AGE: Three years.
GENDER: Male.
IMPRINTABILITY: Able to imprint.
EYE COLOR: Soft lime around the pupil with a thick ring of bright cerulean blue at the outer edge of the iris.

APPEARANCE: Tiberius stands at a height of 38 inches at the shoulder and will weigh 150 pounds after taking his last steps of adolescence. He has a lean, muscular build with strong shoulders and hips, long legs, and large paws. It is a near perfect balance for agility and power, though he does lean more toward the agile suit. His base coat is a bright off-white with only the barest hint of bone hued highlights. From his nose to three quarters of the way down his tail, over his eyes and ears as well, he is topped with a deep charcoal color, broken by a narrow, jagged collar of white that stretches in a shallow “V” just between his shoulder blades. Darker highlights, not quite black in their shade, mottle the charcoal throughout his markings. This dark mottling does not cover any bit of his legs, chest, or stomach, but does drape lightly over his neck and sides. Under each eye is a long triangle of boney white which fades under the inner corner of the eye into the white of his muzzle. Both cheeks are fringed in this same white. His fur is an average length, but fine and wispy at the edges.

PERSONALITY: Tiberius is a bit on the reserved side. A strict upbringing has taught him to speak only when spoken to, sit up straight, and keep his posture tall when walking. When he speaks, his delivery is rather direct and to the point. He isn’t one to waste anyone’s time or lace his words with hidden meanings. Despite his dry conversational skills, Tiberius’ natural state of being is mild and thoughtful. He is observant and cool, and he will always help a person in need if he can. There are times, though, when a proverbial switch is flipped – times of need and stress – and his manner turns sharp and serious.

Born to a warlord and his mate in a patriarchal society miles and miles away, Tiberius’ life had been planned out from the time of his conception. He was to be raised a warrior and a diplomat. His every day was regimented and his every moment scheduled. Perfection was expected of him in every corner of his life, and anything less than was punished harshly. One day, he would inherit his father’s position in the pack as the alpha’s sword and shield, and all those who served in the soldier’s ranks would count him their leader. That was the plan, anyway…

What hadn’t been accounted for was… love.

Her name had been Aurelan. She was white as a dove with the purest, palest blue eyes. When she spoke, it was soft and warm, and when she laughed, nothing in the world was wrong. She was three years older than him, but she didn’t seem to mind the difference in age. In fact, age seemed nothing but a number at the time. Two and five… They were just a recollection of winters past, nothing more.

Suddenly, the boy was finding time in his rigorous training and school schedule. Any chance he had to slip away for a few minutes here and there, Tiberius would wander off to find his dove. He brought her flowers, if he had the chance – a few more minutes out of his day. He didn’t see the harm; he was already so far ahead of the others his age.

But it wasn’t Tiberius’ will which determined the fate of his love life. His father had caught onto the boy’s absences and found out about his frequent rendezvous with Aurelan. He warned Tiberius that he would not abide these distractions, but the boy did not heed. His father scolded him – punished him – for each impermissible jaunt, but Tiberius simply shrugged off the harsh words and beatings as he had learned to do so well. This battle of sorts lasted for quite some time -- until one late autumn day, a mouth full of late blooming daphnes in his jaws, Tiberius slipped off to seek the comfort and companionship of his dove, only to find her broken and bloody in the forest meadow which had been their sanctuary.

He knew all too well what had happened. He could almost play the scene in his mind perfectly. She would have been waiting for him, probably sprawled in the grass and leaves, daydreaming. She would have dozed off as she so often did, waiting to be woken by a soft nudge and kind words. But, when she awoke, it had not been to Tiberius’ call. She would have felt the teeth at her throat, but his father would not have given her the chance to plead or scream. It would have been quick – the only dim light to a dark and sinister tale.

He had wept over her body – his streaming eyes pressed into the crimson stained fur of the girl he loved. Hours passed, and he laid there with her, feeling the chill and stiffness slowly set into her lifeless form. Nobody came – not even his father. No doubt, the man was waiting for his son to come home in a fury.

But Tiberius did not go home. He started digging long after the sun had set, and he didn’t stop until dawn was breaking the eastern horizon. He, a boy of only three years, had buried his first love. The flowers meant to be a romantic present had become a decoration for her grave. And then he had left. He had turned his back on his father and his pack, and he had left… for good.

LARK