Kyrna

Kyrna sketched and measured, chiseled and whittled, drilled and hammered. It was all routine at this point, her claws a whirl of perfect precision. Though her work went uncriticized, many of her fellow sculptors found it in them to chastise her for her choice of dress. Who would wear such frilly skirts to their workshop? It must be maddening, they said, to have to deal with it bunching up around your legs all the time.

But that simply wasn't so, not with Kyrna. The skirts were as much a part of her routine as the tools and the wood. It had taken her so long to find the perfect tailor to make such a garment-- she herself knew the value of good craftsmanship, and wouldn't allow anything but the best-- and much, much longer to scrape up the funds to get it. Her business as a sculptor was lucrative enough, but as soon as she turned to sculpting prosthetics, it was as if a world had opened up for her.

Seeing the appreciation in the eyes of those who viewed her sculptures was good enough before, but the sheer gratitude that bloomed in hearts when dragons found themselves walking unfettered again was like nothing else. Her first leg-- a curling piece of Gladewood, talons carved into the wood-- garnered tears of joy when it was presented to the Nocturne recipient. She always strove to use pieces from all the lands: a horn crafted of driftwood, a stone foot for a Snapper, a bamboo wing-brace.

Her next piece was a true masterwork, carved directly from Starwood. An entire functioning tail, light as the real thing, twined around her fingers. Its joints were designed to fit around the stump of the old tail, curling and swaying with natural motion. The tail was such an important part of the body for flight, and barring some sort of malfunction, the Bogsneak that received it would be able to take to the sky again.

How she loved to grant such joy.