Name: Hildegard
Age: 2
Gender: Female
Eye Color: Light, sky blue.
Appearance: Hildegard is 110 pounds of lean muscle, lifted 33 inches high atop long and nimble legs. Her build is narrow with a wiry strength expected of someone who’d fought hard and gone hungry for too long. Her coat is medium length over much of her body, growing lusher around her throat and tail. Her face and the top half of her body are a ruddy brown, with copper highlights visible in direct sunlight. Her front legs are dipped in black past the elbow. The inner white fur of her ears travels down her jaw, and follows her undercarriage from her throat to the ends of her tail. More white spills down the inside of her thighs to wrap around her back limbs. On her fox-like face, ivory dots both eyebrows, and highlight a strip of fur beneath the dark skin around her eyes.
Personality: A lot of what makes Hildegard what she is was forged in the fires of tragedy and necessity. She is resourceful, stubborn, tenacious almost to a fault but always with one metaphorical foot poised to flee - because she is also practical, seeming almost detached in the moments that she’s not biting out her words before even thinking. Forced by fate to grow strong or die, she desires nothing more than to be viewed as competent, mature, while her youthfulness is sometimes betrayed by her impulsive streak. It’s not that she is socially inept, but interacting with others is not her strong suit. Too blunt, too wary, she finds interaction to be a chore. Her armor drops only around pups, with whom her nurturing heart betrays her indifferent exterior.
History: Hilde was born to a scrappy almost-nothing of a pack that was, in spite of this, the best family she could have hoped for. Food was not easy to come by, winters were hard and the litters were small. It wasn’t uncommon for wolves to voluntarily leave, so as not to put excessive stress on pack resources. When Hilde was a year and a half she was the oldest child, between that year’s litter and the small collective of adults. But as the leaves started to change, something worse than frost began to blow in from the north. A disease of the lungs spread amongst the older wolves, weakening them slowly until they died well before spring. As the pestilence worked, Hilde found herself the most capable of the pack, shouldered with an impossible responsibility. The pups came first, as death visited the rest of her family one by one. At the earliest signs of spring, fortune brought them in contact with another pack, who showed the weary foundlings compassion. They agreed to take them in, but while Hilde surrendered the pups into their care, she could not find it in herself to join them. Armed with a hard-learned capacity for survival, she set out on her own.
Can imprint?: Yes

OOC Name: Edo
Where can we contact you? Scream your message into the dark alley behind your nearest Waffle House
Have you read, and agree to abide by, the rules? Yes
What is the required ‘word minimum’ of Lunar Children? 200

Sample post:
Tarquin was a cocky, nasty little shit and everyone knew it. Second oldest and second favorite, no one held any high expectations for Tarquin besides himself. It wasn't entirely unjustified on his part, only that his intelligence was matched by his arrogance, his charm by his vanity and his confidence by his aggression. A voracious ego and a gnawing fear of inferiority were two sides of a coin constantly in motion.

In his first two years of life there were many bad decisions. One, in particular, killed him.

Even he might have been content to call it quits at that, but the universe wasn't. Call it a spiritual intervention, call it the will of the Gods, call it Death throwing out a freebie, whatever-- Tarquin came back, and the kicker? The boy could see ghosts now. What a freak.

Where he comes from, they have a place for people like that. The "gifted". None of them had ever stepped across the veil as he had, however. Anyway, it was as good an excuse as any to send him away with the hope that he'd learn something and be of use for once. One of the shamans took him under her tutelage, and tried to impart to him the tricks of the trade, namely those of control and respect and all the things he didn't give a damn about. He'd often run off home to show just how little he cared but he was even more unwelcome there following his back-to-life shenanigans. The way he held conversations with the dead didn't help his public image, either.

See, he wasn't lacking in ability-- quite the opposite. He was unnervingly good at it. But the lessons weren't sticking like they should and even the unworldly patience of his mentor was cracking.

Tarquin, who had lived and died and lived again by divine providence, gifted with supernatural ability, had flunked out of spirituality school.