for Fleta but AW
SKILL gravedigger [1/5]

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a solemn song cut through the land. unfamiliar as it was to him, blackbane had other matters to attend to.

fenris, his beloved crow, lay limp in the snow. the sharp knife of winter had stolen him from blackbane. his glorious feathers, once a sleek black, lay ruffled. feathers jut out in awkward angles in the wind, and all blackbane can do is sing a tearful howl for his fallen friend. perhaps it was silly, to cry over a bird. but fenris was more than a pet, but a companion. a partner, how often would fenris serve as blackbane's eye in the sky, finding carcasses when the wind would betray blackbane's senses. how the bird would alert him of enemies, of friends, and how they both provided food and company to one another.

and now, alone in this new world, it was quick to take one of the few things that blackbane had ever had in his young life. sorrow drags the man to build a small pit, his limbs heavy and his mind clouded with thoughts of guilt, of shame.

skill: orator

It was a cry which had stirred Journey from her lands and towards the other. A cry of utter anguish, of mourning, of death. A lump formed in the woman's throat, for just his cries alone were enough to stir compassion in the woman for said stranger. She follows the river which decend from the heights of her land, spilling out into the flatlands below.

After a time she would see the dark figure in the distance, both darkly colored and towering in the tundra made for an easy path into his direction. With still quite a space between them, Journey pauses to howl back, her song one of condolences and deep understanding. She herself had lost so many in such a short year of life.

He is beautiful... She murmurs, her eyes dancing over the deep and glossy feathers dancing in the winds. I am so very sorry..

SKILL gravedigger (2/5)

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the mountain wind howled, speeding through him. it was unflinching, uncaring of the quiet ceremony the man held for his friend. but a new howl cuts through the protests of the wind.

a woman — a girl — took his side. he heard her song, it carried a familiar chord of mourning. he gave a solemn nod to her condolences, letting his tears sit on his fur and letting it dry as he swallowed his sorrow. he was a great friend when i had none. his dulcet voice rumbled, but shattered by grief.
but he let the girl admire fenris. he began to pluck some of fenris' feathers. he wouldn't have minded, it was normal for fenris to stuff away his molts during season into the crevices of blackbane's mane. the solemn man extended one to the woman, as a small thanks for her visit. the rest, he began to stuff wherever he could reach, buying time before he would have to say goodbye forever to the crow.

skill: orator

The journeyman did not speak again. Only a nod given to his words and then, as he gives one of the features of his friend, she would bow her head down low in application of this gesture.

She would watch him work on his friend for a little longer. Plucking away at some feathers that he might keep as a sacred memory.

After a little time, Journey would leave the area, yet not entirely. She would take a place down river, settling in an open spot along the river bed so that she would still be able to see him and he see her. Privacy is what he needed though she made it known that she would be here for the grieving man if he so needed.