Almost… there… perfect! With a wide grin of success, he looked over his work in the firelight, pushing his hood back from his head. One of his broad hands re-mussed the wild inky tresses and he leaned back against his stump. His followers- no, his friends- sat by the fire with him. The Dolorosa, mending his Disciple's skirt; Disciple, drawing in the dirt and trying to stay still; and Psiioniic, busy fucking around with some flowers off to the side.
Yes, Signless was pleased with the calm of their little group right now. The moons shone bright over them, casting faint pink and green tones on the land. Enough with admiring the world, though; back to the task at hand.
Eyeing the figure, you brush your fingers over the delicate face of the troll. You had a gift with this wood—it may have taken many sweeps to perfect, but you were getting very good at working with it. This current figure was only proof. It was a small doll, no bigger than your hand, made to look like your flushcrush when you first met on the ballroom dance floor.
The hair would take some more work; as you assessed what still needed completion, you accidentally ended up with a sliver in one of your fingers. Oh well. You simply pulled it out and flicked it elsewhere as you decided on your next move.
Shave after sliver after bit, wood landed on the ground at his feet. The hair was smoothed out, etched and molded into an array of small curls and waves and tresses. By the time that portion was done, the Dolorosa had started cooking their supper and Disciple was back to looking for things to add to the stew.
Psiioniic sat beside him, watching curiously, trying to identify the troll- he never would, though. She had her mask on, and he wouldn't add her empirical sign to the gown until he was nearly finished. Then, it would be hidden back in his rucksack, to give to her later.
No, your dearest friend would never know who this mysterious, amazing troll was. Not until you had her red quadrant and the revolution was over, at least. Then the world could know. You would shout it from the top of your fucking hive, the world would know of your love, how fucking in pity you two were. That day would come; hopefully, soon, but you were patient.
Yes, so close—This would surely gain her attentions. You were a full-fledged seven-and-a-half sweeps, damnit, and you had been persisting since the start of your seventh sweep.
Another flick, twist, scrape- her dress was slowly shaping up into the beautiful gown you had met her in. You hesitated but started carving in her sign. Psiioniic wouldn't notice. He might be sharp, but it's not like he'd ever seen the empress, right? No, only you in your little ragtag group had set your gaze upon her beauty.
After a quick meal, the Signless went back to his whittling and worked on through the night. There was no preaching to be done tonight, he was laying low after the incident in the last village. Only when the sun started rising did he stop and admire the beautiful figure in his hand. Perfect.