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Name: Ederra
Name Meaning: Beautiful
Nickname: Era
Gender: Female
Age: Six Years Old
Pack: Wooden Falls
Rank: Lead Fighter
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insecure
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stubborn
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greedy
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forgetful
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perverse
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pedantic
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"I WAS MADE TO BELIEVE THERE'S
SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME"
SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME"
Scars are something that tell stories, a mark of a heroic past, filled with arduous battles and egregious wounds. Some would say differently. The denser wolves would tell you that scars are a mark of the weak wolf. That beauty is the trait that puts you above the others. Beauty is nothing, and the wolves who believe it to be something special have their heads in the clouds. My scars come from a multitude of events that occurred throughout my past, from battles with mountain cats to the swift strike of a wolf. They do not mean I'm weak or that I fail. They mean they I have learned from the mistakes I made and have become an even better fighter for it. They mean that I know true pain and have endured through it. They mean that I am a fighter.
And a fighter I am. I have been since I was born. The runt of the litter, the smallest of my mother's six pups, and the one that was not thought fit for survival. My father begged my mother to let him throw me out into the snow, to let me die before she had wasted her energy on the runt. But she was kindhearted and just and gave me all the chances she could. Wanting my to grow to be beautiful, she named me Ederra. Soon, she realized the mistake in naming me such a feminine thing. Puppies wrestle and play. It's how they learn. But from the start, I took things too seriously. Playing meant fighting, and that meant I had to win. Had to. To me, it was already life or death. If my brother wound up on top, I was a dead wolf. I certainly wasn't going to let that happen. I grew into a fighter, not the lady my mother wanted me to be, and renounced all feelings of love and kinship. They were a waste of time and only got in the way.
My family didn't understand me. They couldn't comprehend how a female could ever wish to become what a male normally did. Fighting was for males in my home. Hunting was for males. Leading, for males. Females only seemed to be good for producing babies. Such a backwards life, and when I realized what was happening around me, I picked up and left. It wasn't hard. Sure, I sometimes imagine my poor mother with her bright eyes in the backwards world she grew up in and feel a sting of guilt for leaving her there. But she wouldn't have wanted to come. None of them would have.
I spent four years as a loner. It was a good life, fulfilling and something I could be proud of. I proved to myself over and over again that I was capable of living on my own. That was, until, I happened across a pack. The Wooden Falls pack. Amoux greeted me, saw the power and life and knew that I was something he wanted. They had a problem, he said, with a certain mountain lion. I had had some run ins before with the big cats, though killing one alone would be near to impossible. This, though, would be a new challenge, and I accepted his invitation into the pack. Before too long, I was lead fighter. A noble thing, sure, but not anything in comparison to what I have planned. To defeat the mountain lion menace once and for all so this pack can finally stop running.
At six years old, I don't think this has been a bad life. I am ready for the next chapter.







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