Post by Pocket Kitsune on Jan 20, 2012 13:15:30 GMT -5
Amaya
"Weep, little lion man. You're not as brave as you were at the start. Rate yourself and rake yourself; take all the courage you have left."
this is me in the flesh,
NAME: Amaya
NICKNAME(S): None.
PRONUNCIATION: Ah-my-ah.
POSITION: Free-roamer
taste the sky,
AGE: 3 1/2
GENDER: Female
BREED: Gray wolf
HEIGHT: 33"
APPEARANCE: Amaya is large for a female, weighing closer to 169 pounds. Her fur is a rich black in coloration, with a few flaws of silver streaking throughout her fur along the ridge of her back and a small tuft at her chest. The tips of her ears also have a silver tinge to them, that when catching the light, reflect in light-to-dark alternating shades; a light, near-silver at the tips, that progressively darken towards the base, taking on a more steel or charcoal coloration. Her fur is longer and slightly thicker than average; a throwback to her ancestry of a more mountainous region.
Amaya, while lean in build overall, has a well-defined muscular structure. She has a build that favors both speed and strength, giving her a curious melding of a streamlined appearance. Her muscle definition can be clearly witnessed beneath her coat. Her legs are slightly more elongated than what is considered typical for her breed. This is what, in large part, gives her her advantage of speed, in addition to the wider webbing between her toes that allow her to maintain even traction on rougher terrain. Her eyes have a greenish-gold tint to them, the left having a darker tint to it than her left. Her left eye bears a flaw; the bottom corner looks whitish and devoid of color. In fact, up close, it indeed mirrors an absence of color. It would normally be an indication of partial blindness; though in her case, it's a genetic defect in which the lower left corner of her eye has no pigment.
Her most distinguishing traits are two-fold; the first among them being the faint feathering she possesses behind her forelegs. The fur there is considerably longer and softer than the hairs that dominate the rest of her pelt. The second of which is the silver bands of fur towards the tip of her tail. They fade gradually in both color and intensity, however, the end result remains the same; her tail appears to be patterned not unlike a raccoon's. While the resultant years have perhaps made her leaner than she once was, there is still a glimmer of something regal in her bearing.
thoughts that make me go insane,
PERSONALITY: Amaya has a largely stern personality. It is a trait that has only grown further ingrained over the years, and it is a trait kept close out of both necessity a desire for self-preservation. She is very much no-nonsense, and as a result, it takes little for her hackles to rise on impulse. While to call her 'willful' would be an injustice, Amaya is very much of strong mind and firm opinions. Once a decision has been reached, she rarely wavers from her initial assessment or judgment. She has a largely dominant personality, and does not bend lightly or easily o the whims of another. She is not unyielding; at least, she is not stubbornly so. She has the wisdom to recognize when resistance will not benefit her in the larger scheme of things, and will back down accordingly. All the same, she will not bow and scrape without being forced to do so; either through wordplay or a show of force. She will hold her ground with conviction, and if a retreat is necessary, she does so with grace; neither in cowardice or defeat.
Amaya is prone to taking charge, should an opportunity present itself. If she sees the chance to seize leadership or provide direction, she does so. Unflinchingly, and without hesitation. While she can seem aloof to the point of coldness at times, she is far from cold. She has a compassionate side that emerges with a warm fondness towards those she is close to, and a fierce and well-defined maternal inclination. She is quick to provide comfort and affection for those who number among those she cares for. Her devotion, once earned, knows no bounds. Towards family and friends, she is surprisingly gentle and thoughtful in the ways in which she conducts herself. The reverse of this, however, is that she tends to behave in an aloof and closed-off manner towards strangers. She is mistrustful of those she has not met, and will typically treat them with a coolness that is in equal parts both polite and wary.
