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Image Credits: Lethe

Name Whitefern

Bonded to: . From:

Age: 30 Born in: Deathsleep season
Soul Name: ejen Known By: self only Found: discovered while waiting for his wolf-bond to come, Sorrel came to him only after his soul name did^
Sex: male Mate Status/Sex Preference: either, open to whatever
Children:
Parents/Relatives: Mother Downsoft (deceased at his birth), Adoptive mother Vinewalk (dead in cave collapse)
Father Coolwater (died in a fall when Whitefern was 2 turns) - a child of Lovemates, not recognition, rare among this group
Half-Sister (via Coolwater) Sage
Original Tribe: Wolf-Blooded Storm's Rise Holt. Arrived to Bald Mountain: 191
Height: 4'3" Build: skinny, long
Hair Color, Length, Style: white-blond, very short, extremely curly
Eye Color, Size, Shape: light brown almost tan, round
Skin Tone: lightly tanned only in sun, otherwise light beige
Overall Appearance: skinny and lanky, with big hands and long feet, longer than normal ears, and an easy, wide and toothy smile. He has lightly tanned skin, though outside of the sun he would return to a fair shade. He has no freckles, and only a few scars, mostly from hunts. His hair is shockingly white-blond, the color of white fungus on leaves, hence his name. He keeps his hair short, it is naturally curly to an extent that if he let it grow long, it would make him look like a poodle. Whitefern's eyes are a light brown shade, closer to tan than brown, and they are generally round and seeking. His face is very flexible and emotive, he loves making faces – if there are any young children in the tribe, he could entertain them for hours with his silly expressions.
Voice Quality: Whitefern's voice is on the edge of annoying, somewhat shrill, but he uses it very well, to his advantage. All the noises he can make in emulating animals and birds would hardly work very well if he had a big booming deep voice after all.
Clothing -- Summer: He wears simple, snug leathers of natural light tan coloration, leggings that come to his calves in ripped hems, and a short vest in a darker shade of brown. He prefers to go barefoot, though in winter or on bad terrain he will wear sandals or hide shoes. In very cold weather he adds a bearfur cloak, one which he and his sister share if need be.
Clothing -- Winter: adds cloak
Jewlery Worn, Made: none
Tatoos/Markings/Scars: Whitefern would love to have more interesting coloration, and often watches for pollen, thick flower sap, or other such things which could dye his skin or provide paint. Should a tattooist appear in the tribe, he'd definitely be up for getting images put on his skin, though anyone in their right mind would tell him he'd need to get a bit more muscular or fleshed out – he's just skin and bone, and mostly bone!
Pets/Animals Kept: none
Notable Posessions: none really beyond bone and stone weapons, looking forward to finding something way more impressive here at Bald Mountain
Holt Function: Scout, tracker
Strength: Average
Dexterity: Above Average
Agility: Very High
Health: Above Average
Size: Average
Intelligence: Average
Appearance: Average
Charisma: Above Average
Magic Power: Low
Magic? How Powerful? sending 5/10, magic feeling 1/10*
*Post-Bonding Magic: thanks to moving between dimensions and traveling through time and space alike, Whitefern's true magical potential has seemingly been unlocked. His Magic Feeling ability has soared to 8/10, and he specializes in sensing free-roaming wolfrider or other local elf spirits, some of which are astral projections, but others simply long-dead spirits that get to move about where they please now. After almost another hundred years, this feature comes in handy when they need to locate other elves! Additionally he has begun practicing with Astral Projecting his own spirit out of his body (4/10), but does this only carefully and with his dragon nearby to make sure nothing goes wrong.
Climate/Locations Preferred: warm air, cool breezes, autumn
General Likes: hunting and tracking, entertaining others
General Dislikes: confined spaces a bit, ground-quakes, bad visibility
Fears/Worries: losing more family - he has precious little of that left
Special Strange Info: Has vivid memories of the era in their lives when Two-Spear was leading them, and wishes that he could forget, maybe there is a way that one of these near high-ones in Bald Mountain could do that. Too bad that one seems to really hate wolf-blooded elves.
Basic Personality: Whitefern is an excitable, young seeming elf who was affected only minimally by the collapse and is relishing the new tribe's settling somewhere far away from Two Spear and his ilk. Though he's eager to please and a reasonably hard worker, Whitefern is also somewhat distractable and tends to do more than one thing at once, leading to confusion or sometimes things not getting done right. In all, he's on the more sedate end of ‘immature', but won't act very mature even when he's older. He is similar to a mix of Skywise and the earlier Scouter – gregarious and friendly, but not really serious.
How they feel about
Humans: maybe his old chief rubbed off on him, his first inclination is to become defensive, but he'll learn in time that not all Humans, and particularly in this new era, are bad ones
Elves -- herders: huh, you can do that, makes sense
Elves -- magic users: amazed, but rely on skill more because at least it can't fail and turn bad on you, right?
Elves -- bond-riders: are... are there others who aren't? I guess? This tribe's amazing mounts and companions are far more impressive, he hates to admit, than just wolves...
Trolls, etc: It's a safe bet that if Two-Spear had met these with the tribe, they would absolutely have been wiped out by the burly and dangerous Trolls. He's learning how to hold a heavier weapon from the ones here!
Bond Animal Info if any: Sorrel, a large and highly ranked male. Sorrel is richly brown, with orange-tan markings on chest, face, forehead and legs, with a creamy underbelly and chin. He has reddish-orange eyes. Sorrel is taller than many wolves and burlier by far, with stout legs and a thick coat that make him look even bigger. He is fierce, but he is not necessarily ready or willing to challenge for the pack leadership. The wolf enjoys hunting and running, and is very adept at climbing rocky surfaces. Sorrel was among the wolves spared by the cave collapse, and has no fear of rushing into rockslides to grab his elf-bond and drag him to safety. Sorrel is around four hands old, still considered young by pack standards. He is of average intelligence and cunning. Mated to: Would probably find a mate, if allowed by the alphas. He'd be a very good sire to a litter of cubs, big and strong as he is.
Skills:

