At our Dragon's Feast of Ideas, we established that it would be helpful to have a few things here to help with roleplaying, interacting, and integration into the environment. I will list each topic separately in this thread, and we can expand on them together. Please reply to the related topic so that the ideas fall in line for better clarity.

We remain hidden in the woods, out of sight of all. There are beings around us, but we pay them no mind. We watch the small ones first. They run about screaming, chasing each other with wild abandon. They pay attention to nothing. Not even themselves. Curious creatures. But not all small ones behave so. We observe one closely. She plucks a multi‑colored, sweet‑smelling thing from the ground and presents it to a larger being. The larger one smiles and accepts the offering. Noises pass between them. A noise repeats from each of them. Ah… something to latch onto. We listen. We hear the noise again… here… there… We see the embraces that follow it, the changes in their faces, the quickening of their life force. We know this feeling. We feel this with Mother. Warmth. Connection. Belonging. Tis .......... *LOVE*. Does this noise from them mean the same? We search more. We match the noises they make to words we have spoken to Mother so many, many times before. Their language builds within us. Slowly. Painfully. It is sometimes sharp and guttural, other times pleasant and soothing. At first we catch only fragments, not enough to learn. But it grows. We grow. Still… we need a teacher. And that smell… How can one concentrate at all with the glorious scent oozing from this place of beings and dead things? It curls around us, warm and inviting, pulling at our senses. We are Stormfire. We watch. We listen. We learn. Mother will be proud of her child.

My mind swims in confounded oblivion clinging to Mother's reassuring voice, soothing warmth, and comforting thrum. Aches and relief crash into me like waves until a chilled consciousness stirs me. Familiar smells surround me: musty wood beams, stale straw, burning oil, old leather, precious metal, and Mother. But I don't feel her warmth or thrum. My bleary eyes open to the lantern that lights up the loft. A luxury for us as Mother doesn't want light to let others know where we live. Mother? I call out in mind and voice, it sounds weaker than usual. I hate this. I lift my head and swivel my gaze peering about the whole of the barn. I don't see her but I smell her. Looking down I realizes she draped her shawl around me, wrapped something over my head, and left her bag to the side. My head aches and I close my eyes trying to block it out until it dawns on me. My eyes snap back to the abandoned bag. Mother... left it?? She never goes without it! Never leaves it behind! It may as well be her first child - but there it is, just left haplessly on the loft floor. Shifting and creaking boards snap my attention to the window Mother has been using for a door. Mother worries that each snowfall will make the main doors hard to open and the cold harder to keep out. She latches the window shut and turns to me holding a bundle her clouds of breath dispersing as she adjusts to the warmth. "Precious!" She coos in a voice that makes me both cringe and relieved as she charges toward me quickly ascending the ladder. Mother scoops me up and holds me close and I sink into her, holding onto her tighter than usual. It's so rare to see her more clearly without her shawl hiding her and the darkness obscuring her. This is Mother. Carmel coated with warm soot capping each extremity, I melt into her yearning for comfort and balm. Mother hums her lullaby as she tends to me, feeding me, and soothing me. She added herbs to the savory meat that dull the pain and ointment to my bound wound. Her touch is gentle and deliberate, and though she hides it under her calm. I sense her worry.