She has a hidden sense of largely sarcastic humor, that emerges on rare occasions. While firm, she is just and treats those she is close to--or those she deems worthy--with kindness and respect--provided they earn it. She has a fierce sense of loyalty, and expects the same from those she encounters. Amaya possesses a strong moral center, with a clearly defined sense of right and wrong, and she is quick to balk should she be asked or forced to go against them. Overall, she has gathered wisdom quickly for her few short years, and has had to mature far more quickly than most, in many ways.
all over my shoulder,
FATHER: Rabe
MOTHER: Einar
SIBLINGS: Toshiro, Lethe, and Asgeir.
HISTORY: Amaya was born to the Eastern lands; one of the few and infrequent bastions that yet remained free of the reach of Dachau and Ravensbruck alike. Hers was a modest birth pack; an electric mixture of those turned out from their original pack as the price of some slight, perceived or otherwise, and those who had simply adjoined themselves to the mild beginnings of the pack for the sack of familiarity. Not a true pack, by any strength of the imagination, and, for all intents and purposes, hardly worthy of the title. Yet, regardless of the rather lax and impractical formation of the small, marauding band, it was functional. It permitted survival, and, most precious of all, it promised freedom. There were ten in number, ranging from the infirm and the aged to those summer's were still few in number; brash and untried. Eager, hotblooded males and females who wore youth's belief of the untouchable like a shroud.
Rabe, Amaya's father, was the founder of the impromptu pack. Though it would be far more generous--and hedge closer to the ring of truth--to say instead the he bore the tile of a self-stylized leader. It was surprising to none when he seized the tile for himself. Perhaps, in large part, due to his very nature. To say that Rabe was charismatic would be a gross injustice. For indeed, he was--but there was something about him--a confidence that radiated. captivated. A magnetism within his quiet manner of speaking that simply...compelled. Rabe, despite his youth, favored diplomacy above all. And why not? It was, after all, the swiftest way to pull the strings. To pacify, even as head bowed in wordless acquiescence. It was a trait that one had to wield carefully; the pack, for its modest size, did not lack in ambition. There were others who hungered for leadership, and they were not unlike vultures; ever vigilant in their hunger and opportunistic nature. Starving, truth be told, for the current leader's failure.
But such is the way of things, and so it has been for hundreds of years. Rabe knew this, and so he was, by turns, both a lenient ruler and a cautious one. Not that he was without his failings. Few often are. In Rabe's case, both his arrogance and youthful inexperience were often points of avarice and contention within the pack. Not all were content with his rule, but few were in a position to properly challenge him. And that was how Rabe preferred it; ruling in such a way that peace and warfare balanced upon the edge of the same blade.
For the first few years of Rabe's rule, the pack prospered. By no means did they flourish; prey was scarce, and what little there was was restricted to isolated herds of mountain goats, often far too sure of foot for the pack to dare consider engaging. Regardless, there were few death in the years that followed, and those who did decline into ill health and eventual death were those who numbered among the infirm and the aged. Rabe's rule was a solo one for the entirety of two springs and a winter. He was largely disinterested in selecting a mate; unwilling to divide power with another. But his opinion was amended for him--and rather willfully, at that. A young she-wolf, born two winters before was to prove his downfall.
Her name was Einar, and she was of such beauty as to be above compare within the eyes of many. Her pelt was a soft and honeyed off-white, with light patches of beige that were nearly the color of honey marring her ruff and blanketing her back. She was of the hunter class, for such was the way Rabe had organized the pack. As a huntress, she proved to be an exceptional one; slightly larger than most within the average hunting party, sure of foot and sly and calculating of mind. She, like none other, proved most adept at reading the herds; a single glance more than enough to determine the infirm and the sick. Her methods, while in many respects were brutal in their effectiveness and flawless in their execution--held a certain poetry. It was this poetry that drew Rabe's eye.
