Warm Your Bones

Continuing to fasten the obsidian shards to the sticks, Mitros split his attention easily between his craft and his grand uncle as he spoke. Wine was likely to be a thing wolves would appreciate in the festivities, and while he never took to the taste himself he could see the consideration that went into the decision. "Adults and their wine." He mused, playful. "I'm doing well as I can be. A bit lonely, though, I miss Fireside. I suppose if I had gone to the pirates like my father had planned, I'd be making some wine too. Never understood the draw, however." The spears were going quickly, nearly half of the bent sticks wearing their obsidian tips.

"I'm not sure what you'd call it, a bowl I suppose. It's just a decoration, I plan to have it look like spears surrounding the bowl for some sort of centerpiece." Mitros had not been taught many skills aside from basic hunting and fighting, crafting was a new thing for him. If he'd had known this festival was coming he'd have bribed Corbie to let him keep one of the elephant tusks from their prey so long ago. It would have been equally as aesthetic with a hell of a lot less work.

"Speech"