Riding: Since he has a big, energetic wolf, Whitefern's riding skill is strongly honed. He and Sorrel grew into their maturity together, so he's very used to the burly wolf's moves. Any other wolf he might have to ride, seems quite tame or even boring to him.

Hunting: Quite opposite his half-sister Sage, Whitefern enjoys hunting with a small group of riders, on up to a massive tribe-wide hunt. He's not afraid to get up close to large prey like scoop horn or rams, bear or big cats – but he doesn't have the taste to eat predators so much.

Weapons: Whitefern is adept with a short, heavy wooden spear with a stone tip, preferring to thrust rather than throw. He'd far rather feel the impact of any weapon into his prey. He also has a small bone dagger for gutting or killing small prey.

Tracking: Whitefern is good at recognizing signs of animal tracks, spoor and scent. He enjoys mimicking the sounds that deer and other medium-sized animals make, confusing them so that the pack can get around them.

Climbing/Exploration: because he loves to track things, he has become quite good at following things darn near anywhere they get into. Up on the top of a tree, in the depths of a cavern, underwater and almost off cliffsides. He is almost always looking for signs of life, as well as handholds or places to bounce off of should he fall.

Herbalism: though he is far from as adept as his sister is, he was taught enough herbalism to be able to help Sage hunt for grasses and spices. As a youth, he would be sent out to fetch particular things, so he's pretty good at spotting things which can be sent to him mentally for an image.

Notes: It is possible that if he gets much better with his animal-calls, he may change his name to something more appropriate like “Bellow”, “Wail”, “Wildcall” or whatnot.

History: ^ backstory about his soul name and bond to Sorrel
Whitefern's energetic desire to become a full hunter and impress the rest of the tribe was hindered by the fact that at nearly four hands old, he had yet to bond his first wolf. There had been cubs, but all had either been taken by others, or left for the unbonded pack. Finally there was a time when Whitefern had enough of this, and went off, ostensibly to find his own wolf his own way. Irresponsible as ever, however, Whitefern had neglected to tell anyone what he was doing or when he would be back. So by the time he'd cleared a dramatic ridge and realized he was far, far out of their sending range, he also heard the sound of a den of cubs. Whitefern fell between two large stones, and though he was uninjured he was also unable to get himself out properly. Trapped for a day and a night, with the sounds of a hungry cub nearby as well, Whitefern's only solace was that his soul-name appeared to him as the sun rose. Now named, now more confident even if he was still a bit weak with hunger, he felt that it was time to unwedge himself from the stones grip. As he did so, he felt a nip at his sandal-clad foot: a cub from the den nearby, tugging at him to help out. Sorrel was a big pup, with the same big paws and excitable face as Whitefern had. Together they went back to the tribe.

.

"We'll take you, it's not that different from the dreams you might have had while you were coccooned," one of the local riders commented, while approaching the big brown dragon he rode. "We know the way, thanks to the charts in the aerie."

"Shouldn't I ... study that too?" Whitefern asked, wondering whether he was going to be sent away and just ... not know how to return. "Some of the stars in our sky were in different places, and I know that's an important--"

"All you need to concentrate on right now, is," Shatter held his hand upwards to the pure autumn night sky. "Remember these stars, this night." Shatter leaned in close to the younger but also much, much older elf and whispered, "remember that pond with the little waterfall, and the fireflies."

He then led Whitefern up to the dragon, whose sharp ended wings were tucked down so they could both mount up on his neck. Whitefern had ridden on wolf-back nearly all his life, but now he had to leave Sorrel behind. Something about not being good with all the other competitive predators where they were going, plus ... where they were going was filled with Humans apparently. The wolf could handle them here, with a whole tribe of elves and some fair number of wolves to back him up, but alone and surrounded, he might not be the best guest at White River Weyr.

