quietly, ready to shoot at a moment's notice.
The growl sounded again; this time, prepared for it, he followed it back to the origin. From behind a small cluster of ferns, a grey-furred wolf stood with heckles raised and teeth bared. "... Greyhide?" But if that was Greyhide, who was the red-haired woman standing before him? "Wait, who're you?"
Nir'wei was quite sure that nobody he knew would really enjoy waking up on a little bedroll, inside a tiny one-person tent in the middle of a largely-unknown forest a good distance away from the nearest city. He did, though. It felt so good, waking up and staring at the translucent fabric stretched overhead between two narrow tree-trunks, that he could cry. His campsite was small. Stones ringed a small fire he'd built last night with small dry sticks layered over thick, oily leaves to keep it on a long, slow burn. All of his belongings still rested in a thick pair of saddlebags resting inches away from his head. The trees here were packed so tightly together that he couldn't find enough room for his tent, small as it was, so he'd improvised and nailed the struts to the neighbouring trees at about chest-height instead, stretching the fabric at a slant in case it rained over the night. It wasn't a particularly large camp, nor was it well put-together, even from Nir'weis inexperienced eye, but it'd been so long since he'd last done this, it really didn't matter.
He'd boarded up all the spaces between the trees with a combination of thick-barked branches knitted together by intertwining their leaves and smaller branches into an arguably crude and flimsy structure, but it at least hid most of his camp and gave a notion of camouflage. The widest gap he'd left unhindered, mostly because he couldn't find enough materials to cover it up and he didn't want to snap branches off the neighbouring trees and disrupt the natural cover provided by the forest, and it was through here that he climbed out of the little nest he'd made for himself.
Malice sat off to the immediate left, a spare blanket draped over his flanks for warmth. Jasper had a hollow log that Nir'wei had picked up and dragged from nearby; the insides were thickly covered in moss to provide a very comfortable bed, although as he crawled out from inside with a sleepy yawn, Nir'wei was rather dismayed to find that he'd taken most of the moss with him, and it now clung to his smooth fur in thick patches. Greyhide, of course, had his own little construct that the Sev'ryn had spent a break or so making, alongside building the camouflage for his campsite. Smaller branches had been knitted together into a wall that rested against a thicker branch sticking out near the bottom of one of the more sturdy tree trunks surrounding his campsite, making a little shaded area where Nir'wei had folded another one of his spare blankets and left as the wolf's sleeping area; however, it looked like he'd gone hunting a little early, since the bed was empty.
It didn't matter; Greyhide could more than take care of himself. While Jasper shook off much of the sticky moss and curled up to groom himself, and while Malice snored loud enough to wake the entire forest, he spent time searching through the small collection of sticks he'd gathered on his way through the woods. Discarding those that showed significant flaws like knobs, bends and uneven surfaces and refining those that didn't, he made small cuts down the bottom of each new arrow-shaft and bored small chunks away from the top to give it little hooks where he could tie the new metal heads to with excess thin string from his pack. The metal heads he could re-use time after time; though sometimes they became dull and he didn't have the tools at hand to sharpen them, it wasn't an outright necessity to have razor-sharp arrow-heads when all he was really using them for was to take down small- and medium-sized game. In the case of smaller animals, stunning was just as good as killing, if not more so. Sharp arrows puncturing small prey just tore them to shreds, and he didn't like picking up his prey one piece at a time.
"Four," he grumbled to himself. Four arrows added to what he already had, it'd have to do. He didn't have good aim, but he had plenty of time... and in the long run, that counted more. As he gathered his short-bow and fixed the new arrows into his quiver, he patted Malice's flank, making the horse wake with a start and a snort. "Look after the place while I'm gone, alright?" If the horse ever understood a word he said, he'd eat his own shoes. "Guard. Stand. Ahh, forget it."
He set off at a slow trot, bow in-hand, leather bracer folded over his right shirt arm and a glove over his left hand. "Let's see if we can't find some meat, eh?" He missed eating food that he'd caught and killed himself. Nothing else ever felt as... well, satisfying. Even if he was a terrible cook, even if he didn't know anything about spices, or flavours, or textures or any of the other things he'd heard Faith speak of in the brief moments that they'd ever talked about food; nothing was made by him, from what he hunted, from what he killed. The gratification that came from the knowledge that he could look after himself and survive in a world of predators that wanted to kill and prey that didn't want to be killed... that went beyond simple taste-buds.
Surprisingly nearby to his camp, following what he believed to be a trail of some undetermined animal, he heard a low growl. Immediately he drew an arrow from his hip-mounted quiver, knocked it, drew it back and scanned the nearby trees, crouched down so that he nearly rested on one knee. The woods here were sparse, with nary a few trees covering most of a thin veil of foliage. He should have seen anything big enough to growl like that from thirty feet or more. Loosening his bow but with the arrow still nocked, he stalked forward quietly, ready to shoot at a moment's notice.
The growl sounded again; this time, prepared for it, he followed it back to the origin. From behind a small cluster of ferns, a grey-furred wolf stood with heckles raised and teeth bared. "... Greyhide?" But if that was Greyhide, who was the red-haired woman standing before him? "Wait, who're you?"
