Jun 14, 2013 19:54:39 GMT -5
Post by ⋆Ravɛn on Jun 14, 2013 19:54:39 GMT -5
"And all we are is skin and bone, trained to get along."
this is me in the flesh,
taste the sky,
AGE: 3 years
BREED: Timber wolf
HEIGHT: 26 inches
Eyes are typically drawn first to Sorcha's fur, which is a swirl of almost every color: deep and vibrant reds alike, blondes and golds, browns and silvers and khakis that fade into a creamy off-white, flecked with black across her toes and muzzle. Her eyes are a deep, forrest green, dotted with bits of gold and bright green. Her small, moist noise is completely black, as are her toenails and a tiny bit at the tip of her tail. Behind her left ear at the base of her skull, a thin scar stretches down towards her neck, visible if standing behind her. Her delicate, slender frame is built more for speed and not so much for strength or power. Her light, silky pelt and vibrant eyes tend to attract attention, thought to be quite becoming.
thoughts that make me go insane,
With a smart mouth and a big attitude, Sorcha is a devil of a she-wolf who doesn't know the meaning of "filter", or polite for that matter. With her heart blazing on her sleeve, she has no care of censoring herself, and seems to be ignorant of how uncomfortable her words make others at times. Painfully honest almost to the point of bluntness, she has never been one for hiding her true self, believing that if someone can not accept who she really is, they are not worth her time. Moodiness is something that plagues her, and she finds it difficult to become close to someone, for fear of losing them. Sometimes her temper as well as her bad moods make Sorcha come across as rude, although she never truly intends to be cruel. Ambition drives her fully; once she has her mind set on something, she goes for it, not caring the least about what or who stands in her path. Slightly arrogant as well as a flirt, she often has difficulty getting along with she-wolves, and occasionally even brutes.
all over my shoulder,
Unnamed female (stillborn), unnamed male (stillborn)
Memories of Sorcha's mother came to her in flashes.
The comforting brush of a warm body against hers, long before she could see. The flash of bright eyes, as green as grass and flickering with affection. For a while she'd had a mother, that much she was certain of, but after losing her, time had made her memory fade.
Sorcha was the only pup of three that lived. The other two, stillborn likely due to her mothers own sickness, were promptly forgotten about and never spoken of. As Sorcha grew over the months, her mother grew steadily weaker and weaker. Often times Sorcha would return from hunting or scouting with her father and rush back to their den, worried that her mother would have passed while they were away. For months, Sorcha's mother struggled and held on, until eventually losing her fight one cold winter morning. At the time, Sorcha was barely old enough to hunt on her own. Extremely affected by her mother's death, Sorcha grew moody and snappy, often times causing trouble with other pups in their small pack. Her father grew distant, seeming less and less fond of Sorcha now that her mother was no longer alive. A little after Sorcha turned a year old, she ventured out on her own.
From the get-go, Sorcha got herself into trouble. She said what she thought and meant what she said, something that had often earned her the title of "rude". Without a parent to teach her how to censor herself, she grew to be a bit of a spitfire, getting herself into her fair share of scuffles, one of which earned her a nasty scar on the back of her neck. Still, she continued to be honest to the point of bluntness, feeling that she should never have to hide herself from anyone.