Shaping   2509.09.24*  
Written By: Angie Cousins
(2010 Trade Angel) Some elves never let a moment's chance at influence slip by.
Posted: 08/29/10      [10 Comments]
 

"No. I said to leave that alone." True Edge barely lifted his pale gaze from the stones cradled in his calloused hands. Beneath the delicate chips and precise knicks, a strong, wedge-shaped blade was forming and, judging by the resistance of the rock, it would be solid enough for a hand-axe. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly with satisfaction. The moment was abruptly cut short, though, at the sound of a crash to his left. Biting back a curse, too mindful of who could have been the source, True Edge set down his work and turned to look at his sheepish grandson.

Rill stood, rubbing his head and angling his toes into a fair mimicry of the many birds he liked to chase. He dropped his blue-eyed stare to study the floor of the den and tangled his mischievous hands in front of him. Overall, the posture reflected the instincts of a cub knowing when best to show throat. Ordinarily, it might have been something that annoyed him, especially seeing it so easy and immediate in his very own grandson, but then he caught a flicker of sly wolf-sense when those blue eyes flicked upwards to check his reaction. True Edge suppressed a smirk.

Silence stretched between them for three-hands of heartbeats and then Rill let out a howl, hand going to his head again and pointing an accusing finger at the tumbled mess spread across the den floor - bits of leather, bone, and wood all fallen from the safety of their hollow gourd container. When all True Edge did was sit back a bit further and regard the mess with a steady eye, Rill's voice trembled and faded. His hand left his head and he looked down at the scattered bits with a scowl. "It hit me," he muttered sullenly.

"Mmhm." True Edge moved to pick up his work again. "That's what happens when cubs play with things they oughtn't," he added dryly. "I had that up high for a reason." He cast a quick sideways glance at his grandson. "Do you go through your mother's things, too, without permission?"

Rill shook his head, one foot absently pushing at a bit of bone while his attention fixed on True Edge. "Uh uh," he admitted. "She'd nip me." He moved a hand behind his neck to grab his collar and tug as if demonstrating other forms of chastisement he had endured from others - just to prove a point of variety. Then he gave his grandsire a toothy, beaming grin.

True Edge sighed. Yes, that sounded like his daughter. Despite the new level of consideration between his mate and their wolfish child, Quick Fang still resisted the patience that Snowfall preached. He, on the other hand, completely understood the desire and saw the need to cuff the overly mischievous cub at times. Once and done and over with, clear as the light of the moons. Rill had a lot to learn about listening to his elders. Thoughtfully, he chipped his shaping stone against the forming blade in his other hand. He paused then and considered the situation. Rill was young, untried. He needed to be shaped and honed. Just like one of his blades. Rill might be a more even balance of wolf and elf but he lacked control and focus. True Edge looked up to regard his grandson.

Fidgeting under the silence, Rill tried for another toothy smile at the sudden, direct attention.

"Rill, why haven't you picked up those things yet?" Though his words were mild, a thread of implied reproach ran beneath them. He watched Rill react instinctively and look towards the mess, then back to him. He lifted one golden eyebrow. Then, deliberately, he indicated the scattered possessions with one of the stones in his hands. "Clean up the mess, Rill."

A moment of defiance flared but it burnt out almost as quickly, quailing at True Edge's pale, implacable look - a smart pup, willing to bide his time. Soon Rill was on hands and knees as he scooped up the bits and bobs with chubby fingers. Allowing himself a faint smile, True Edge returned to his shaping with deft, quiet clicks. Yes, indeed. Just like one of his blades. If only the talent had passed along true. Well, he supposed, that was just another something to explain to his little family. He was looking forward to it.

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