[j] the nightingale’s her troubadour

Shiloh Dawnbringer · 09-01-2012, 08:37 PM

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Player Name: Raze

Character Name: Shiloh Dawnbringer

Date of Birth: 16 March 2010

Gender: Female

Species: Eastern Timber x Mackenzie Valley Wolf

Personality Traits: Protective . Vain . Polite . Family-Oriented . Reserved

Skills: Staff Fighting . Tailoring . Scouting . Reading & Writing . Diplomacy

NPC Characters/Animals: N/A

Residence: House Number 4 in Jordheim, please! I will send a description later. :>

Shiloh is on the eastern border, near Amherst. I wasn't quite sure how much she'd know (especially regarding Gideon and where he is), but here you are! My first post trying to figure her out so this is a bit lengthy, sorry. <333

Word Count → 742

The pale-furred beauty tiptoed through the shadows of the mixed forest, inhaling the scents of pine and fir and oak and ash. Sunlight slanted through the gaps in the leafy branches and evergreen boughs, illuminating fair hair and catching on the jeweled flower at the young woman’s throat. Somewhere a bird trilled, and she stopped to swivel her ears forward and adjust her grip on the bag slung over her shoulder. The other hand wrapped more tightly around the ornately carved staff she walked with, and she went on her way again, prodding at the ground and skirting anywhere too mucky after the rains that had hit Nova Scotia from, some traders claimed, a southern hurricane.

Shiloh Dawnbringer had heard a lot of claims lately, although she took all of them with a grain of salt. She was not quite the naïve girl she had once been, and her sharp and wary eyes belied the confident way she walked. She had heard many stories over many miles since her departure from the Solbjorg in the spring, but they all pointed her in the direction of the peninsula she’d once called home. The isthmus she crossed now would take her back to the land where she’d spent portions of her childhood; this much she knew as true, and despite herself her heart fluttered in her chest at the familiar landmarks she passed by.

But she kept her composure, tossing her blonde hair back and poking at the ground with her staff again. She hid her distaste at the soft, muddy ground she walked across and was glad that all her clothing was bundled up in the bag and safe—although, when she was still half a girl, she would have insisted she covered herself up as she traveled, despite the clawing fingers of brambles and the restrictive clinging of the cloth. It almost made her smile, but she suppressed this, too. There would be time for smiling when she found her brothers and therefore found her home.

Shiloh found her brow furrowing, a habit of concentration that she thought made her look ugly but that she simply could not break. Ascher had been unhappy with her departure from the Solbjorg, although even with his nose buried in his books he knew the danger of not warning the small colony of Stormbringers. Gideon had left in early spring, the grey hybrid girl tagging along, but this was not like their early days; his scent was not there for her to blindly follow until she ended up in her family’s arms. She would have to finish this journey by herself, and then…

And then what? Her forehead wrinkled more, and she finally stopped walking, her grip tightening on the staff as she looked at her surroundings. The Dawnbringer half wanted to convince Saul and the others to come back home—to their true home, to their kin in the valley—but she knew it would be a fruitless endeavor. She’d had few true ties to Dahlia de Mai, which made it easy to leave when she and Ascher had gotten lost in the dreadful snowstorm, but Saul was a grown man now and she could only imagine the kind of life he’d found here. If nothing else, Nova Scotia was a place of opportunity.

Still, Shiloh had to warn them; she had to protect them. She forced herself to smooth her expression and pressed onward, occasionally pausing to sniff or listen or simply stare at the mixed forest around her.

Eventually the trees thinned, and when she stopped she could see the makings of a human civilization in the distance—but this was not what attracted her attention. There was a whiff of an odor that drew her closer to the lake she’d spotted, an odor that could only be the collective scent of wolves. Underneath the woody smells was an unmistakable scent, one that brought back memories of her earliest days, nestled with her siblings against her mother’s belly, and of the valley she’d just left behind.

“Stormbringers,” Shiloh whispered, and halted at the border. She wanted to drop everything and sprint past the boundary, sprint until she found her brothers and cling to them and breathe in more of that familiar, safe scent. Instead, she clutched the staff with both hands and faced the territory, slowing her breaths until she had enough in her lungs for a melodic howl—a howl for home.

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