Familiars

A quick-eyed scavenger with a nose for loose coin. Nothing shiny stays lost for long around it.

Patient and precise. Its silk remembers every knot, and nothing that binds it holds for long.

Sharp-eyed and sharper-witted. It sees the trap before the trapper does, and says so.

Squat, damp, and entirely unbothered. Venom slides off it and it jumps further than it has any right to.

Sun-warmed and thick-scaled. The elements wash over it without ever quite getting in.

Aloof, weightless, and never once landed badly. It will help when it suits it, which is often enough.

Silent as falling snow. It watches what hides in the dark, and what hides behind a smile.

Stubborn and always foraging. Travels far on very little and expects you to keep up.

Ancient, unhurried, unbreakable. It has outlived every fashion of armour and improved on all of them.

Uncomplaining and immensely strong. Whatever you cannot carry, it can - and it grows into more.

Runs better in company. Every friend at your side sharpens its teeth a little further.

Contemplative, well-fed, and unexpectedly quick. Learns from everything, including your mistakes.

A mote of restless light. Lends you its wings for a while, then wants them back.

Armoured and unhurried. It does not need to be fast when a single strike will do.

Rides the high air and misses nothing. Under its eye, distance stops being a defence.

Built for the deep cold. Winter is not a hardship to it, it is a weapon.

Two tonnes of forward motion. Whatever it hits stops being a problem and starts being scenery.

Vast, gentle, and utterly immovable. Carries a great deal and cannot be knocked down.

A silverback that has never once backed down. Fear does not stick to it, and it spreads easily.

Moves like a rumour. You will hear about it long after it has already gone past.

Bound by an old bargain and bored of it. Every element answers when it bothers to ask.

An old killer out of an older age. It finds the gap in the armour on the first try.

A wolf out of the black between stars. What it wounds, it feeds on.

Impossibly clean, impossibly calm. Nothing clouds its mind and nothing silences it.

A lion of temple smoke and gold leaf. The restless dead cannot abide its company.

Small now. It will not stay small. Even the hatchling breathes true fire.

Eagle above, lion below, tireless throughout. It does not understand the word rest.

Hooves that never quite touch the ground. Serene where anything else would flinch.

It has died before and thought little of it. While it watches, neither will you.

A spirit fox of nine tails. Magic bends around it, and what strikes it is struck back.