6/10/2025, 5:43 AM
![[Image: Viv_Aisling.gif]](https://sig.grumpybumpers.com/host/Viv_Aisling.gif)
SKILL : - - - ( 1 / 5 )
The world was alight with the buzz of runes - a concept Aisling did not entirely understand.
Her uncle had found one and, ever since, she had been spending a not-small amount of her free time creating runes for others to find. They were smoothed river stones and pieces of interesting drift wood brought up from the sea connected to the Shallows, decorated with various symbols she came up with herself... painted in colored clay.
Aisling had learned, through her own experimentation, that mixing things like berries and flowers with clay turned the sticky mud-like element into delightful hues - and it had all been downhill from there. She painted herself, her mathair, any of her siblings who would sit still, Foxglove, and - of course - her makeshift runes. It would be a shame not to share such vivid colors with the world, even though it kept her previously pale paws stained various tones, dependent entirely upon what she had been using to dye the clay recently.
Today was no exception. She dragged her cache of river stones to her workshop for the day and set about her typical preparation of the clay paints. She did, of course, sport her most recent flower crown - one could not make runes without one. It was messy and poorly articulated, more mass of shrubbery and sporadic flowers than actual crown. Aisling would need many more lessons from Bjarki or Sneachta before she could have any claim of proficiency.
It was in the midst of her paint-making that she heard someone declare the name of a tree, though she was not certain she had ever heard someone summon a tree before.
Should she be speaking to the trees, too?
Her silver-lilac eyes scanned her surroundings, one purple-splotched paw lifted mid-knead of her paint blend, as she sought to find the tree-speaker.
Maybe cedars were the chatterboxes of the tree world. It was a matter she would later ask Eppie about - they had just celebrated Beltane, and eating the earth's bounty brought one closer to it. As Avon's Diviner and cupped ear to the gods and fae alike, surely she would know.
She lifted to her paws and began to meander toward the voice, failing to notice the gnarled root beneath her. Before she could register what was happening, a paw was snagged from beneath her and she stumbled forward with a yelp clipped short by her faceplant. The flower crown atop her head vaulted forward, landing just in front of her. Her mouthful of dirt and grass notwithstanding, she immediately noticed the ache of her captured front-left paw. The tenderheart winced as she tried to gather herself, favoring her afflicted limb. It was likely just a simple sprain, but she fought the temptation to cry all the same.
Her uncle had found one and, ever since, she had been spending a not-small amount of her free time creating runes for others to find. They were smoothed river stones and pieces of interesting drift wood brought up from the sea connected to the Shallows, decorated with various symbols she came up with herself... painted in colored clay.
Aisling had learned, through her own experimentation, that mixing things like berries and flowers with clay turned the sticky mud-like element into delightful hues - and it had all been downhill from there. She painted herself, her mathair, any of her siblings who would sit still, Foxglove, and - of course - her makeshift runes. It would be a shame not to share such vivid colors with the world, even though it kept her previously pale paws stained various tones, dependent entirely upon what she had been using to dye the clay recently.
Today was no exception. She dragged her cache of river stones to her workshop for the day and set about her typical preparation of the clay paints. She did, of course, sport her most recent flower crown - one could not make runes without one. It was messy and poorly articulated, more mass of shrubbery and sporadic flowers than actual crown. Aisling would need many more lessons from Bjarki or Sneachta before she could have any claim of proficiency.
It was in the midst of her paint-making that she heard someone declare the name of a tree, though she was not certain she had ever heard someone summon a tree before.
Should she be speaking to the trees, too?
Her silver-lilac eyes scanned her surroundings, one purple-splotched paw lifted mid-knead of her paint blend, as she sought to find the tree-speaker.
I don't see any cedars,Aisling called back. She glanced to the tree nearest her, remembering her mathair called it a 'pine'.
Will pine work?
Maybe cedars were the chatterboxes of the tree world. It was a matter she would later ask Eppie about - they had just celebrated Beltane, and eating the earth's bounty brought one closer to it. As Avon's Diviner and cupped ear to the gods and fae alike, surely she would know.
She lifted to her paws and began to meander toward the voice, failing to notice the gnarled root beneath her. Before she could register what was happening, a paw was snagged from beneath her and she stumbled forward with a yelp clipped short by her faceplant. The flower crown atop her head vaulted forward, landing just in front of her. Her mouthful of dirt and grass notwithstanding, she immediately noticed the ache of her captured front-left paw. The tenderheart winced as she tried to gather herself, favoring her afflicted limb. It was likely just a simple sprain, but she fought the temptation to cry all the same.
![[Image: Viv_AislingSig.gif]](https://sig.grumpybumpers.com/host/Viv_AislingSig.gif)
