[At Arras an Outpost of the Tuath Dé, Planet Skye]

Narcissus Tazetta, first daughter of the Hermione family, had wedged herself in a fork between bough and branch. Her wavy white locks fell over her face and into her work, but it didn't bother her; she found a way to work around what would have been an unbearable inconvenience to others. In fact, nothing bothered Taz, she was at peace with the world and with herself. As it had been since she had signed up for her five-year tour with the Tuath Dé over one hundred years earlier.

A small grey squirrel ran up her back of her white tunic and onto her bare shoulder. It didn't bother her even though her chisel was in mid-stroke, and she was working a critical part of the carving. "Hello, Little Tiny. What's that? You want some hardbread? Okay, just wait while Taz finishes this face." Made from black metal, she had forged the chisel herself and honed it until it seemed as sharp as her sickle. Even on the dried oaken deadwood, it cut the design with ease.

Finally, she finished the section she'd been working on, "there!" she exclaimed while learning back to admire her work, an intricate pattern of knotwork, interlaced with the heads of beasts and guardians of the forest. The squirrel had long since lost interest and had disappeared, "Little Tiny, where are you?" The creature quickly rematerialised as Taz reached into her sack and opened the parcel of hardbread that she'd tied with rush leaves. She snapped a corner off and fed it to Little Tiny and took a bite for herself. 

After their snack, Taz stood steadfast on the thick bough and nimbly darted down to the leafy ground, moving much like her squirrel friend.

"You're looking good Old One." She said looking back up to the great tree. From the ground, she could barely see the section that she'd been working on, but it was part of a much bigger design that carried across a large section of exposed heartwood on the living tree.

The grove was cool, fresh, and the dense shade, peaceful. A bell rang in the far distance. Taz sighed as a pocket of mist rolled in, and wondered how such a lovely natural thing could bring with it bad tidings. She sat and waited for the messenger.

Sometime later, another druid ran into the deep grove; he was panting. "There's been an attack! They've called for Cernunnos!"