starter for @souldug Nimue
Niklaus spent hours upon hours in the quiet of the deep wood. Had done so since he was sturdy enough on two legs to waddle off and disappear - no amount of mother's fury would stop him either. At twenty winters it was no different, he'd steal away with a bow on his back and a project in his pockets. Hunting game held little interest, it was a fine excuse though, to escape from grim reality though.
There was a faerie in these woods though, he'd seen glimpses, heard the twinkling laughter, been captivated by her endless sky colored eyes. He would not breathe a word of her to mother, couldn't dare, too curious to experience the magic of stories himself. So he left her pretty things and spoke out loud at times, hoping she was nearby to hear him.
"I think this one's going to be a wolf," he settled down on a flat mossy rock, pulling the piece of wood from his pocket and the knife from his belt - one that had seen more wood shavings than blood at this point of his life. "Now you're going to say, 'but Niklaus, they're always wolves? don't you know how to make anything else?' and to that I would say it's not my fault. All the trees around here speak of wolves, all I do it listen and help to free them."
