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Description
Link to import sheet: Svikar 16235
Nicknames used (literature only): Sivvy
Link to (hunting/fishing/exploring) journal: Tracking Journal
Relevant Items/Companions/Traits: N/A
Link to tribe benefits (if part of a tribe and utilizing tribe benefits): N/A
Defects/Health Issues: N/A

Total = 14
3(fb colored shaded) + 2(complex bg) +4(907 WC) +1(non-com) +2(handler) +2(fish)

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     This was fantastic in the most sarcastic sense of the word. For one, Beckett was never awake this early. Sure, he had chores, but he always managed to procrastinate in the past. Now that the     beast     was here, he couldn’t get away with slacking anymore. Did the foothills look doubly beautiful in the early dawn light? Sure. Absolutely they did, but Beckett had lived in the shadow of the Tartok Mountains all his life and was dull to most of its charms. The glitter of light over the long, spanning fields was not enough to distract from the cold morning air and the radiant streaked dance of orange through the sky couldn’t hope to overcome how annoying it was to have to drag Svikar along.

    The animal was enormous, stubborn, and completely without focus. Even now, a few weeks after Beckett learned not to fear Svikar, he hated leading it on its long tether. It was a thin leash, meant more for direction than any real effort at constraint, looped loosely around Svikar’s thick neck. On the long walk to the lake, a pick and rod slung over his back, Beckett would constantly have to egg Svikar on, reminding the large animal what direction they were going.

    He couldn’t help but think over and over again, ‘of all the stupid things.’ His father had never been so insistent until the tokota came along. Ever since, Svikar was the priority. Beckett had to find a way to get their money’s worth out of the second hand, submissive heap or ‘the farm would fail!’ The problem with finding Tokos on the cheap, though, was that you get what you pay for.

    “Please,” Beckett dragged the leather loop over Svikar’s head, freeing the tokota from its already flimsy restraint. “Please don’t wander too far. I’ll be right. Here.” Beckett didn’t expect much from his tokota. The creature wasn’t well trained yet and was far from reliable. It seemed to like wandering – as it had already started rearing up against a small tree by the ice lake – and Beckett was no expert on fixing the situation. So for now the plan was to hunker down and catch his own fish. The tokota could do as it pleased.

    It had been some years since Beckett had personally been fishing and the act was more grueling than he recalled. It took nearly twenty minutes to make a nice sized hole in the ice, so he made it close enough to the shore to sit on the grass. His chiseling arm was sore, so he held the fishing rod in his off-hand. Hopefully trout were in season… His brother was the expert on trading, but Beckett personally liked the taste. Every half hour or so, he would lean over his shoulder to see where Svikar ended up, occasionally shouting a loud ‘This way!’ or ‘Come back!’

    A small few fish made it into his basket, and that’s when Beckett found out Svikar was a fish fan, too. Having spent a good couple hours shacking the poor dead tree by the river, rolling in patches of young, spring grass, and idly chasing field mice or birds, Svikar finally settled closer to his master, sniffing at the iced surface of the little frozen pond Beckett had found on the outskirts of Aippaq’s lake. The ponds were deeper into the valley, where the warmth could support smaller ecosystems of life, unlike Aippaq’s mirror itself. Beckett always thought it was strange that such a spiritual place was devoid of life, but in the moment he was more curious as to Svikar’s newfound intrigue. The heavyset animal was leaning its weight on the ice, glancing from Beckett’s fishing hole to the untouched surface beneath its own paws. It began to lightly scrape the ice with his claws, then dug more determinedly when it saw the progress it made.

    “What? Stop!” Beckett said, more in exasperation than actual defiance. Svikar reacted to the noise by briefly looking up, but proceeded to plunk a paw into the new hole, only a few feet from Beckett’s carefully chiseled opening. He didn’t see how a tokota could catch anything through the barely-paw-sized-hole, but he was sure any fish had been disturbed. It would take a little while to coax them back. Even longer if Svikar kept dunking his paw into the frigid water.

    “You have no idea how to fish, do you?” Beckett leaned back against the tree and watched, a little impressed that it had thought to imitate his fishing rod’s movement, but less impressed that it hadn’t thought to just steel fish from the basket, if hunger was even its motivation. “Maybe your grandparents were noble hunters, but Sivvy, you don’t do your old man any justice.” The words sunk in a little. Beckett had been sent to supervise the tokota as it fished or hunted, but Beckett’s own father was blind. This animal needed a lot more attention if it was going to hunt. Or less attention, whichever one honed a tokota. Instead, Beckett thought it would be more productive to do the fishing himself while he kept the animal out of trouble. But while Beckett leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the morning light warm his skin, Svikar waited for the gentle feeling of a current across his claws, eagerly anticipating a gentle graze of scales across his paw pads. Svikar was going to catch its first fish.

