Den-Digger

There would always be a need for dens, and those that dig them. Of course, any wolf could claim a cave, a hollow log, or dig their own meagre dens. But if you wanted a real den, something of, dare he say it, luxury? Or even just something crafted with skill to achieve size, comfort, security and stability?

You went to Alistair Reeve.

The son of a den-digger, the mud brown wolf seemed to have been born to dig dens, and his portfolio was full of myriad examples of bespoke homesteads dug with care and precision.
It was his life. His purpose. His craft.

Alistair sat peacefully, the sign of his trade erected beside him. He already had a few future projects arranged for their proper days, but today was a rare day on which he could slow down and concentrate on cultivating new potential clients as they passed by toward the Square. His violet eyes watched those that passed, unafraid to make eye contact, but also unwilling to impose unnecessarily upon their day.

There would always be a need for dens. Those who were in need would come to him.

As he watched the passers-by, he entertained himself by considering what they were doing with their days. In some cases, letting his imagination run wild imagining what they did with their lives. He meant no judgement or imposition into their private matters, merely entertained a mild curiosity in order to pass the quiet moments.
He had no specific political leanings, though he understood there was an amount of turmoil and unease around the throne. He considered this when he saw soldiers pass, stoic and purposeful. Alistair also considered this when he spotted those that seemed to look upon the soldiers with curious expressions on their faces.

It caused him some concern, that there was this potential for unrest... it would likely not bode well for a simple tradesman such as himself. He would much rather things remained simple, and stable, so that he could continue to work and live as he was accustomed to.
He involuntarily let out a huff of derision at both parties, both sides of the broiling conflict, for their inconsiderate selfishness in not considering how the chaos might affect a normal wolf. He immediately chided himself internally, casting his gaze about to check if anyone had caught his outburst.

she'd been hesitant to answer the whispers. they couldn't yet be called rebellion -- disturbance, perhaps. they'd all seen the ranks of the protectorate thin as the caravans were sent northbound. and though there'd been no formal news of war, it didn't bode well. the busy bustle of voices and claws on stone were soon joined by a new racket -- the murmurs of merchants and tradesmen, when the soldiers were just out of earshot. they'd seen others of their low brood strike during the failed coup. they'd seen those men die or just as easily stand trial against a rigged jury. the tension still remains, blistering about the square. It's stored in shadows and quick glances right to left, as though to constantly check for another outburst.

she's moving two of her more recent creations through the rusty piles of dead leaves. two pelts, one a little more worn and stained by the wash of time, are clutched by one piece in her teeth. she's only partially dismantled her once prestigious stall. between two younger trees and along a jutted rock she'd made her shoppe for years now. she doesn't abandon it now; she leaves an assortment of stones and twigs from her toolkit behind. but the merchandise, once draped up along precarious, clumsy twig displays and thrown across the rock are absent now.

she casts a glance back at her little hovel, remembering fondly the times when that place was not so concretely hers. she'd have to stay up all night, and get here early in the morn to reserve her space. all with yoshiko nestled up beside her, and in those treasured moments, they were the only ones in the entire city.

he's watching at the edge of the flow of people, so oddly serene in his own atmosphere of sorts. she chooses his cove to drag her toil into, and sits down a respectable distance from him to catch her breath. she offers a nod of greeting. "good day, stranger." she isn't exactly a warm presence, but she isn't prickly either. she surveys him, as though trying to recognize his features. "don't think i've seen you here before."

The sky is plastered in clouds, light and unlikely to do anything. Anxiety spirals through a machine; usually resorting in moving, shuffling. Today, it does not clog him, the young fisherman. He's aged with dark circles under his eyes; he often got asked how old he was. It was hard to tell, with the experience that centered the male in his current state. Today, he does not offer anything, he is a customer for the first time in the market-place, looking around with wide eyes. There is a sparkle of wonder in them, and for once, the sun peers through the clouds and makes him look full of youth. It fades as quickly as the clouds as blown over the sun once more. Succeeding his gaze at the place, he took a breath and wandered down the busy path, loyal customers taking up some merchants in lines. He avoided those for the most part, he didn't want to be caught in a line, inspected with a merchant's gaze; poor or rich?. He knew no concept of it, he'd heard of the prospect of wealth. His parents coming from a community such as that, where tangible items waged your worth rather than the work you put in for the kingdom. they rarely talked about it. His mother seemed to not speak of it at all, avoiding questions with the sideways cast of a glance and prattling on about going to the river that day, ushering her curious children along. His father, on late nights, would murmur underneath the stars to Alexei, soft hushed words of their origins. It's an odd notion, never was he really warned of places like these, but his parents always seemed so much happier when they weren't talking about it. Lex had grown in such a tight knit community, all this is new. The stone pathway underpaw, started to grow a little rougher, patchier. He looked up and saw he was near the outsides of the mountainous building that stood in the square of the market-place. He's still unsure of what it is, it seems to have holes in the side that wolves come in and out of. A big den, or something. Two wolves near the end of the stone seem to have two places set up, there aren't too many wolves around them - more so off to the side, having their own conversations. He takes a look from side to side, before he headed forward to talk to the two. One of them offered den-services it seemed, depicted on his set up. The other? She's set up in front of animal pelts, seeming to offer her talents in tanning them. “Hey, you offer.. den digging services?" The red man asks. He probably stills smells of the outside, it's been a few days since he's come along and learned somewhat about where he was. He didn't even know why he was wandering through the market-place other than pure curiosity - but to stop at a shop? Though, it would be nice to have a den - his last one a hole in the jungle, not far off from the river. A pre-dug hole by some animal he only had to knock into a little. And before that, a hole in the side of a hill, one that was natural. He'd never really dug his own. His violet eyes fall to the woman and back to the man, “Oh, I hope I'm not interrupting anything." He took a small step back, his paws doing the odd shuffling against the dirt and stone. A nervous tick since childhood, one that he doesn't even know he does half the time, it just happens. “Speak and be heard."