How very at ease she seemed within the unforgiving environs. She carried herself with a quiet grace. Rabe was as powerless before her as as wind-driven leaf; lost in how the amber of her eyes seemed to become liquid with the laughter within them. Einar was aware of his distance, and the way he kept his eyes upon her in the months that followed, though she pretended she did not. It was a most complicated game they played; one which consisted primarily of baiting and then lulls of disinterest. If it warranted the title of a courtship, it was a silent one. It was not until late that summer that Rabe approached her as she prepared to rest for the evening. There, beneath the gloom of deepening twilight, the pair confessed of the game they'd both indulged in. It was not love, not yet. But Rabe convinced himself that it would suffice when she made room for him as the first of the stars began to prick the sky.
Rabe and Einar became the alpha pair within four full months following their mutual surrender of the game. By that time, both had grown close, and Rabe found himself irrevocably caught; tethered to her. It was not until the following spring that either dared to breathe of love, and by then, Einar's sides had already begun to swell with the faintest stirring of life. She birthed a large litter, some two months later; six in all. Of the six, four survived, the other two too weak and malnourished to flourish on what thin milk was left once their siblings had suckled. Amaya was born third of the remaining four, as sleek and dark as her father.
The birth of Amaya and her siblings heralded a time of joy for the pack, while simultaneously ushering in the turning of an era. And yet, there was something fundamentally seperate about the one they named Amaya. As a pup, she stood out from the rest of her siblings at an early age for her quiet and studious nature. It was a trait that her littermates--and a great number of adults-- found unnerving. Perhaps it was because of the strangeness of her left eye, considered by some to be some unnatural thing. Not a curse, precisely, but certainly something to be wary of. Because she was not as eager to join in the more enthusiastic games of her siblings, her interaction with her littermates was minimal, at best.
Her nature became one that preferred isolation; something that her siblings often teased her mercilessly over. Save but one. Toshiro doted upon his sister, and always proved quick to join her in her solitary games. If he saw her toying with a scrap of hide or bone, he'd prance over to her with a lolling tongue, and seize the other end. As they grew, the pair became closer towards each other that nearly any other within the pack. Her brother, in spite of their opposite natures--Amaya soft-spoken and reserved, Toshiro boisterous and ever with a barb or a joke upon his tongue-- became both advocate and a dearer friend than she could have ever hoped to ask for.
Amaya soon became a jewel among the pack. Because she was slower to socialize, her cunning and other skills developed at an almost accelerated pace. She was the first to memorize the stampede patterns of elk, and how to cut through them like a knife to separate the weakest from the herd. She was, in many respects, the closest the pack would ever come to a she-wolf of royal bloodline, and towards the middle of her first year, it became apparent that, should her parents die, she would be their successor. Such an opportunity never presented itself. Toshiro, ever the dreamer, the restless one--had grown malcontent with the banal life within the pack. Every so often, a loner would drift through their lands, speaking of other lands, other packs. Most dismissed such claims as wildly idealistic tales. But none could mistake the manner in which Toshiro's would spark and come alight with interest and an excitement that was indescribable.
He departed from the pack late in the fall of that year, wordlessly and without the overture of a goodbye. The pack merely found themselves short a member when they woke in the mists of dawn, in the hours following his departure. Though none could claim surprise, Amaya was sick at heart. She felt her brother's absence like a wound whose edges merely cracked and peeled, but never healed. And thus, in the weeks that followed, she echoed Toshiro's abrupt departure, in the hopes of finding him.
His trail ran cold long before it ever strengthened enough for her to properly follow it. All the same, now hundreds of miles from home, and with little other choice but to move forward, she pressed on. The journey proved to be one of hardship. Weather and her own inexperience conspired against her; more than once, she found herself driven half-blind and directionless, caught in the gales of winter storms. Game was difficult to come by as well, and as winter slowly deepened, her frame grew gaunt and malnourished. It was in this manner that she arrived at Dachau. A curious and confusing land, and utterly unforgiving to the ideals of outsiders. Unbeknown to her, however, Toshiro had traversed the same path as she. Both siblings had arrived at this milling city that teemed with all things foreign, ignorant of one another.
