All welcome, but please only one or two, and fast-replies would be super appreciated! <3 455 words.

Adorned in her usual clothing, Foxglove thought that perhaps she looked out of place in the tribe. The other members tended to be decorated, all the same, but with feathers and skins. These things seemed so different, so foreign, compared to the flashy scarves and corsets. Solemn jade eyes studied the pale hands that were stretched out in front of her, fingers pointing to the heavens and her palms feeling the warmth of the Great Fire. In this two-legged form, her fingers did not look much different than anyone else's, though perhaps a bit narrow in comparison. But then, she thought, her paws were not shaped differently in the feral form, either.

It was her other features that distinguished her as what she was, a wolfdog, the bastard canine. Her blood had wronged her so much during the tyrant Maska's reign as tribe-leader, and though she had once been proud to look like her mother in a twisted way that defied the way her mother ignored her more than the others, Foxglove had found herself wishing that she had taken after her father more, like Maggie had. If she had only looked more like a wolf, if her dog heritage had not betrayed her as such, would she have been imprisoned as she had been, to be freed only in the wake of bloodshed? That was not what she wanted for her life.

And so her eyes traveled down the slender hands she held up to the warmth, the heart of AniWaya, to study the bracelets of bare skin she wore on each wrist. Her dog heritage had caused this. She had not been aware of the prejudices here, but they apparently did exist on some level. Just because Maska and Dawali were gone, she could hardly count on no one else in the tribe sharing the opinion of her species. Ayasha had defended herself and her tribe, naively so. There would always be unjust things in the world. Had she not been shown that countless times by now? It was important to simply move past them, to determine another path that might avoid the same hurts. She would change. Adapt.

So lost in the dancing flames and the study of her hands, Foxglove gasped sharply when she felt something warm and large touch her shoulder, rest against her neck, and she stiffened for a moment before she realized it was only her mare. Withdrawing her hands from the warmth, the gypsy girl spun on her heels, wrapping her lithe arms around the champagne horse's neck. "You know, you still do not have a name," she whispered softly the the horse, though she was certain the horse could not understand her words. It hardly mattered.

<3 414 words~

Perhaps she should have expected that this meeting would come to pass some day. There was no way that she could have expected to not have to interact with the new leader of the tribe, though she would have willingly put it off forever, if it had only been possible. Dawali had seemed kind, and the tribe had praised him as a good leader, but Foxglove had not seen that. She had only seen the coward who had allowed a strange man to come in and demolish everything the tribe had. He had allowed him to imprison her, as well as captives from other packs. His leadership had been nothing like the blonde wolfdog had expected, nothing like it had been painted by the tribe's mentality during Maska's tyranny. They had collectively called for his return to leadership by fighting against Maska, but none of them had come to help her.

She didn't belong, and she was painfully aware of it.

Her one good ear flicked back at the sound of the larger woman's approach; the other remained folded, useless for anything but muffled sound. It was only when the council woman was closer that she turned to acknowledge the woman that now led the tribe. "Unalihelitseti," she repeated in her quiet tones, the word falling strangely from her tongue. She had not made an effort to learn the native language of the tribe, as many had, and so it felt strange to speak the greeting that had been given to her, that was expected in return. She left out an identifier; she knew the woman's name and she knew the title she wore on her breast, but Foxglove did not know what to call her. She hardly knew what to think of her. Dawali and Maska had poisoned her mind against leaders of the tribe.

Why did she not simply leave?

She did not know the answer.

"I am fine. Simply lamenting that I have yet to give my mare a name," she spoke in lilting tones, her fingers entangled in the mare's silken mane. She had been in possession of the docile mare for so long, and yet, she remained without a calling. In her mind, Foxglove simply thought of her as The Mare. Jade eyes narrowed slightly as she focused on the brown woman's face. "And you, Anasgayv?" she asked, her voice now taking on a slightly more steely tone as she acknowledged the woman's status. It could not be helped.

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It was not something she had considered before, but as she looked over the sturdy mare, she had to agree that she did seem strong, and perhaps her name could be drawn from that. Simply calling her by the term would not fit, however, another language might provide a better name. Valeria, a Hungarian name for strength, came to mind almost immediately. She had known a female with that name, and fit it she had. It did sound pretty, so perhaps it could fit her horse. "Valeria," she said, sounding it out in use on the mare, who turned her face to study the leader. "It is Hungarian. For strength," she added, explaining to the Anasgayv. While she did not know the language of the AniWayans, she could speak Hungarian, and she knew much of the tongue of the gypsies. Foxglove thought of this as yet another barrier.

With a small shrug of her shoulders, the blonde hybrid sighed. It did not seem to suit the horse nearly as much as she had hoped, and her mind danced over other possibilities. She did not want to give her mount a name that could be associated with war, with trouble, with conflict. Perhaps something that had to do with peace, or calm, for Foxglove did not want to find herself thinking of the injustices of the tribe prior to Ulilohi's arrival when she looked at the mare. Giving her a name that could potentially be associated with battle—and the thought of strength did make the gypsy girl think of it—was something she hoped to avoid, but Valeria was a nice name. Maybe if she gave it enough time, it would grow on both her and the mare. It was a name to think of, at any rate.

