Visual description:
Callan is a rather average 11 year old boy in height and weight. He's a natural redhead, fair skin and some freckles in the summer.

Personality:
Energic, kind and fun-loving would be good words to describe Callan. He is curious and likes to learn, but rather by doing than writing or reading too much. He can get a little restless if he has to stay in one place for too long.

Backstory:
"Callan," she whispered, as a tear of joy ran down her apple red cheek. "Callan Alastair," she repeated, louder this time, cradeling the newborn boy in her arms. "Welcome, Callan Alastair," the voices sounded in response. All happy. Joyful. Proud. Robert, Willanius, Feradorah, Bearnard and Tilda – as well as some members of the neighboring clans, all stood in a circle around Nairna and her child. The trees of the family farm surrounding them, protecting them. Willanius and his sons stepped into the middle, Robert was carrying the shovel. He dug a hole and the three of them kneeled down. Willanius raised his hand – holding the seed of a tree. Everyone closed their eyes as he began to whisper in Gaelic. Following the last word the seed was planted in the ground. After returning the soil with his hands, Robert walked over to his wife and son, with a smile that felt like it stretched all the way around. Leaning down he kissed Nairna's forehead before placing his soil-covered thumb on his son's. "Fàilte, my lad," Robert said, before taking the child into his arms. "I have a son!" He exclaimed towards the rest, and they all cheered in response.

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Peeking over his shoulder, Callan could see them over by the Hawthorns, doing whatever it was that they were doing.. The young Fraser boy frankly wasn't interested in the care of trees , but he certainly liked climbing them! Although, it had become a rather risky affair, as his grandpa had given clear instructions as for which trees were strictly off limits. Instructions that Callan probably remembered for a maximum of 7 minutes. But this tree right here, it pretty much begged to be climbed – with all these perfectly climbable branches poking out in every direction. It was exactly tall enough to be exciting, and not so dense that he would be robbed of the spectacular view he was after on the top. Yet, dense enough that his granparents working close by would have trouble spotting him, if this was indeed one of the “no climb trees”. Carefully he placed his feet, reached for a new branch and pulled himself further up. He was getting good at this, it was almost too easy! That was the last thought that passed through his head before the crack reached his ears and he felt the support vanish from beneath his feet. Down he fell, scratching his face and being slapped by quite a few branches along the way. With a thump he landed flat on the grass – a big broken branch laying next to him.

"Auch," Callan whispered, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Immediately he heard his name being yelled, the voice coming nearer with every breath he took. "Callan Alastair Fraser, I told you, I told you not to climb this tree!" Willanius shouted in dispair, kneeling – not beside the boy, but the branch next to him. "Look what you've done," he continued, voice lower now, shaking as he picked up the severed branch. Callan bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears. Not cause he hurt from the fall, but he really hated dissappointing those he cared about. The old man took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he put the branch back down. "Are you allright?" he asked, as Feradorah came running up behind him. "I'm sorry," Callan whimpered, not daring to open his eyes. "Not to worry, my dear," his grandmother lovingly said as she sat down by the boy and picked him up into a hug, just as the water could no longer be contained in the child's eyes. "Wounds and scratches will heal, for little lads and trees alike," she continued, stroking Callan's hair and sending a loving gaze towards her husband. "And while I think I have just the thing to help you dry your tears in my kitchen, no one is better at helping trees heal than your grandfather," she assured. Callan peeked up now, feeling a weight of his shoulders as he saw his grandfather smile. "The tree will be allright, lad," he eventually said. "And you can help me care for her tomorrow, if you'd like." Callan quickly nodded. He wanted nothing more than to make ammends. Reaching over to the branch, Fernadora took a piece of bark from it and placed it in Callan's small hand. "And maybe we can find some way to help you remember what trees like to be climbed on and which don't," she said, receiving a nod in response.

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"You're going to need a new chair soon, lad! Did you see, Tilda, how long his legs have gotten?" Callan was grinning wide with a mouth full of roast and mashed potatoes when he heard his uncle speak. He did indeed feel like he had grown a lot this past winter, and of course uncle Bearnard would be the first to notice. It was a tradition in their family, that everyone got their own chair made from wood from the farm, and as they became older they eventually made their own. He particularly liked grandfather Willinius' chair – it was more like a throne with it's tall back and decorated armrests. Dad's was rather neat as well – it had so many carvings and decorations, and mom had painted it in really pretty colors. "I'm telling you Rob, soon he'll be joining my team!" Bearnard said and winked at his nephew, who had already scooped his fork ready for the next bite. Callan hoped he was right – he'd love to be a quidditch player, just like uncle Bear. The mood around the table was energic as always. Laughter and smiles, and mom's delicious cooking. "Maybe so, but quidditch players eat their vedgetables, right Bear?" his mother Nairna said with a smirk and sent her son an encouraging look. Whilst chewing, Callan took a long look at the broccoli on his plate, weighing it back and forth in his mind, before just about being able to fit it on the already stuffed fork. "Speaking of Quiddith!" his dad Robert shot in. "Guess what famous top player will be joining my radio show this Thursday?" There was no hiding the excitement in his voice. Robert Reed Fraser was very, very excited about his broadcasting. "Is it me?" Bearnard replied teasingly, without getting any attention. "Giles McCorrin! Captain of the King Kelpies!" Callan heard the gasps around the table and although he didn't know much about quidditch, even he could feel that this was something big. After they had all gibbered on about the McCorrin guy for a while, Callan turned to face his grandfather. "Grandpa, when will I get my wand?" he asked. Willanius grinned and leaned in. "Now that my good lad, that is an excellent question indeed."

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"But you promised!" Callan shouted, stomping his feet on the hardwood floors. His mother was doing the dishes while his father wiped the plates dry with a kitchen towel. "I know," Robert answered with a sigh, "but things change Callan, and now we need to stay here, with your grandparents. I promise you, we will go see uncle Bear's next match." The ten-year-old was furious - this was so unfair! He had been looking forward to getting to go to the big quidditch match for weeks now! And all of a sudden they had to stay at home?! "But you already DID promise!" "Enough!" Robert shouted, louder than he intended, making Callan even more mad. He could feel his blood boiling and out of the blue a bunch of the plates - including the one his dad was holding, shattered to pieces. The sound of the porcelain breaking startled them all and Callan stared with big eyes over at the mess he had made. His parents looked at each other in silence. It was his first sign of magical abilities, and they both made great effort to hide their excitement. "Callan," his dad said, calmly. "Go to your room." The boy stared for another moment, before going to his room in silence.