Within mere days of her arrival, Amaya was sorted into Farbe, as the alpha female. Farbe was a land of stunning beauty; the centerpiece of such bountiful lands being the endless autumn that pervaded among the woodland trees. It was a place that brought Amaya peace, and when at last she had squandered away the first days in awe and a strange calm, she began to focus on growing sleek and healthy on what bounty the land offered. It was here as well that she met Aurex, the male who was to be both ruler and mate, for Dachau allowed none the freedom of choosing a mate.
They were mated in title only. Aurex perplexed her with his changing moods; confidant and bold one moment, brooding and aggressive the next. Within their first months, it became clear to Amaya that she was incapable of loving him. She tried, however; unable to fully comprehend sharing her rule with one she held no affection towards. But Aurex resisted what affections she pressed upon him, his response alien. He would shy away, or become hostile. More often than not he would simply vanish, for weeks, sometimes months at a time, leaving Amaya to rule Farbe and their increasing pack on her own merit. In truth, she neither mourned nor took offense at his absence. She had come to except what they were, and that she would remain as meaningless to him as he was to her. To rule--that was her sole obligation, and she took to it with a voracious sort of passion.
If she could not love her mate, she would love her pack. And that is precisely how life within Farbe went. All the same, Aurex returned one spring; long enough to impregnate Amaya, rather passionless. It was a dry affair; one of necessity, and when it was done she found herself all the more grateful for it. He left some months later, and as the snows set in, it became clear--perhaps even inevitable--that Aurex would not return. She gave birth in the spring, to a litter of four. Two males and two females. The love that had been absent in her life until that moment passed, and she gave herself freely to the role of motherhood.
Her children grew rapidly; far more rapidly, in truth, than she would have liked. And then, that summer, strangely, inexplicably, Aurex returned. It was his children who encountered him first, with all the joy and innocence of pups blossoming into adolescents. Aurex, having never taken part in the raising of the very pups he'd sired, grew hostile at their approach. He turned on them, denying their claims, renouncing them as his offspring. This Amaya could not abide, and when her children returned, hurt and troubled by the welcome they'd received from the male she'd named their sire, she herself grew incised.
She confronted Aurex, and when he again denied his paternity--even going as far as to suggest she had mated with another in his absence--she turned on him in turn. She stripped him of his title as alpha, citing his negligence of his duties. Of how he'd failed his mate. His children. The pack that would have come to look to him if only he'd stayed. But Aurex, even in the face of his humiliation, would not leave. He remained within Farbe for a touch longer--stubbornly trying to reclaim the very title Amaya had denied. By fall, he had vanished once more. But Amaya had precious little time to give such absence more than a fleeting thought.
Changes had come to Dachau. Whispers of enslavement spread like wildfire, and, with much of Farbe either deceased or dispersed, Amaya had little reason to risk the very heirs she had sacrificed her all for. And so she made the decision to leave, when her pups were scarcely a month old. Once more, she struck forth, with four wide-eyed pups in tow, still troublesomely innocent of the ways of the world. It was a long journey, and harder than before. Certainly, it was a harsh one; her pups were not accustomed to either pace nor the length of the journey, and their confusion as to why they'd abandoned their home was equal parts plaintive and resentful by turns. Though her heart broke for the sake of them, she pressed on. There would be no turning back. There was no future for them in Dachau any longer--and certainly no safehaven.
Seasons spun and changed beneath the dust stirred by their paws. A year passed, with Amaya forced to raise her young as well as she could as they traveled. They kept tirelessly on the move, never stopping in more than one location for very long. It was a risk she would not take, fleeing the shadow that rumors had birthed. It was in this manner that the five arrived at Ravensbruck, world-weary and disoriented. Amaya swiftly discovered it was no better than its predecessor, but the die had been cast. All that remained was for the five of them to do as they had always done; adapt. Survive. Or perish.