Zephyr had hardly stepped foot into the courtyard since being brought into the folds of the Hallows. The castle offered just too much - a healthy pantry, plush rugs, warm fireplaces, and plenty of capable canines around to mooch snacks from. The courtyard in comparison was too bright, the food was still alive (and ran faster than he did,) and the wind felt like cold razors beneath his fluffy unkempt down. There were, however, patches of sunlight that almost rivaled the roar of the fireplaces for warmth and comfort, and the hatchling was determined to find a way to enjoy the sun without the bite of cold from the winds.

He hopped down from the massive doorway and into the courtyard, leaning his long neck out as he waddled as if it might get him across the grasses faster. In the chick's imaginative head he was racing the wind, and surely if he managed to make it to the fencing before the next gust blew it might defend him from the cold. Tiny panicked croaks peeled from his beak as he ran, his stubby wings outstretched on either side and flapping hard.  

"Zephyr"

The sun has started shinning more frequently than it has been raining and Fern has spent as much time as she can outside. Her sword training has progressed and, since Artorias gave her a live sword, the gray girl has taken to walking the courtyard and garden with her broadsword clutched in mouth. The hunter green hilt is clasped in her jaws while the matching scabbard is buckled across her back. Slowly, she trots through the gardens, swinging the sword from side every now and again. The heft of real steel sword is drastically different from her wooden one, so Fern is taking time to relearn how to wield a sword. Meanwhile, Puff bounces along the path beside the gray girl, sometimes disappearing to go and smell flowers.

Fern is so focused on what she is doing that she does not see the small, fuzzy bird stretching its neck out and running from the steps of the castle to the fence. However, she does hear some weird croaks and her ocean-hued gaze turns to try find the source. She stops moving and stands awestruck for a moment, watching as the young bird flabs its stubby wings hard as it goes. Gray eyebrows raise as she watches the progress, not even stopping to ponder how strange she might look with her sword. Quickly, Fern slides the weapon back into its scabbard and cautiously approaches the young one. Rumors have been flying (no pun intended) around the castle about Artorias taking charge of a young ward. Is... is this them?

Gently, the gray girl says, “Well hello there young one. Are you alright?” The downy gray fuzzy that covers the bird is ruffled when a soft breeze picks up. Fern carefully approaches the bird, a kind smile on her light lips. Suddenly, Puff runs up next the gray wolf and says, “Hey Fern you have to smell the honeysuckle! They are…” The stoat’s voice falls away as her eyes turn to the young bird and Puff bluntly asks, “What are you?” Fern groans inwardly and hopes that the small stoat has not offended the young bird.


"Fern Lark" | "Puff"

He barely made it in time to the fence post, squishing himself against it and breathing hard from the exertion. A gust of wind blew, catching his soft downy feathers and bringing a chill to his poorly shielded body. Fence posts did not seem to do much to break the wind. The chick deflated, pulling in his feathers and shivering as the voice called to him. "No, I'm not alright, I don't have fur!" Zephyr complained, stomping his small talons in the grass. "Why do wolves get fur, it's not fair." This wolf was a stranger to him, but thus far the majority of canine's he'd met in the castle had all been friendly and given him no reason to fear. Zeph assumed this wolf must also belong to Artorias, and thus fall under the blanket of family and friends who he could trust.

Suddenly a second voice broke through and Zephyr's eyes grew wide as he turned toward the stoat. "I didn't know squirrels could talk!" He gasped, suddenly rethinking the ethics of his favorite meal. Could all prey animals talk? Would they talk to him as he tried to eat them, when he was big enough to hunt? This squirrel was much, much bigger then any his mother owl had brought to him in his nest, but if wolves came in such different sizes then it seemed reasonable squirrels did too. "I'm a bird." His answer eventually came, aqua gaze flicking back and forth between the kind-eyed wolf and the oversized companion squirrel. "I don't know what bird, I think Artorias is trying to figure that out. One of the teeny wolves said I was a chicken, but then she tried to eat me so she might have been lying."

"Zephyr"

Fern watches the chick as he shivers and a frown tugs her lips downward. The bird seems very cold and the gray girl listens to his complaint, nodding slowly at the young one’s statement about fur. The girl gives a small chuckle and gentle smile as she says, “I know some wolves who would say, ‘why do birds get wings? It isn’t fair’. But, right now, maybe we should find a way to help you get warm.” As Fern starts to take a step toward the chilly chick, Puff appears and begins to talk, ending with a blunt statement asking what the bird is. The bird’s eyes were wide as he exclaims about not knowing squirrels could talk which causes a huge smile to appear on the gray wolf’s lips and she works to fight down a laugh.

Puff gives the young bird an incredulous look and, with great exasperation, the stoatsays, “I’m not a squirrel! Squirrels have poofy tails and are crazy about nuts. I’m a stoat! We are very vicious hunters of rabbits!” The stoat stands on her hind legs, stretching herself up to her full, albeit meager, height and bares her tiny but sharp teeth. Fern’s laugh has Puff looking to her friend and she blinks for a moment before giving the gray wolf a smile and returning to all fours. The gray girl finally begins to move toward the bird, giving a small shake of her head and chuckle as she says, “Puff is a fierce stoat and you’re a unique bird! By the way, you are definitely not a chicken. You look much to ferocious to be one.” The words are gentle as she attempts to win over the bird’s trust and make a new friend.

A gust of cold air blows and the wolf watches as it ruffles the downy gray feathers of the young bird. Puff suddenly notices that the chick seems cold and, without a word, the young stoat scampers away, moving up the steps and disappearing into the castle. Fern stops and watches her friend for moment before huffing a sigh turning back to the chick. With a warm smile, she says, “My name is Fern. That was Puff.” A soft chuckle escapes before she continues, “Want to come with me? I have been trying to find a nice sunny spot to sit in. Maybe you can help me? I can… give you ride if you want.” The gray wolf’s smile grows as she waits to see what the chick will do.


