The onset of winter had hit the lands hard and quick. Autumn seemed to be gone in a puff, replace by the harsher realities of lean times. Aesir faced the days as most predators did, with grim determination and drive for survival... and also growing boredom. The world around him seemed to slumber. Bird did not sing so loudly in the mornings, there were no bugs to buzz in his ears or leaves rustling in the trees. The clacking of barren branches was a poor substitute for the orchestra of a spring bloom. The warrior brute felt like he was spending his days surrounded by endless fields of dull grey, occasional snows, and sleet storms. It was a bit of a drag but luckily, he had a solution. Alcohol. At the end of the prior season he had stumbled upon a grove of fruit trees. Ever the investor, Aesir had squirreled some away. He was no stranger to the fermentation of beverages or their delightful after effects, so the prospect of resuming a beloved habit in these new lands wasn't one he was going to pass up.  But there was one hurdle he would have to overcome for this new goal to be realized. He would have to find somewhere to put it. Back home there were skilled craftsmen and various species of servant animals to assist creative types in making all sorts of useful tools, pots and jars included. Until being forced to leave, Aesir had never really considered the logistics behind it all. Prior to exile if he wanted a drink he would make his way to the market with a plump hare or two and get himself appropriately swilled. This was going to take a smidge more planning. First order of business was some sort of container. He'd seen all sorts of odd bits and bobs used, but the easiest he was likely to make himself would probably come from clay. So he'd made his way towards the sound of running water, thankful that the freeze had the babbling stream running low. He trekked along its bank for a time before coming at last upon what he'd hoped for. A long, slick bank of clay lay exposed above the retreated waterline, untouched except for the wandering tracks of a days-gone raccoon. He sat and looked about, fully intending to make sure he had all of his thoughts in line before beginning. One did not simply rush the production of something as important as booze. No, no. He would have to take his time. "Aesir Speaks" "Aesir Listens" Aesir Thinks (Mouseover For Translations)

Winter had at last arrived. She had plotted and planned, orchestrating alliances and trade for Abaven, and keeping a close eye on the herds around the pack. She wanted to ensure it would not a lean season for her growing pack. Growing pack she tried not to dwell too hard just how much Abaven was growing. Her stomach was not yet showing the signs, and her scent was only subtly changed, a wolf had to be paying close attention to realise the state the Alpha was in. Determined to keep herself fit and active, the Alpha took to long jogs around the outskirts of Abaven and the territories nearby. She called it scouting, after all, the slavers where still an ongoing threat to her pack. Really, it was a small act of rebellion against her own body, which would soon slow and betray her, limiting what she could do. Valentine had told them they would attack once winter had properly set in, and she needed to be in perfect shape when that happened. It would be on one of these runs, that she would race across the territory of Sunset falls, and catch she scent of another. She slowed, puffing a little, as she approached the stream. She could feel the cool touch of winter, but exercise had warmed her body, and chased away the chill. She hadn’t expected the sight of the dark wolf, in the slippery clay along the river bank, looking deeply lost in thought. “It’s not the best season for a bath.” she commented rhyly as she approached. "Talk" "Listen" Think

Consumed as he was by the task at hand, Aesir was oblivious to the approach of another. When he voice split out over the sound of the babbling stream, he held in a sigh. Was there no peace to be found in this world. He turned slowly, looking over his shoulder to take in the appearance of a dark pelted shewolf, tinged with a slate-like blue. She was tall, wore a feather behind her ear, and was looking at him in wry amusement. It earned her a thin smile in return, with very little warmth in it. "Some would argue that there is no good season for a bath. If you come much closer, you may come to find out which side I'm on." It was a thinly laced threat, but one with very little heart in it. Aesir wanted to drink far more than he wanted to fight. Besides, there was always the potential to con this woman into helping. He turned to face her more fully. "To set aside any curiosities, you've interrupted my planning. I'm thinking of ways to make clay containers." He grumbled under his breath. "And I've yet to come across craftsmen of any real skill in these lands." Returning his gaze to the woman he sniffed as the wind changed. "You smell of pack. I don't suppose you'd know of anything like that?" He would be surprised if she did. The wolves here all seemed to be woefully uneducated in the finer ways of living. A bit barbaric, really. Well, that could be changed. He had a hard time believing there was any realm where some living creature had not yet come across a way to ferment fruit. Perhaps his grand quest to redemption could revolve around enlightening the poor sods, surely that would be enough to please his gods? Aesir chuckled to himself. A brute could dream. "Aesir Speaks" "Aesir Listens" Aesir Thinks (Mouseover For Translations)