#baronyofthesilverwolf

Gwen watches, and whispers "Little Spirit, learn kindness"

As Thistle carves the glyph into the heart-shaped vessel, the eight-pointed star begins to emerge clearly and crisply. With each steady stroke, her focus sharpens, and she channels her intent into the design.

She can feel the successes - the movements of her hands, the way the clay curls away in delicate spirals mirroring the shape she is carving, it just feels correct, precise - right.

The points of the star radiate with potential - balance and harmony. As Thistle imbues it with her will, she feels the energy of love, protection, and devotion intertwine within every line. Each point of the star seems to pulse responding to her touch, and the clay warms further under her hands, more so that from her body heat.

This is a good place - her and the clay and the work, connected, away from restless distraction and mundane concerns. She's here, in the place where she feels most herself, where craft and magic and soul-song blur together.

As the lines deepen, and she carves the final "swoosh" at the end of the Glyph, the whole resonates with warmth. Thistle can feel something deep within her, infusing the heart with magic that transcends mere creation.

In this moment, the simple clay vessel becomes more than just an object; a representation of her devotion to her art, but also intertwining her feelings with the essence of the glyph itself.

However, it is not yet complete.

----

After Art was shooed away by Citrine a 3rd time, he started being useful. The hole that Gwen and David exhumed has been lined with long, flat stones that he dredged up from the lakebed - after all, he was already wet! He also dug a few small tunnels... after the 2nd attempt collapses, David adjusts the composition of the soil to harden enough for a couple to remain open for airflow.

He also found a small stash of coal, for use in a small heating stove, though he was about ready to go searching for firewood if that didn't suffice.

"Nice find"

"It's dusty - does coal expire?" He wipes sweat from his brow, leaving an ashy streak, but he doesn't notice or seem to mind.

Seeing Thistle lift her makeshift tool from the clay, he steps over. Then pauses, eyeing Citrine, in case he's about to get scolded again. He whispers, "How is it going?"

She looks up, eyes shining. "Good. It feels good."

"I tried to remember what you told me about how the kilns work." He looks over the heart, and tilts his head a bit. "That... it looks..." A pause, and he just smiles back at her. "Good."

She breaks into a bright smile, spirals shifting to the warm coral that Art always seems to bring out.

"We'll need to keep the air steady - can't heat it up too fast, or it could shatter."

"I put in those little tunnels, for air flow. Well, David did. It kept collapsing on me."

"Guess boring you with all my chatter about kiln thermodynamics worked out okay."

"S'perfect."

He gives her a puzzled look! "You never bore me."

A blink, briefly nonplussed.

"Well, I guess you like reading about all kinds of stuff." Blushing now.

Now KISS! But Gwen only thinks it. No need to embarrass them

"Oh, I've read things that are boring. But hearing someone talk about something that inspires them? That's never old. And you inspire me."

Fuchsia! She stammers a little. "We.. we've got to start a fire... I.. oh, you found coal, coal's great, yeah..."

She rubs her hands together, and they begin to spark like steel on flint.

"Oh, here, see I found some tinder and such.... it's old, but I think it will still light?"

Meanwhile, David murmurs to Gwen, "Pardon me." He has stepped aside to the edge of the clearing and is... talking to himself?

"Add it." She nods!

She grows curious, and tries to respect his step aside, but watches him

More rubbing, then, as she blows on her hands as if to warm them, they burst into an aura of small flames.

Thistle and Art have to work at it for a few minutes - the tinder is old and damp, and the coal also has been stored poorly over the decades. But eventually they have a fire just starting to crackle, in no small part to Thistle's contribution.

As David steps back, Gwen sees movement - or rather, she doesn't see - but the dirt by his feet stirs, the edge of his shirt moves, and a few dry leaves dance as a gentle breeze swirls around him, carrying with it a sense of calm and warmth.

"I hope that you do not mind an intrusion. I have called... " He considers the breeze, and then answers, "A friend."

A wispy figure materializes gracefully, her form a shimmering wisp of soft blues and whites, reminiscent of clouds and sky. She glides forward, her presence vibrant and ethereal, as she acknowledges Gwen with a nod.

"David has called in a boon - and I have come to lend my breath," she says, her voice light and airy, like the whisper of wind through leaves. "What is it that you require?"

Citrine almost falls out of the sky. CHIME!

She buzzes over, and THROUGH the Paroseme, for such is what she is, and laughs in little tinkling bells at the novelty of it all!

She crouches over the small fire, coaxing it and feeding it - her pyretics aren't advanced enough to make flames dance to her will, for all that she has a knack for starting them.

Though the first appearance of the sylph was that of grace and elegance, after Citrine buzzes past, the figure wavers and almost collapses into airy giggles!

“Oh, oh! I almost forgot my manners! I am Zephyra, a Paroseme of Air! You know, like the breezes that tickle your cheeks and dance through the trees! David and I go way back—he did something spectacular for me once involving a rather pesky thunderstorm and some delightful singing birds. But that is a story for another time!"

David is stoic, but Gwen recognizes something in the set of his jaw or the cant of his brow - a VERY familiar look, that she has felt many a time on dealing with Pooka. Long Suffering, but too polite to mention it - especially as he has asked her here to help...

"Sister Breeze, welcome. Seek the crafter child for best advice on how to use your gift"

"Paroseme is SUCH a mouthful, some call us Sylphs, or sprites! I hear that there is a drink called Sprite, do you have some? May I try it? Oh, may I? Sister breeze? I like that! Lovely! You are a strange Glome!"

"Ah, David, you remember that time we made that thunderstorm dance? I still chuckle at how the clouds were all 'Why are we swirling?' and I said, 'Because it is fun!' And, oh, the look on the farmers' faces when it rained just in their fields! Speaking of which, do you think we could replicate that effect with your kiln here? It could be a little windy party!"

She gives an understanding look to the glome

Art's jaw has dropped. "Ahhh- " He nudges Thistle.

David clears his throat. "No, we shall not do such today." He says, not unkindly, but VERY firmly.

"Art, we need... maybe a fan?"

NUDGE

"Huh?"

Zephyra blows a raspberry at David.

Citrine repeats it, spinning circles around her NEW BEST FRIEND.

A laugh that is like air tinkling through Windchimes, but somehow distinct from Citrine's sound, though a bit similar in a way.

"Huh. Ain't that somethin'?"

The paroseme whisks over to peer into the makeshift kiln.

"Oh, poo! Well, FINE, then I am here to help with your project! I simply cannot wait to see this come to life! It is such a fun idea! I am positively storming with excitement! You must tell me all about theisglyph as we go along! Do you think it will sing? Or maybe it will whisper secrets? Oh, the possibilities are endless! Let us get to work!”

Blink!

"We need to feed the fire without putting it out..." Priorities!

David says in an apologetic tone, "Zephyra is... excitable, but her control over winds is undeniable. If you wish it, she will be your bellows."

"Bellows? What an UGLY word! Ha! Oh, I will show you, you silly stone. You know, we could have used a solimond for the fire! They make the most delightful flames, all dancing and flickering in such vibrant colors! But then again, silly me! Glomes and solimonds—such a ridiculous little feud!"

David looks nonplussed.

"Neither here, nor there." He rumbles.

The breeze pours over Thistle, and Zephera seems to have an innate understanding of what is needed, feeding a rope of wind in. The fire ROARS! Perhaps too much...

"I've heard about solimonds... they sound baller, honestly, but... DAMN, Windy!" Appreciation.

Art barely manages to keep his eyebrows intact!

"Whoops! Hee hee! Oh, I can do steady, steady as we go, just tell me how much!"

"She's impressive" She admits to David