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- Tap-tap-tap. A vixen, small and slender and quick, entered the camp. Curiously, she stopped in front of the fireplace and sniffed, her fiery red fur illuminated by the full moon. The fire had long died down, but its ashes still smelled like cedar. The tents were dark, no lantern light or traces of magic shining through the panels. A good sign. To make sure her companions were asleep, the vixen sneaked around every single tent, satisfied when the only sounds she heard were those of steady breathing, light snoring and the occasional mumbling.
- Tap-tap-tap. She entered the smallest tent, the one made out of green cloth, adorned with different leaves, bones and a pair of antlers. Inside, she tilted her head, producing a swirl of red light that she vanished into. A moment later, the swirl turned into a woman.
- The centre of gravity of her human body differed from that of her vixen form, so it took a little stretching and hopping to re-adapt. After slipping into her camp clothes, she fetched a folded cloth and a satchel from her rucksack and sat down cross-legged on her bedroll.
- For a moment, she pondered if she should light a lantern, but eventually decided against it. She didn’t want to risk waking one of her companions, and her night vision was good enough to finish her project. One of the perks of being an elf, it seemed.
- Cautiously, she unfolded the cloth and took the beginnings of a bracelet from it: four leather straps, delicately braided and knotted into each other. She added another two repeats of the pattern. Then, she emptied the satchel between her legs and took the piece of infernal iron Dammon had been so kind to prepare for her back in the Druid grove. He had cut it into the shape of a heart, smoothened it and punched a hole into each side. With nimble motions of her fingers, she threaded the straps through them and repeated the pattern of braiding and knotting six times. She looked the bracelet over, felt the texture of it and bent it. Finally, she nodded and fastened its end with three knots.
- Karlach would like it. At least, Tilia hoped so. Truth be told, she hoped all her companions would like the bracelets she made for them. It wasn’t much, she knew that. It wasn’t even particularly useful. Self-doubt seeped into her mind as she traced her fingers over the four bracelets she had already finished. Maybe – probably – she should have carved them something. A comb or a spoon or anything. She could still do that, of course.
- With a sigh, she looked at Lae’zel’s bracelet. Five leather straps knotted together neatly and tightly, a clean design for the woman who didn’t like anything that made no sense, like unnecessary decorations. In the middle, she had placed a tooth from a gnoll Lae’zel had killed during the first tenday of their journey. She had once told that some Githyanki wore body parts of the enemies they had killed as decoration, and Tilia hoped she could honour that ritual with her present.
- For Shadowheart, Tilia had chosen a simple, yet pretty pattern, the straps neatly interlaced, because the amethyst that crowned the bracelet was striking enough. It had been a chance find made by Karlach three days before, hidden in a chest in a raided village. Tilia had asked her to swap it for an axe she had found in a cellar the same day. Karlach had laughed and said something about Tilia having no bargaining skills. It had been a strange comment - Tilia would’ve given her the axe for free as well. She hadn’t been quite sure if an amethyst would be a fitting item for this bracelet, but violet was Shadowheart’s favourite colour and a popular one among disciples of Shar.
- For Wyll’s bracelet, she had chosen a sturdy and straight knot technique, similar to the one she had used for Lae’zel’s, but she had made it broader. She had tied a strand of blue atlas silk into it, another piece of loot from their journey. Initially, she had wanted to sell the complete bale of cloth in the grove, but the evening before, Wyll had told about the last ball he had visited with his father before he had been disinherited and exiled from Baldur’s Gate. He had told them that it had been one of the best evenings in his life and that the memory of it had helped him endure quite a few bad days. The gleaming of his eyes had told the same. He had described it all in great detail, the food, the music, and, most of all, his happiness when he had danced with an especially beautiful girl. And then, just as Tilia had put the atlas silk on the pile of things to sell, he had told her that his shirt on this evening had been of the exact same colour and material, so Tilia had cut off a piece once all of her companions had gone to bed. It went well with the leather, and she had to agree – the colour was beautiful. It reminded her of the shade the Sea of Swords had where it bordered on the Cloakwood.
- The most elaborate one so far was the one she had made for Astarion. Of course it was, because from their troupe, he was the hardest to please. The technique she had chosen for his bracelet consisted of elegant, small knots, patterned like vines, interlaced with a skein of golden thread. She knew he embroidered his own clothing, and he had told her once that golden thread had always been his favourite. He insisted it was because of the luxury it represented. She suspected it was because as a vampire spawn, he was forced to work in the dark if he didn’t want to be burned by the sun. Although elves had night vision, it was limited to black, white and shades of grey. Golden thread was probably one of the most comfortable things to work with under these circumstances.
- When the familiar burning behind her eyes flared up, a sure sign that she had once again stayed up too late, she walked out of her tent and looked at the night sky. The moon had already passed its zenith but if her companions didn’t decide to spontaneously change their sleeping patterns tonight, she could still get her four hours of meditation in. If she started now, that was.
- Going back inside, she wrapped the bracelets into the cloth and looked at the remaining leather straps and the tressym feather beneath. It belonged to Tara, Gale’s best friend. He always carried some of her feathers around, using them as quills. At least that had been his official explanation. Tilia suspected that he simply missed her. It was one of the things she really liked about him, his big heart. Other things, like his generosity, still took her by surprise. One evening, when she had come back from strolling in the woods in her vixen form, he had been the last one awake, writing in his spellbook. She had asked him about the feather he used, and after a long talk about Tara and the specifics of tressym feathers, she had asked him if he could spare one. She had hoped he wouldn’t ask what for. That would have totally spoiled the surprise. Luckily, he hadn’t, only remarking that Tara’s fur and feathers were just as beautiful and special as her character. This had been a good sign, because wearing one of her feathers around his wrist would surely make him happy. Tilia had treated it with healing herbs and imposed an incantation to ease pain on it. She hoped it would help with his need to consume magical artefacts.
- Of course, it was still possible he would deem the idea of a personal bracelet childish and useless.
- This could apply to her other companions, as well. She was almost sure that Astarion would make some stupid comment about it, he was always very vocal about anything, really. His criticism wouldn’t hurt her, though, because he wouldn’t mean it. Not really at least. He just loved to be annoying and grate his newfound companions.
- Gale, however...well. She really hoped he would like the bracelet although it wasn’t very likely. He had been an archwizard, he knew magic that could alter the world. He was probably used to always having the best and the most. What good could a simple trinket be to him? Alas, it was all she could offer. But she could try to make it perfect. Like she had for her other companions. Of course, it wasn’t because Gale was something special. Actually, she shouldn’t even like him. Wizards were enemies of the natural order, everybody knew that. And every druid should avoid wizards.
- In their special case however, with tadpoles in their heads and forced to go on this very strange journey together, their class differences hardly mattered. Every druid would understand this. Like they would understand that she allowed Astarion to stay. At least she hoped so.
- So, she would take the task at hand seriously. She had already thought about a pattern for Gale’s bracelet– all intricate waves and lines, a complicated sequence of knots adorned with Tara’s feather. It would take all of her concentration, so she tucked the straps and the feather together with the cloth into her rucksack and lay down to meditate.
- She would dedicate the next night to Gale’s bracelet.