07-02-2018, 07:31 AM
Sawtooth is a savage child.
Sweetness is reserved for Wound. For family. The rest of the world is shown teeth in a feral face of iridescent blue. Usually they are shown a fanged grimace that rarely changes into a toothsome grin. Only Wound - only family - has ever seen a softer side of her.
She cannot help it. Her start in life had been lacking in grace and kindness. By the time she finished suckling her first important taste of milk, her mother’s skin lay cool and empty of the spirit that animated it. Sawtooth had but her name and drops of milk on her lips to remember the gold-painted mare by.
It would be days before she was discovered by Wound. Days after she’d changed shape and started to strip the flesh from her mother’s bones out of sheer hunger and desperation. Sawtooth had survived by sheer luck and fortitude, thanks to her mother’s corpse and whatever the tide spit up on shore. But Wound solved all of that and took the bloody starving wolf-pup home with.
She gleaned all she could about her family from her new mother’s lips. Grew fat off grass in one form and meat in the other. Sawtooth was smart and listened to the instincts inside her that determined how either shape should act. So she grew to the point of being curious to what lay beyond the volcanic plains full of smoke and ash. Grew curious about the brothers and sisters out there that came from her blended family.
Sawtooth felt the familiar groan and pop of bones as she shed her horse shape for wolf skin. Hooves became paws but a fanged mouth stayed a fanged mouth. It was easier to slink away in this form. Not that she even bothered to hide her going in the first place. She was adamant and would not be stopped. Not now that she held the rumor and the name of a brother become king between her teeth, trapped on her tongue where it could not get away.
Hours or days, it does not matter. The easy lope of a young wolf serves her well in seeing so much of the world she knew was out there but hadn’t seen. Until she stumbles into a wall of scents that hit her keen nose with pungent Tephran undernotes of smoke and sulphur. She pauses midstride to lift her nose higher to the air and sort out the information her nostrils are passing to her brain. Horses mostly, a good amount of them.
Then, an interruption —
Gold flesh. Pale feathers. Iridescent blue that she’d recognize anywhere because she was covered head to hoof in it. Except right now as she lowers into her wolf’s slink and realizes that she is nigh unto unrecognizable in this shape with its black fur bordering on a deep dark midnight blue. This must be the king-brother that had been talked about. Only she’d not known he was a king until she’d gone off wandering.
Still little more than a pup, she plops down on her haunches as her furry chest and head remain upright by way of two splayed front legs. She gives a short sharp bark that could be interpreted as a laugh or a warning the closer he gets. “Sorry to intrude,” she says through a jaw full of teeth though the look on her little face is anything but sorry. It is more mischievous and sly than apologetic for her trespass.
@[Wolfbane] family! ❤️❤️❤️