ardent

Deliver Us From Evil



Feral


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04-14-2013, 04:27 PM
#7

[Image: feralfirsttable_zps6502ba17.png]


After having lived a life revolving around the wellbeing of an inadequate brother, Feral found the sudden influxe of conversation compelling. Granted, the majority of the words spoken were in the form of questions, but her socially-deprived mind would take what it could get.

"I like to think of myself as a self-taught Jack of all trades." she began with a lopsided smirk. "I can hunt, I can track, but there's nothing I like better than spilling blood. I'm fairly good at it, if I do say so myself. But as you said, we're young. I still have room to grow and improve." She considered mentioning her complete lack of an authority figure up until that point, but in the end decided against it. No need to give them reason to question her ability to take orders.

Chrysanthe's inquiry in regards to her loyalty gave her sudden pause. What was loyalty, exactly? She'd never felt the need to stay true to her parents, their lack of influence having soured her opinion of them in the early stages of her life. The bond she'd shared with her brother had been based mostly on pity and the duty of one sibling to another; he was her kin, after all. Could that be considered loyalty? The she-wolf hadn't a clue, seeing as how the courtisy had never been extended to her thus far. Perhaps, and if not, it was surely the closest thing she'd ever experianced to the term in question.

Her next words were chosen carefully. "There's nothing left for me out there," Her darkly hued head inclined towards the vast and unclaimed expanse behind her, orange eyes narrowing every so slighty. "No kin, no friends, nothing to give me reason to return to the way things used to be. If you allow me in, I'll have no reason to want out... unless one is forced upon me. And even then I'll fight it tooth and nail. I don't much fancy living a life without a purpose." Not exactly a poetic explanation, but it would have to do.

Had she truly forgotten to give her name? How odd. Her brother had always known, and strangers had never asked. Only after a moment of mental debate did she realize that it would be nessacary. Packmates addressed each other by name, didn't they? "Name's Feral, but you can call me what you like. I have no preference." Her eyes never left Syrinx's as she spoke, orange grating against the brightest teal she'd ever seen. Before her stood the heir of Valhalla, every bit as youthful and unpredictable as she was. If she'd known who he was, maybe she would've tried acting a bit more proper... who the hell was she kidding, no she wouldn't have. Authority meant nothing to her; respect was earned, not entitled. As far as she was concerned, he was a reckless brat, just like every other yearling out there, herself included.