I would like to adopt!
Number: 3
Picture:
Name: Tahz
Species: Mexican Gray Wolf
Personality: Shy, a wolf of few words. When he sees/knows what he wants, there is nothing stopping him from getting it. He can be quite violent when needed, and isn't afraid of a fight. He can be a bit rough some times although he doesn't mean it.
Likes: Weapons, rain, the prairies and plains, hunting, his den, his trusty sling, hard and sharp stones (for slinging, of course!), snow, a good, equally-matched fight, and freedom.
Dislikes: Any creature that captures and enslaves innocents, and treats them badly, hot weather, lightning, vegetables, sling stones that miss their mark, pain, deserts, and hail.
Background:
I walk through my prairie, enjoying the solitude of my secret haven among the tall, rustling grasses. I am the definition of camouflage; my tan, white and black patterned pelt blends perfectly into my habitat. My appearance makes hunting easy. My belly is always full, and life here is good. But lately I have been feeling restless, wild. I am no longer content in my home. There is a deep feeling in my gut, telling me to travel to the woodlands of Summerdell, although my dreams tell me that danger lurks in every part of the once calm land. But I must leave. Tahz was not like other wolves. He chose to live alone instead of in a pack, very unusual for a wolf. When he was naught but a small pup, his parents and the rest of his small pack were murdered by the most feared fox corsair tribe- the bonedeath foxes. But before his father died, he looped his strong, woven sling over Tahz's shoulders. Stroking his only pup with a bleeding paw, he died. Tahz was also thought to be dead by the bonedeath- and he would of died, if he wasn't so stubborn. No one was going to take his life! He had no memory of his past except for his name- Tahz. And the sling. By some stroke of luck he found the prairie, and a large Niche in a giant boulder- his cave. His only companion was his trusty sling, which he soon became an expert at wielding. And so the hardened wolf lived alone, fending for himself, with no memory of those who murdered his family- the bonedeath!
At one time in the distant past, the bonedeath stuck to the seas, sailing along the coast, wreaking havoc and plundering where they could. But then the vicious foxes moved inland, deciding that the fertile woodlands and prairie would make an ideal semi-permanent camp. There were honest and peaceful creatures aplenty on the huge island to me made slaves, forced to obey their captors every whim. The bonedeath policy for their slaves was simple: "Do as you are told or die". Fruit and prey was also plentiful, and the slaves were excelent farmers. But alas, the camp lost the first word in its title- it became permanent. The name of the fox chief became well known and feared throughout the once peaceful land of Summerdell-Matar! His name brought terror and pain to all that heard it- Matar! The fat and ruthless assassin, the evil and cruel leader of all the bonedeath foxes, the dreaded one- Matar!
Now I will leave the only place I've ever known. To venture out into a dangerous land, with only my instincts and the deep pulling in my gut to guide me. I swing my sling pensively; the heavy bag of stones in its leather center make it lethal as a close-contact weapon, while I could still use it long distance. Padding slowly across the plain, I listen to the strange music of wind among the tall, golden grasses. The sun has just started to peek over the smokey gray mountains in the distance, bringing with it warmth and life. My fur stands on end as I watch the fantastic sunrise, the sky turning magnificent shades of vermilion, saffron, and rose. Wispy clouds create pale lavender silhouettes on the colorful display in the sky. After pausing for a moment to watch the giant, fiery-orange orb of the sun fill the sky with marvelous color, I continue my venture into the unknown. Miles away, in the perilous land of Summerdell, a young fox called Marzipan was in a dangerous situation. In one days time, she had escaped from the merciless bonedeath, and been captured by them again. Now she was standing in Matar's hut, held tightly by two burly guards. Her eyes were sharp and hard with rage as she awaited her punishment.
The plains have started to give way unto scattered trees that gradually began to clump into forest. I am hungry, but do not stop to hunt. I am tired, but do not stop to rest. I have a feeling that I am close to my mysterious destination. I cannot explain it, but I know that my help is needed. But what help can one wolf give? But I will do what I can, and try to find help on the way.Marzipan had not received her punishment- yet. Matar could not think of anything agonizing and morbid enough for her to endure, and so he threw the ragged vixen into a deep, dank, damp ditch. A foot of muddy, stagnant water covered the bottom, except for narrow, slippery dirt ledges. Marz huddled miserably on a ledge, inwardly cursing herself for being caught. Eventually, sleep overtook her exhausted and beaten being.
These woods are beautiful, but I can tell by the quiet that danger is lurking. I wish that my pelt could blend into this strange land as well as it does in my home.
I walk for some time, until I nearly walk right into a heavily tattooed-and pierced- fox. He is huge, bigger than me, and I'm a wolf! I hold my breath and stay still, but then I see that he is asleep. The fox is a scary sight, with his morbid tattoos, bright war paint, huge earrings and rings, some made from bones from other foxes, coyotes, and wolves. He wears a ragged leather belt, strung with canine tails, teeth, bones, and multiple daggers and knifes. He is leaning against a tree, snoring softly, his long javelin held loosely in his paw. Memories overcome my senses. Screaming, bloodshed, pain, fear, mother, father, gone, death, the foxes. My vision becomes misted over with red. I scream like a dying bird, swinging my loaded sling at the bonedeath's head, slaying him instantly. I am filled with a mad energy, as I rip the belt and weapons off the dead fox's waist, and take the javelin from his limp paw. I run through the forest, not taking any caution. The sight of another fox brings me out of my crazed rage. Before he could sight me, I hit him with one of my sling stones, ending his miserable life in the time lapse of one second. I sneak through the woods until I hear a faint sound. It gets louder and louder as I walk, and then I see it- a clearing filled with a whole army of foxes, fighting and scabbing around fires, canvas tents dotting the landscape. And the slaves. So many slaves, all clad in dirty rags. Some are carrying slabs of stone, some are tending fires and cooking for the foxes. Their fur is thin and backs bent, their backs arching as they are whipped and beaten. They seem to be building a building of massive proportions. I have to help these miserable creatures no matter the consequences. Marzipan was deep in sleep. Her dreams brought her great peace and comfort: A tall, handsome, tan wolf with stunning black markings, and amaranth colored eyes. Freedom. No more bonedeath. Comfort and love.
She smiled in her sleep. Help was coming, at last!
A picture you drew:
I really hope you like it, drawing canines is hard for me. X3