"Fern Lark" | "Puff"

The kind female's words were reasonable, but still, Zephyr's near-featherless face contorted into a pout. What benefit were wings when you couldn't fly with them? Though he refused to say as much aloud, in case doubting his ability to fly might jinx him when he was old enough to attempt it. His mother owl had insisted that believing you could fly was every bit as important as the flight feathers he'd one day grow. "Okay, you can keep your fur." The child grumbled. "I'd rather have wings."

The not-squirrel seemed incredulous at the implication and Zephyr stumbled backward as she stood up on her hind legs bearing her teeth. He had never seen a land creature stand upon two feet as he could - this stoat was an interesting creature indeed. His head bobbed up and down in acknowledgment, aqua gaze fixed upon the tiny teeth. "Fierce indeed!" Zeph agreed hastily. Remembering Artorias' lecture when his tiny sister had called Zephyr the wrong species, directed a polite apology toward the stoat. "I'm sorry I called you a squirrel." The kind-eyed female assured him then that he was not a chicken, and looked ferocious just like her stout companion. Zephyr's plumage puffed up in pride, a grin upon his beak.

As suddenly as he appeared, the stoat had vanished. Zephyr had been preoccupied with the sudden gust of wind and keeping his balance beneath the breeze. "He must be cold too." Zephyr mused, craning his neck around to search for where the companion had run to. He did not have long to deliberate upon it when the female was speaking again, introducing herself and offering the young raptor a ride toward the sunshine. "I'm Zephyr." The chick gave back, already hopping toward Fern to accept said ride. "I want to come! If you crouch down, I can climb up. I'm getting really good at it." Riding upon wolves was one of his favorite past times, doubling as not only a much faster method of transportation than his featherless legs and way more fun. Should Fern crouch for him, Zeph would begin to scale her using his beak and talons.

"Zephyr"

The cold chick grumbles and Fern offers him a gentle smile and a soft chuckle. Puff gets indigent about being called a squirrel and the gray girl bites the inside of cheek to keep from laughing. Keen eyes catch the way the fluffy bird stumbles backward and the gray girl feels her body tense as it prepares to leap forward and catch the chick if he starts to fall. The young bird agrees to Puff’s statement that she is fierce, his head bobbing and hasty words following. Fern watches their exchange and feels the tension begin to melt away, the exchange between the stoat and bird making her interject with soft words. The bird apologizes for calling Puff a squirrel and the stoat giggles, waving a small paw through the air to brush the whole business aside.

A breeze blew, ruffling the downy feathers that cover the chick and Puff is suddenly running toward the castle. At the bird’s words, Fern looks to him and gives a small shrug, saying, “Puff has always danced to the beat of her own drum. I have learned not to question her too much.” A smile accompanies the words as she introduces herself and asks for help. The chick gives his name and another, brighter smile appears on Fern’s face as she follows Zephyr’s instructions, moving toward him as he hops forward. She lowers her body to allow him easier access to her back. Remembering the sword buckled across her back, the gray girl says, “If it helps, you can hold onto my sword’s scabbard. Just… please be careful. It was a gift from Art.”

Once Zephyr is settled, Fern stands and turns to head toward the gardens, asking her passenger, “Which way do you think we should go Zephyr? I am making you the pilot.” As she waits for the chick’s direction, a small, muffled voice calls out from behind the pair, “WAIT!” Fern slowly swings them around till she spies Puff running back toward them with something trailing from her mouth. The stoat makes it to the pair and effortlessly climbs Fern’s leg, before she approaches Zephyr. Taking the object from her mouth, Puff holds it out to show it to the chick as she says, “I’m sorry I got mad. You look really cold. Want to wear my cape for a bit?” Fern’s heart melts as the stoat unrolls a special cape that the gray girl had made for during the rainy season. It is just a patch of deer fur that she attached a chain and clasp to allow the stoat to wear it more comfortably.

Offering her cloak to Zephyr, Puff waits to see if the cold chick will accept her peace offering before moving to help him don it if he wishes.

"Fern Lark" | "Puff"

The kind eyed wolf assured him with a smile as the stoat ran off, and Zephyr reluctantly turned his beak from the castle where she had disappeared to direct his attention back toward the canid to take the offered ride. Grasping his beak into her fur carefully, he tugged himself atop the wolf's back, noticing the sword that lay across her spine. Swallowing hard, he maneuvered his way carefully to ensure the safety of the precious accessory, finding himself settling between her shoulder blades where he was most stable. Fern had allowed him to touch it if it helped, but the young raptor would rather have fallen off her back than risk damaging a gift from his adopted father. "I won't hurt it." Zephyrus swore, lifting a talon to his chest as if making the wolf a true oath.

Settled in and prepared for transit, Zeph considered the question. He was the pilot? This was new and exciting, making him regret that it was just a trip to a nice sunny patch and not a longer adventure. Before he could give a direction, a muffled voice called out from behind. Zephyr's vulture-like neck craned over his shoulder, his aqua gaze brightening as the stoat returned. "You're a very nice stoat." He observed, blinking hard with emotion. "The finest stoat I've ever seen, I think." Giving the companion a soft smile, he bent his neck toward her to accept the generous lending of the cape. Were all wolves so kind and welcoming, or was it Artorias and Briar's influence that formed such a close-knit community? Whatever the reason, Zephyr found himself exceedingly grateful to have been born into it - even if he wasn't really born into it at all. "Yes, please, I am cold. Do you want to be my co-pilot? I bet you know where the best warm places are." Patting the wolf's back gently with a wing, he encouraged the stoat to join them.

"Zephyr"