Ooc: Emily here. Err... yes. I'm... I'm back. Blame Katie, she persuaded me. I was here in 2004-2005ishhh. =) Hopefully this is okay. Apologies for the Din’dea references, but… they’re kinda needed because they’re true! =D I won’t bring him in to rp (assuming he’s accepted) just yet, because of the plot and so on going on. No fear, I shall neither confuse nor usurp!
Name: Ayashe
Age: 7 years
Gender: Male
Appearance: Ayashe has always been a small, slender creature; not the strongest wolf, but certainly swift of foot and capable of turning on a pinhead. His appearance is strangely elongated – his legs are slim and bony and his muzzle, certainly one of his more notable features, seems to be stretched, with a characteristic upwards ‘dent’ on its bridge. If a wolf could be said to have a ‘Roman nose’, Ayashe would be that wolf.
His eyes are a keen, peach-flesh tawny, matching the rusty colour of his coat, which brindles to grey around his cheeks, brow and sides, and streaks into an aged ochre-white around his mouth and throat. He has been thoroughly weather-beaten since his younger years in the area, long ago, so his coat has lost its sleekness and sheen, but he always was thinly furred.
The world has slowly nibbled away bits of him, and now he bears all those marks. Part of his left ear is missing at the tip. An old scar on his shoulder ruffles the fur there into untamed tufts. His pelt displays the signs of the broad, uneven surfaces beneath it caused by previously infected wounds, slow to heal. His teeth are sharp, but yellowed. However, despite all that… underneath it all, he’s still Ayashe, and he still glides and pussyfoots with skill patently maintained and enjoyed all this time, and he still grins and twinkles as much as ever – somehow, he’s just as dignified and handsome as the youth he once was. He’s just in a slightly different package.
Personality: Innate cunning is not the sort of wit that declines with age. He had it once, and he has it now, and he can still get out of any situation with ease before it begins, if he needs to, with the use of words and even lies (or feet). He is no coward, but will avoid unnecessary physical fights if at all possible. When he was Alpha, he saw no shame on calling on the entire pack to help him drive off an enemy, providing he could ensure the safety of his own allies. If there are resources there, Ayashe will use them.
Now, however, he has matured rather. A fondness he had for pups has grown considerably, perhaps because he has simply never had any of his own. He loves to talk to them. He enjoys an intelligent banter with any wolf, but there’s something about youngsters and their abrupt (and sometimes selfish) manner of speaking their mind that appeals to him. Indeed, his own words are often rather brusque and matter-of-fact; intended to be intimidating and cutting to some… but mostly simply informative. The main difference is that he’s not as headstrong or over-confident as he used to be, and would be embarrassed if such an impression was taken of him.
As mentioned, he wears a beam and a wag in his tail most of the time, but occasionally there is an aura of wistfulness about him - perhaps a sigh in his tone of voice.
It’s probably due to one of those moments of nostalgia that rise with maturity.
History: Ayashe has been a member of two packs, both mostly in his younger years. The first pack, he does not care to think about, because that was the most humiliating.
“You talk back too much. You shouldn’t answer back at al--”
He didn’t last there long – two years, at best. During this time, ambitious plans of his own had already started to fester in his mind, the sort of dream that most pups have, but that most also don’t act upon.
“If I catch you stealing again, you’ll have--”
Eventually, he was demoted to Omega for his wickedness, which had sharp lost its endearing qualities. His plans strengthened.
“You’re already the lowest of the – what MORE do you --”
He left.
He ran away from his first pack at the tender age of two, and eked out a life as a loner. This, however, wasn’t good enough for him. He wanted to be a creator. He was certain there were other wolves out there just like him. There had to be.
And so, settling down and pressing his paw prints firmly in the earth of a most promising area he had found, he started to gather friends and allies. These friends and allies became known as Din’dea.
His time there was short, in comparison to the rest of his life, but happy. He was in his element. So why did he one day leave, without a word?
To this day, he has been ashamed of that moment, but his embarrassment is dwarfed by a much greater need to protect his pack. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but whatever it was, it would quickly latch on to any other members of the pack. He decided it would certainly kill pups, the pregnant, the old and the injured, and weaken the rest at the very least, if they didn't die too. A fever of some sort. His breathing became weak and shallow. He couldn’t eat. He ran away soon after his initial panic about it, purely to protect the other members of his pack.
“I’ll get far enough away that they can’t find me, or my body – whichever way it’s going to be.”
He didn’t die, as he thought he might. His fur started to fall out in patches and he became susceptible to infection. He even considers that he might have become a little delusional. Try as he might, he couldn’t avoid some lone wolves, and wonders to this day whether he did indeed pass on whatever disease it was he had. For the most part, he lived a life of solitude – four long cycles of solitude, in which he became an omnivore and scavenger whilst the sickness took its hold on him…
And then, he got better.
It was a slow recovery, so slow that when he realised he had just managed to catch a rabbit again for the first time, he had thought he was dreaming. But he didn’t return to Din’dea.
Why not?
“I might still carry the illness. I can’t go back yet.”
So he stayed away.
And after a little longer had passed, and he could no longer deny his better health, what was his excuse?
“I’m ashamed…”
In a way, it was almost harder to get over that than it was to get over the illness. He spent many a day pacing backwards and forwards, weighing up a decision in his mind. What if there was no-one left of his old pack? Would new wolves still accept him – who would the Alpha be, now? If anyone recognised and remembered him, would they understand his reason for leaving?
Eventually, it was his memory that won him over. Even to see the lands he’d once protected again – that would make his return worth it. With a brisk and determined step, he chose to once again set off for the lands of the Din’dea and see what the wolves there would make of him, and if he would be accepted back into their fold.