something beautiful

“Heh, well, I wouldn’t know about that” he disagreed as he carefully turned the wire. His movements were slow and precise. Steady, without the speed experience would carry. Her own hands had been clever and precise as she worked on the greater part of the windchime. Once he finished twisting his wire, he looked at the piece he held, and thought of trees that had shadowed a wide, clean lake. Of the hundreds of windchimes placed in the branches, from low to high. When the wind brushed through, the world had sung. “My people believe that windchimes carry the voices of those that have passed.” He said, voice soft for a moment as he stared at the glass, and then shook his head at his whimsical words.

“If her jail is of her own making, then being her friend would be the best tool you have to show her something better and give her the strength to break free. If the restraints that hold her are of another, then she would need a different kind of strength. I reside in the caves to the North, just past the Battlefield. If you find the strength she needs is the second sort, you can call on me there.” As he spoke, he carefully studied the windchime in his paws.

As for her question on packs. “If you give it some time, then look up a pack named Menagerie, and you’ll find me there” he raised his eyes to her again, a little bit of mischief in their blue depths.

"Speech"