Arben

Arben
Apprentice Weaver | Chaos Incarnate


“Your.... brother?” Suspen’s fans twitched in disbelief, “Stila, forgive me for saying so but I had at some point forgotten that you hatched at all... Is he your only sibling? Do you know?”
The kit squirmed in Stila’s embrace, escaping over her shoulder and up a tapestry like a resourceful cat.
“No, I have many siblings Allmother. We have all gone our separate ways, many of us since childhood, but I do share blood with some. My own clutch was three, and there were several before me.”
A pause and an uncharacteristically expressive nod from Suspen, punctuated by a high-pitched stream of chittering hisses from atop the shredded tapestry. Stila smiled up at the kit and whistled back, chattering to him in the natal language all Nocturnes share.
“...I am remembering now, is it not a custom in your home clan to send hatchlings off with letters? Words of wisdom and encouragement from their dames? Elluin has one as well, but this child has none.” And indeed, the ornate scroll case that should have contained a note was missing from around the boy’s neck. Stila nodded thoughtfully, though it was obvious she already had an idea.
“I think, Allmother, that the boy has no letter, not because he was sent without one, but because he was not sent at all. Is that right?” She turned fully and chattered to the kit for a moment before nodding. “He says he ran away. He will not tell me from what, but he speaks of the trees growing tired and sick. He says he wanted to find me, because of the stories mother tells.” She seemed to preen for a moment at that, but recovered quickly. “I will have to explore this further at another time, but for now, may he stay here? He can live with Amroq and I until he has a proper den.”
Suspen nodded easily,
“Of course, we never turn away a lost kit or a windswept traveller... and it seems he is both. But what is his name?” Stila scrutinized the boy for a long moment, as he attempted to crawl down the mangled tapestry with limited success, then scooped him up and whistled lowly with him.
“He says his name is Arben.”
“Well, Arben, welcome to Xemas.”

"Arben! No... STILAAA!! Love-come-get-your g-g-gremlin he's tearing up my s-supplies!"
A crash, followed by a tumbling noise and the frantic flapping of tiny bat-wings drew a certain beleaguered pink mage from her sleep and into the weaving chambers.
"Callista. What a joy it is to meet you this early in the morning." The exuberant triple-flap of Callista's approach was all the warning Stila received before her world was turned over by a barreling cannonball of pink and brighter pink.
"Take... him-m! Please!! Can't have him in here! He's.... He doesn't sleep!"
"....I thought you liked children-n."
"Love them! Not him. Not now. I'm trying-g to make a blanket. Have... to restart... now." The agitated spiral shoved the temporarily restrained kit into Stila's claws, where he chittered happily, mumbling in common,
"Threads, threads!" A scratchy imitation of the seamstress, but better than usual...
A long-suffering sigh.
"Yes, Arben. Threads. We are going to go to sleep now, and stop bothering Madame Callista, right?"
"Threads!"
"..."