Post by Nevan J. Blake on Jan 10, 2013 0:45:35 GMT -5
Nevan J. Blake didn’t really look the part of a woodsman. He was too skinny and as he trudged through the woods he would trip up on occasion, and sometimes his heavy black cloak would snag on something and Nevan would have to struggle to tear it off. Torin, his tomcat, was perched on his shoulders and mewling miserably as he tried to use the wide brim of Nevan’s witches had to shield himself from the wet snow that had been coming down on and off for a good six hours now.
The reason the young witch boy was dragging himself through the muddy stretches of the forest just as dawn was breaking was because he needed to catch some of the fat birds that nested in the roots of the Tangle trees before they woke up and took off flying for the day. Nevan’s aunt usually kept nine or ten of them in her home at all times but she had killed half of them to use their blood and bones for potions so she had sent her nephew out to catch a few more, the fatter the better. Females too, so that there would be eggs in the spring, his aunt had requested.
There were three empty cages at his heavy black belt, two had already been filled with birds Nevan had subsequently drugged to prevent them from calling out warnings to any other animals in the area. The boy was dressed mostly in black, from his pants to his tunic to his gloves and even sweeping cloak had been lined with dark fur. The only thing on him that was not black was the crude sword of iron that hung at his side to protect him from Fae.
Not that Nevan really thought he needed protection, and that aside he wasn’t really fantastic with a sword. Which was why he also had a few bottles of potions that would burst into flames or blind someone if Nevan used them, since his understanding of his own potions was impeccable. Even with the protection, though, Nevan felt as miserable as Torin. He would much rather be at home next to the fire with a hot cuppa rather than out here in the sleet looking for birds.
The reason the young witch boy was dragging himself through the muddy stretches of the forest just as dawn was breaking was because he needed to catch some of the fat birds that nested in the roots of the Tangle trees before they woke up and took off flying for the day. Nevan’s aunt usually kept nine or ten of them in her home at all times but she had killed half of them to use their blood and bones for potions so she had sent her nephew out to catch a few more, the fatter the better. Females too, so that there would be eggs in the spring, his aunt had requested.
There were three empty cages at his heavy black belt, two had already been filled with birds Nevan had subsequently drugged to prevent them from calling out warnings to any other animals in the area. The boy was dressed mostly in black, from his pants to his tunic to his gloves and even sweeping cloak had been lined with dark fur. The only thing on him that was not black was the crude sword of iron that hung at his side to protect him from Fae.
Not that Nevan really thought he needed protection, and that aside he wasn’t really fantastic with a sword. Which was why he also had a few bottles of potions that would burst into flames or blind someone if Nevan used them, since his understanding of his own potions was impeccable. Even with the protection, though, Nevan felt as miserable as Torin. He would much rather be at home next to the fire with a hot cuppa rather than out here in the sleet looking for birds.