STOCK ➤Kati H. on Dawnthieves ART ➤Amphi

@Alistair

Alistair surveys her in the same way he surveys everyone else: "Potential customer?". Not out of greed, not because he is jaded, but because his work is his life. Sad, potentially, but he enjoys his work, and how his work enables him to love a moderately comfortable life. As long as he has customers.
"Good day." He offers in polite response. He decided that she was not a customer, but another trader with their own wares. And so, he relaxed. No need for the hard sell, or to try too hard to keep them engaged.
Still, it was only polite.
"Hm, I don't often come to the castle." He ticked his muzzle toward his trade-sign. "But I knew it was going to be busy today, so." He let her assume the rest before briefly introducing himself. "Alistair."

Though he had been speaking to the female, his shrewd eyes and ears were still on the passing wolves, scouting for custom. He saw the newcomer eye them both from a distance, and recognised his approach.
A small smile grew friendlier and friendlier the closer the outlander came. Not forceful, if the wolf were to change his mind last minute, Alistair would let him move on with no comment or quarrel.
"Not at all, my friend!" Alistair answered quickly, regardless of whatever reaction the female might have, or if she'd even been speaking in that moment. The customer came first. "Alistair Reeve; mine are some of the finest dens in the Mainlands." He bragged, confidence in his own craft supreme. "4 years experience, my family's work for generations, 100s of dens dug." As he spoke, Alistair caught the wolf's scent. Yes, outlander for sure, or at least one who worked on or overseas.
Either way, that might make him the best kind of customer. New Outlander to these lands were desperate for homes... distant workers were desperate for home. Alistair might have an easy sell on his hands.
"Were you looking for any particular build? I'm quite skilled in many techniques."

As quickly as he arrived, he is greeted by a man with a friendly smile and the kindness of a man about to make a sale. Alexei stayed straightened, not wanting to look as if he didn't belong, everyone around here seemed like they did. It was his racing thoughts that told Lex that he didn't. And they were true to an extent. He wasn't from around here, so he did stick out in a way. His scent still told stories of the outside, even if he had slept in the presence of the Red Wood for a few nights. Alexei's ears twitched to the sound of Alistar's voice, but not in a bad way. He was taking it in. There was some sort of accent that the red man couldn't depict or tell if he had heard it anywhere in his travels. Sort of the one that Baelfire also had, but it seemed more or less, normal to what the outsiders might have sounded like. Like the loners on the outside of this place. He nodded to the words that came from Alistar's mouth, feeling somewhat confident in his choice of choosing someone to help him out. Though, Lex didn't really know what he could offer in return, or if he really had anything that the den-digger wanted. He could fish - would that be enough? A couple night's worth of dinner for a den that would last Alexei a lifetime? Maybe they could work something out. “Oh, wow.. That's serious dedication." He murmurs, underneath his breath, impressed by the fact that this man was a long lived legacy of den-diggers. Lex had barely anything like that to be proud of. His violet eyes shift to the woman and give her a brief smile, feeling somewhat bad for stealing the conversation, before he looked back to the friendly salesman that had asked him a question. “Oh, uhm, I am not picky. I am just looking for something that is comfortable enough to live in.. Sturdy. " Lexi noted, giving small nods to each of the things that he wanted, trying to be as.. normal as he could. Though being an adult had always struck him as an odd thing. Finding the right words and not being anxious in the presence of new wolves. Maybe Alistar and the pelt-selling woman were used to it. This market-place always seemed to be busy. Maybe this was where they learned to be social, whereas, Alexei had missed out. “What are you most often paid in?" He asked, knowing that the notion would come up, they would have to discuss it sooner or later. “Speak and be heard."

STOCK ➤Kati H. on Dawnthieves ART ➤Amphi

@Alistair