Paint the colours of the wind

He found Ignita in the storeroom, and scarcely came to a stop before he was barking but orders. “Ignita, come.” He commanded his slave, turning on his heel and leaving the room again. Knowing his little Songbird would be at his heels, he led her across the Col. Heading to a little den that sat unoccupied across from her own Den. He pushed aside the makeshift door and entered, his tail swishing slowly behind him. A grin twitched on his maw, out of her sight.


They arrived at last, to a low table made for a wolf to easily sit in front of and rest in as they worked. On the table was an array of parchments of different sizes, and next to that… that a large variety of little pots inside the pots sprang the primary colours, though a few pots were empty, and a flat dished container lay near them. “I met a travelling trader.” And had paid very, very dearly for this collection. Some of the finest coats he had caught and skinned himself were gone from the den now. “On that paper you'll find some care instructions. Apparently the paints can dry out over time, but it's easy to bring them back to life. This is yours, Ignita. All of it.” at last, his commanding tone bleed away, and a hint of doubt entered. “If you want them, that is.”