Rana had been born third, at least in her litter. To her mother, she had been born seventh. Seventh child out of eight, escaping being last by a fur. Rana, however, had been born with absolutely no intentions on letting anybody think that her birth-order meant anything more than pure coincidence. Born first or last, she would have been born just as intense, but her position of seventh had simply given her somewhere to focus all that intensity.

Floki and Ragnar were different to she and Mihos though she hadn’t grown enough to understand in what ways - she simply knew their names were different, and that Floki wore fur unlike any of her other siblings. In a way, it made her appreciate them even more, or at least in a more unique way. Their difference excited her, and it had been their differences that had spurred her curiosity enough to lure her from the den even as young as she had been. She wanted to know what else was different, and why. Instinct and curiosity drove her out into the open spring air but her hot blood kept her out there even when a hawk called out in the distance and the wind hissed like a snake through the tall grass. Rana might have been a child, but it hadn’t taken her long, even then, to learn that ‘fear’ was something unacceptable.

With her nose to the ground, Rana had begun to weave her way through grass and flower alike, poring over every inch of new land that she could. She knew she had other siblings – older siblings – out in Asteraia too though she had yet to formally meet them. Her mother and father had instead told she and her siblings about them, addressing them by name and characteristics but not by appearance. For Rana, that also drove her out in curiosity. What were they like? Were Floki and Ragnar the unusual one’s, or were she and Mihos? The other’s had names similar but different too – Kaliban and Runihura, she remembered – so did that make them like Floki and Ragnar? She responded to her own question with a grunt as she suddenly stood still and straightened her posture. Somewhere, ahead of her, she had heard something other than her own thoughts.

With her mother in mind, Rana did her best to lift her posture to something akin to the Pharoah; she held herself with a pride she did not completely understand, and moved to find higher ground with a curiosity she had not learned to rein in. And so, the dark child rose on a small mound, proud and eyes afire as she let out a gruff, sharp bark, challenging whoever she had found to come and face her.