To any who looked upon her, they would see a petite and dainty wolf, rich in coloration moving along the earth at the most leisurely of paces. Each paw was placed just so in a way that offered her grace and dignity. Perhaps they would think she was in no hurry, or that she had learned such ease of motion from a teacher. Was she a royal, then, who had been gifted innumerable governesses by her parents, a different one for each art? Or perhaps she was someone of a different type of importance, with bodyguards peering after her from the shadows, close enough to protect her but not so close as to make her feel claustrophobic. Or, even better yet, was she a warrior princess in her own right, moving just so because she had absolutely nothing or no one to fear? Ah, yes, these and many more may be the stories spun about her, but all of them would be far from the truth. Her own story was one much sadder and darker, but there will be time for it later, to be sure - to be shared only with those she trusts and no one else in order to protect herself, and those she will come to be responsible for.

As I have said, she was beautiful from afar. Her rare heritage, dating back to the elusive Iberian wolves, granted her a blended pelt of reds, browns, and creams, much like the strawberry roan sometimes seen in the coat of horses. But her true uniqueness would be revealed only if the onlookers sought to get to know her or at least meet this wonder and came closer. Only then would they see her eyes, pure as ivory save for the central black hole of her pupil. Pity would surely come then, for with no color, any would naturally assume for her to be blind.For, who had ever seen irises so pale on these other than on blind beggars, the radiance faded from disuse? Shock would be the next emotion, as she would turn to face her new acquaintance and look directly into their eyes with a coy smile and fluttering lashes. Intrigue would come next, to be sure, as her silky soprano voice would spill from her lips, pure as the vocals of any angel, but speaking in such tongues as to shame any prude or innocent. Her body had lain with countless others, always to benefit herself with information, or to get her closer to her victims. She always did enjoy the act, however, rebelling in her sexuality the ways that most others would casually revel in the sunlight on a nice summer day.

She was complex enough, but her most endearing... not not endearing for all too often it was used for devious purposes... her most ferocious of qualities was her mind. She had seen and experienced much and had the good sense to learn fro it all. She had nearly a perfect memory due to her hyperthymesia, yet another rare trait that was both a blessing and a curse. She used it to her advantage, however, drinking in everything that happened to her, every lesson any stranger ever taught her. Because of this, along with the things she too often learned, she had been called every sort of name, from saint to devil, goddess divine to witch-doctor. In other lands a heavy bounty laid on her head, and in one land in particular the only wolf she had ever loved was the one calling for her head.

Intrigued yet? Curious perhaps, to get to know this wolf? Then let us return to the present, where she currently travels to a new land... the one that will soon be hers.

And there she is now, leisurely walking along the bank of Romance River, pausing at times to lap up its sweet nectar with a pink tongue, her blank pools watching the ripples that form in consequence. For with every action there is a consequence. But now she is turning, her direction no longer straight, but unsure. A winding path, or rather a path through unthread ground is the one she chooses, her nares flaring and following something not quite unpleasant. It is death, but not in the way of rotting flesh and decaying corpses... rather it is the death of a land, it is a land forgotten by most because the absence of anything living. There are no claiming scents, and any that once were there have been swept away by time and weather. In truth this place really is a clean slate - for Nimueh, for the land itself.

The Iberian fae stands at its precipice and looks across the broken land. She does not know about the earthquake that wrecked this place, or the lives that were lost. But she does know that this is home now. Tenderly she places one paw in front of her and then another, descending into the first of many ravines carved angrily into the deep ground. There are plenty of ledges for her to traverse across, but not all of them are safe. Not all of them bear her weight and it is only her particular attention to the shifting of the ground that allows her safe passage down - and to her surprise finds a deep river flowing lazily through the ravine. It was once an underwater stream, exposed now. As her tongue laps up the cool liquid she smiles. Yes... this is home. Slowly, she ascends back the way she came, and tilts her head back to call for others. Other misfits and miscreants who have no other place to go.