Shatter communed with both his dragon and Whitefern, **hold on tight, deep breath and close your eyes when I tell you to, it will be darker than the deepest sky, and cold.**

As they soared into the early-fall skies over Bald Mountain Holt, Whitefern could recognize locations, including that pond and its attendant stream. He could swear he saw something moving down there, curiously, but then Shatter gave the command and he did as he was instructed. The trip between was stunningly cold, but it did also feel... just a bit like those dark drifting dreams he'd had while he and his sister were nestled in wrapstuff. He could feel many spirits, more than he'd expected and definitely more than he'd ever felt before down on Abode's forests!

That feeling would be explored more fully later on, but for now he thrilled to feel the space that they were going through, something he'd hardly comprehended until he got a look at that aerie 'star map' with its glittering glowing stones set into the walls. Concentrating on the ones he was told to remember, however, he'd need that to come home. Now he understood.

They reached White River Weyr, and true to form it had both a river, and ... dragons!

The season seemed earlier here, a little anyway, there were more evergreens than leafy trees to turn. But there were also dragon eggs on their sands, all of these terms that he'd heard from a few of the riders at Bald Mountain. But it was one thing to hear talk about it, or even just a glimpse of a memory shared in a story telling night. Another entirely, to be there when these large orbs began to shake and bulge. The turned-leaf orange mother of this clutch looked eager and worried, while her glorious speckled night-grey black mate stood guard.

There were amazingly marked dragonets that emerged from those shells, black with pale spider-web markings, green and violet spatters, storm cloud pinks and browns, black and orange patchwork and stripes, speckled sandy beige, and even more. Some people watching this hatching occur seemed a bit.... put off? Not quite what the elf expected, after all they were all beautiful and looked quite strong and healthy!

It was one that had a mottling of peach, pink, berry and blue, like a painted hide in progress, or like the brilliant speckled clouds after rain when the sun was going down. He wouldn't necessarily be a big dragon, but he was going to be enough for Whitefern to handle!

I am Qiuth, the dragon sent, and though Whitefern had had other minds than just elves in his own during his time at Bald Mountain, this was different.

It is different because I am yours, my one. My Fern. What is a fern and why is it white? The dragonet's tilted head made Whitefern laugh, and though it was hardly different between clear eyes and their watery joy after Impression - the colors of his dragon would always be magical to watch.

***

They spent enough time at the Weyr to learn all the necessary basics. It wasn't much different than caring for a wolf cub at first, but where a wolf rather quickly became truly self-sufficient, the dragon... grew large but still was wobbly and needed so much attention! It was a constant routine of cutting meat, oiling the hide, scratching it at every turn. Practice with foot steps, raise and lower the wings, coordination was important if you were going to fly!

I will fly, I want to fly over this Holt you live in! We will live in!

"Not yet, Qiuth, we've got to get you off the ground first!"

***

Their practice had paid off, and even though Shatter wasn't there, his words lingered yet. The stars? He had drawn a chart like they were instructed at the Weyr! Everyone had different ideas of what their home sky was like, even those who had been born 'here' on this world of Pern. They had learned about how to fly of course, but also how to move between, and how to orient both by landmarks and star patterns. They had learned how to 'chew firestone' which was something that this dragon wanted nothing of - if he had to, maybe, maybe the Trolls could provide it and only if they really needed another fighting dragon. But on their homeworld, these dragons were for fighting. Qiuth was not the type!

When they finally bid farewell to the instructors, the weyrling master, other riders, and the world itself, Whitefern and Qiuth were very confident in the sky. "If we do... get lost between, we won't actually be lost. I can feel them, you know?"

The people, your dead, ours too. There are many between the worlds and time.

Odd thing to say, he supposed, but Whitefern had a duty - he needed to review that star chart, and thought to himself as they rose into the sky over White River one last time. 'Think of the pond, and the--'

"The waterfall!" he exclaimed as they returned to Abode, almost crashing but saving themselves just at the last moment on exiting the void between. "Should have been thinking of over the pond!"

... He drew his gaze upward as Qiuth sorted himself out, moving from under the tree limb he'd crashed into on their way down. Up there, above by a reasonable distance, was...

"Shatter and Mortyreuth, and me..." he breathed.

But they were gone in a second, and what lingered was the feeling of between. But now, he could sense there were others, other minds, quite strongly in fact! It wasn't even a few moments later that the brown dragon and his rider Shatter showed up - far more gracefully, over the pond, where they splashed down and tossed water at Qiuth and Whitefern.

"Told you," Shatter said with a laugh. "Oh, you've bonded well I see!"

It occurred to Whitefern that they had lived for two full years with the other dragons and riders at White River, but Shatter had come back to this moment exactly after leaving him to the hatching! "Amazing!" Whitefern said, and then laughed harder as the handsome Shatter puffed up.

"I know, I am, aren't I?"