Moments: Stormfeather and Amberfox
by Lara
December 2004

This is a piece of amateur fiction and not intended to infringe on the copyrights of Mercedes Lackey or her publishers. No profit is being made.

Amberfox belongs to Marina, Stormfeather belongs to me, the setting belongs to the Tayledrasclan RPG, which can be found at

Stormfeather critically studied his image in the mirror, wishing that he knew more about what made for a pleasant appearance. He was fairly confident that he had not messed with his hair too badly – the braids were the same style his sister had recommended the last time she had helped him out in such a situation, and he had faithfully remembered them. Simple, with only a few beads to accentuate the strands. The grey and white streaks made his hair look mottled enough already, no need to add to that.

Sighing, Stormfeather reached up to adjust a knot. He wished that his hair would finally go completely white, like that of Adept Nightsong, or of Whitewolf. The way it was now, he looked like Ri did when she was molting.

He decided that there was little he could do to improve his hair, and that it would be better to leave it alone for now. But that brought his attention to a far more worrying subject.

Just how was he supposed to find clothes Amberfox would approve of? The Artisan knew so much more about these matters that Stormfeather seriously doubted he himself could come up with something that would earn Amberfox’ approval. And it was important that Stormfeather looked good, even though it was just another casual meeting for lunch they had agreed upon.

Maybe if he wore one of the simple outfits he owned – with these he at least knew that they fit him, and that he would not be fidgeting in discomfort after a few minutes. But they were not made for the purpose f looking impressive.

Or maybe a robe… but no, that was too formal and would only make Amberfox wonder.

Stormfeather sighed again, realizing that he would have to go for one of his nicer tunics. Not too formal, but they still did not look as if they were something he would wear just for any occasion. Now which tunic to pick…

"I must have been forgotten when the Lady handed out aesthetic sense," he murmured as he opened the chest in which he kept his better clothes.

A frown on his face, he took out the tunic on to of the pile and studied it. No, not good – he remembered that someone had called green a spring color, so this was not fitting. Stormfeather did not quite see the connection between color and season, but at least it gave him a starting point.

Why couldn’t the Tayledras have an equivalent to the Shin’a’in Swordsworn or the Valdemaran Heralds? That would make his life so much easier. Herald Iskender certainly never had to worry about which color to wear.

Setting aside the garments that contained green, Stormfeather was left with a smaller, but still considerable pile.

Amberfox had occasionally spoken about colors and patterns. At the time it had been highly confusing for Stormfeather, but now he wished he had listened closely. Not that he hadn’t listened – he had simply been more interested in the fact that Amberfox was talking to him than what he was talking about.

No green and probably no patterns containing flowers of any kind for the same reason, Stormfeather concluded. He needed winter clothes… and he had no idea what would count as such.

Maybe he should ask Whitewolf..

Stormfeather hastily pushed that thought away. The mere idea of speaking to his teacher about an issue like this was frightening. And he was not going to ask Nightsong either – that would be even worse.

Once more he turned his attention to the pile of clothes, somewhat desperate by now. And then one tunic caught his eye.

It might not be winter wear, and maybe it was not something Amberfox would have picked for the occasion. But Stormfeather believed that it did not matter. Even if he looked out of place, this was the first tunic Amberfox had designed for him. And he knew that the Artisan would recognize it, and know why Stormfeather wore it.

The End

La Casa