[Richter]

He placed the stones meticulously, fitting them carefully next to each other, over the row beneath. He had gathered them for this very purpose, choosing flat rectangular pieces over round or overly jagged. As he fit the row together, he drew close the basket of clay he'd gathered from one of the shores. Diligently, he coated this layer of rock in clay, making sure to stuff every crack and crevice, just like the rows beneath. Each row arranged in a circle, one atop the other, forming a stone and claw bowl upon the earth. It was large enough for a pair of wolves to lay in comfortably, but what sat in the center instead was a crackling fire. It warmed the clay as he went, drying and hardening it. A stone and hardened clay bonfire pit.

Or was it? Tortuga already had a large bonfire, the everburning flame fed and guarded by Torches, the center of every pack meeting. But it didn't serve the purposes Richter had in mind. Sticking objects into open flame and watching what happens only gets one so far. Fire changed things, altered the very nature of things, in ways he wanted to harness. He'd seen what happened to sand when lightning struck it; what if he could get the fire hot enough to recreate that himself? Clay hardened when heated; what about other kinds of earth? He'd seen enough jewelry and tools taken from humans to have some ideas of his own. He'd learned leatherworking and tattooing, and created an alphabet; the secrets of smelting would soon be his as well.

He did not hear whoever approached over the sound of crashing waves, but he caught their scent on the breeze as the wind suddenly shifted directions. "Here to watch the wolfdog work?" he asked without looking up, using a paw to even out the layer of clay.

[Puffin]

Not at all, go for it!

[Vesta]

Firedancing Slave of Tortuga         ⚶    "It is with our passions as it is with fire and water, they are good servants, but bad masters." - Aesop

She had been bought.  Finally away from the traders and their oppressive caravans.  The noose was gone from around her neck, and despite her slave status, she felt freer than she had in a long time.  Her new Master walked along, and she followed obediently a step behind him.  While one of her ears was trained to catch his sounds, in case of a command or an abrupt change, the other swiveled about to catch the ambience of her new home.  She looked around her, taking in the sights. A very different kind of land than any she had seen before.  She came from a place that was mountains and deserts, but here the desert was the vast water, and the land an oasis.  She didn't know it yet, but she had come to a world that was only connected to the outside by a single strand.  A better fortified prison than any she had been in before.

But for now, as when all things are new, she was too curious to be melancholy.  From time to time her Master asked her questions, and she politely replied with the expected answers about her place of birth, her previous masters, and her time alive.  There wasn't too much to tell.  She had been born into slavery, and slaves were never allowed to know too much.  When she asked questions, they were the equally generic ones about the land, its people, and the expectations of her master.  She gleaned that he was young, but already the leader of his people.  It seemed she had been purchased not for her breeding or her training, but simply on a whim.  It concerned her slightly, for impulsive masters often had unpredictable triggers.  She decided she would continue to tread carefully.

"Here to watch the wolfdog work?"

They came upon a male, a creature clearly of mixed breeding.  Vesta halted behind her Master, but peered around him to look at the construction.  In the center of the earthen ring was fire, and her heart leapt.  She held no fear of the flame itself.  She was a firedancer, after all. But she also held the memory of a time when fire was used on her by force.  Her left shoulder twitched as the scar recalled the burn.  Given who her Master was, she had not been taken away by the guards like the others.  She had instead remained at his side.  Was there still some ritual to preform?  Some way she was going to be branded for what she was, or who she belonged to?  Deep ocean blue eyes flicked from Master to flame and back again. She dare not speak, knowing that unless she was addressed directly, she had not been given leave to do so. 

⚶

[Reath]

Things have come up and my time spent on IDS has been shortened. So I sadly have to pass on this rp.