Brows raised at the mention of misfortune the day prior. With the way she was feeling as of late, the Tsula Agateno did not socialize with the tribe and had not heard of anything happening the day before, but clearly she had missed something big. "The sheep got out?" She would sound incompetent, perhaps, not even knowing what had happened within the tribe's lands only a day ago, but it was the first she was hearing of it. She also did not know who Gemma was, but she asked, "Did she do it on purpose?" She couldn't imagine why it would be done on purpose, but then, some did very strange things.

IDEK. xD Skip all the name rambling, I'm not really sure where it came from? 1,067 words.

Names were fickle things. They were chosen by parents when their children were hardly more than wriggling bodies on the ground, and they were expected to live up to those names. Her family history included prophecies she knew nothing about, but there was a long history behind her family and her great-uncle and her grandmother had been named for what they were expected to do. Her own mother had named all of her children after flowers with medicinal or drug use, even the sole male of the litter. Foxglove did not know all of the purpose behind their names, but she knew what the flowers they were named for could do. Her mother had told her as much.

Poppy had been her favorite (though Lolita had never specifically said that, it had always been obvious in the way that their mother had doted on her alone) and had looked like Pippa, and so she had been named in a similar fashion. Poppies were associated with opium, a drug. Her mother had done drugs, she knew, though she did not know to what extent. Perhaps it did not matter. The name was pretty, despite its associations, and Foxglove knew it suited her rust and white sister more than it ever would have suited her. Poppies were red, like her sister.

Magnolias. These flowers were used for reducing anxiety, and so the happy antics of her sister as a puppy had relieved some of her mother’s anxieties. Similarly, when the girl had been taken out of the Monroe matriarch’s life, her anxieties had returned, for she had feared for her daughter, even if she would not vocalize this. Lolita had known that Niro would care for her, true, but she had missed her daughter terribly, and Foxglove had seen it so easily that it was blinding.

Orchid. The only male of the litter had been born without even a breath of life. Despite the feminine nature of flowers, he had been named for one, too. It was not only a flower, but the combining form for all things male in the medical world. Orchids were used in many ancient medicines, dating back to ancient China. It was used to treat ailments and diseases, the very things that had likely taken him away from his family before he even had time to breathe.

Foxglove. She had come next, along with her smaller, weaker twin. These flowers could be used to heal, or they could be used to kill. Dead Man’s Bells. Witches’ Gloves. These were the things she was named for, and so it was fitting with her similar affliction to Lolita’s. They could cause hallucinations, delirium, and even death. Some used these flowers for that very purpose, to see things they might not see otherwise. It was not a risk Foxglove would ever take for her namesake, but then, no drugs had ever entered her system willingly.

Finally, Iris. The smaller and weaker blonde girl, the one who had lived no longer than a week, if that. Somewhere in the old Dahlia de Mai lands there were two small graves that held the bodies of Iris and Orchid, but Foxglove did not visit them, even after returning to these lands. Irises were used in sedative medication, among other things, and so this might be fitting, as well, for she had been quiet, docile, and hardly active at all during her short life. Foxglove did not mourn for the loss of her twin or her brother, truly, for she knew neither of them.

Their names had been given to them before even their eyes were open, or in Orchid’s case, before he was cold in the ground. And yet, somehow their names fit them in ways she might never have expected. It was funny, that. Would that always be the way it was? If she were to ever have puppies herself, would she be able to give them names to fit? Had they grown to fit their names, or was that simply coincidence, and a big one at that, for there were five of them.

When the councilwoman suggested a name, Foxglove nodded slowly, considering it. She did not know if such a name would fit her mare, but she tested it out anyway, just as she had done with Valeria, which she also was unsure of. “Uwoduhi,” she repeated after the larger female. The tongue of the tribe was still so foreign to her, much like the Hungarian language had once been to her. Now, though, she spoke it fluently, though she did not know if the same would ever be said for the language of the tribe. She’d truly made little effort to learn it.

Neither name seemed right yet, but she would play with them, tinker with the way they sounded and see how the mare responded to them in different situations. At any rate, she now had two options that might prove useful, and that was more than could se said about only moments prior. There was still a sense of uneasiness to the way she stood, watching her councilwoman carefully for fear of being prosecuted by her, as well. Ulilohi had done nothing to indicate that this was a possibility; in fact, she seemed to be trying very hard for Foxglove’s sake, and she wanted only to please the councilwoman, for this was still her home, as little as it felt like one in recent times. She could only hope that things would get better for her with a new leader.

Her eyes widened at the mention of how many sheep got loose. Foxglove did not often go to the stables, only to put her horse away and get her again, and she did not know anything of the other animals. Going to the stables made her think too much of Liliana, and indirectly her mother, so she chose not to subject herself that that. The mention of an injury was unfortunate, but as she did not know Gemma, it was hard to picture it and so it was hard to empathize. “That must have been awful. I am sorry I could not help,” she admitted. As a member of the tribe, however much she felt that she was not viewed in the same light as others, she should have been there to help, but the fact that she avoided the stables worked against her.