Description
Link to import sheet: Svikar 16235
Nicknames used (literature only): Sivvy
Link to (hunting/fishing/exploring) journal: Tracking Journal
Relevant Items/Companions/Traits: N/A
Link to tribe benefits (if part of a tribe and utilizing tribe benefits): N/A
Defects/Health Issues: N/A

Total = 14
3(fb colored shaded) + 2(complex bg) +4(907 WC) +1(non-com) +2(handler) +2(fish)

------------------
     This was fantastic in the most sarcastic sense of the word. For one, Beckett was never awake this early. Sure, he had chores, but he always managed to procrastinate in the past. Now that the     beast     was here, he couldn’t get away with slacking anymore. Did the foothills look doubly beautiful in the early dawn light? Sure. Absolutely they did, but Beckett had lived in the shadow of the Tartok Mountains all his life and was dull to most of its charms. The glitter of light over the long, spanning fields was not enough to distract from the cold morning air and the radiant streaked dance of orange through the sky couldn’t hope to overcome how annoying it was to have to drag Svikar along.

    The animal was enormous, stubborn, and completely without focus. Even now, a few weeks after Beckett learned not to fear Svikar, he hated leading it on its long tether. It was a thin leash, meant more for direction than any real effort at constraint, looped loosely around Svikar’s thick neck. On the long walk to the lake, a pick and rod slung over his back, Beckett would constantly have to egg Svikar on, reminding the large animal what direction they were going.

    He couldn’t help but think over and over again, ‘of all the stupid things.’ His father had never been so insistent until the tokota came along. Ever since, Svikar was the priority. Beckett had to find a way to get their money’s worth out of the second hand, submissive heap or ‘the farm would fail!’ The problem with finding Tokos on the cheap, though, was that you get what you pay for.

    “Please,” Beckett dragged the leather loop over Svikar’s head, freeing the tokota from its already flimsy restraint. “Please don’t wander too far. I’ll be right. Here.” Beckett didn’t expect much from his tokota. The creature wasn’t well trained yet and was far from reliable. It seemed to like wandering – as it had already started rearing up against a small tree by the ice lake – and Beckett was no expert on fixing the situation. So for now the plan was to hunker down and catch his own fish. The tokota could do as it pleased.

    It had been some years since Beckett had personally been fishing and the act was more grueling than he recalled. It took nearly twenty minutes to make a nice sized hole in the ice, so he made it close enough to the shore to sit on the grass. His chiseling arm was sore, so he held the fishing rod in his off-hand. Hopefully trout were in season… His brother was the expert on trading, but Beckett personally liked the taste. Every half hour or so, he would lean over his shoulder to see where Svikar ended up, occasionally shouting a loud ‘This way!’ or ‘Come back!’

    A small few fish made it into his basket, and that’s when Beckett found out Svikar was a fish fan, too. Having spent a good couple hours shacking the poor dead tree by the river, rolling in patches of young, spring grass, and idly chasing field mice or birds, Svikar finally settled closer to his master, sniffing at the iced surface of the little frozen pond Beckett had found on the outskirts of Aippaq’s lake. The ponds were deeper into the valley, where the warmth could support smaller ecosystems of life, unlike Aippaq’s mirror itself. Beckett always thought it was strange that such a spiritual place was devoid of life, but in the moment he was more curious as to Svikar’s newfound intrigue. The heavyset animal was leaning its weight on the ice, glancing from Beckett’s fishing hole to the untouched surface beneath its own paws. It began to lightly scrape the ice with his claws, then dug more determinedly when it saw the progress it made.

    “What? Stop!” Beckett said, more in exasperation than actual defiance. Svikar reacted to the noise by briefly looking up, but proceeded to plunk a paw into the new hole, only a few feet from Beckett’s carefully chiseled opening. He didn’t see how a tokota could catch anything through the barely-paw-sized-hole, but he was sure any fish had been disturbed. It would take a little while to coax them back. Even longer if Svikar kept dunking his paw into the frigid water.

    “You have no idea how to fish, do you?” Beckett leaned back against the tree and watched, a little impressed that it had thought to imitate his fishing rod’s movement, but less impressed that it hadn’t thought to just steel fish from the basket, if hunger was even its motivation. “Maybe your grandparents were noble hunters, but Sivvy, you don’t do your old man any justice.” The words sunk in a little. Beckett had been sent to supervise the tokota as it fished or hunted, but Beckett’s own father was blind. This animal needed a lot more attention if it was going to hunt. Or less attention, whichever one honed a tokota. Instead, Beckett thought it would be more productive to do the fishing himself while he kept the animal out of trouble. But while Beckett leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the morning light warm his skin, Svikar waited for the gentle feeling of a current across his claws, eagerly anticipating a gentle graze of scales across his paw pads. Svikar was going to catch its first fish.