Irie

When Irie joined her clan she was already donned in her silks and garments, keeping her eyes turned from the plaugelands and then to Shadow. She could blame the gods, turn her ire to the Icewarden for making it hard for her to see in anything in dim light. But she had her blessings, her visions of herself and the dragons around her.

So Irie made her peace with it, caring for the dragons from her little cove while watching the world as the new clan grew into their home intertwined with the shadows.

On one of those such days Dusty was making his rounds, bowing his head to her and offering a polite greeting, and he asked her what she did all day.

"I watch," she replied in a fine tone and Dusty tilted his head, thick tundra fur spilling out from his pale hood.

"Would you like to watch something fun?"

When she agreed, watching the kindly tundra trot on his way back to the main clan and back out to her. In his maw he held a rope, and dangling from it what he called a bird feeder. There was a thought she could offer to help him but the amusement of watching him paw his way up one of the nearby trees was enough to keep her sitting, curled in her blankets. Once he was done, Dusty made his way back to her.

"If you put some grain and seed in here and down below, you'll probably have something better to watch, if you'd like."

So watch she did. It took some time, and a change to her routine but on the fourth day she watched as Black Capped Chickadee and Valley Quail made their appearances in the early morning light. She watched in pure delight at the soft little things flit between the trees and branches down to their nests to feast upon the delightful treats. The next time she saw Dusty, she requested for him to bring back books about birds and their favorite foods.

From there it began a slow burn; Dusty bringing her books and items for outside her nest, helping her set things up and dig new mounds for bushes and flowering plants. When winter rolled into spring and the first blooms encircled her she was delighted beside the tundra to watch the hummingbirds and the chickens that would come to peck around for scratch.

One late summer evening, Dusty came to her and she could sense he was feeling shy. It took some questioning for him to admit that he had something special for her, and that he had to trust her. She was a bit nervous but those nerves quickly flew away at the sight of the familiar he brought for her. The Phoenix, in its young chick stage, chirped excitedly at the two of them before running from the tundra to the spiral, circling a few times before its attention was drawn to the millet she'd tossed that morning.

"You didn't have to," she whispered, and Dusty only laughed.

"I wanted to."