CapriCoon wrote:I would like to adopt!Number: 3
Picture: 
Name: Ankti (meaning "repeat dance")
Species:The closest would be a
Saarlooswolfhond. However, using selective breeding, people made a sort of variant of the Saarlooswolfhond that had more of a wolflike build, longer fur, and more of a brown color scheme. This is what Ankti is.(that's fictional though. XD no such thing exists, from what I know.)
Personality: To get an idea of Ankti's personality, look at her name. Say it aloud. It most represents the wolfdog.
First, the meaning, "repeat dance". Ankti is a creature of habit. She does what she is used to, plain and simple. If you teach her to paw at a porcupine's face when it comes near her, she will
always paw at the face of an attacking porcupine, even if that does not succeed and she ends up more injured than she would've been, had she tried a different method of defending herself. I'll compare her to insects: there is a type of wasp that drags away its' prey by the antennae. If the antennae have been broken off, the wasp can't figure out what to do. Whereas a dog or cat would typically figure out how to drag it away by a different body part, the wasp will just be hopeless.
Ankti is that wasp.
And then, there is the sound.
Likes: swimming, running
Dislikes:Background Scene One:
Darkness. It was dark. She couldn't see. She couldn't hear. Cold, it was very cold. Warmth, warmth was there, but she had to move to get there. Something nearby was warm, if she squirmed towards it she would be warm.
No warmth where it should be. No heat. Where'd it go? Blink, lift your head, try to sniff, maybe it'll make more sense.
Maybe.
...
Blink.
Nothing. No milk-scent, no warm-feel.Only dark and cold, and they were one. She could only see the coldness and the darkness and only feel the darkness and the coldness. And the coldness was wet, the coldness was snow that frosted and stuck to her mottled coat.
...
Blink.
That's when she saw it.
She was all alone, and Momma was gone.Moonlight flashing off of the chocolate pelt as the young creature could only lift a paw, only tilt her head, only hope and struggle in confusion and try to get away from the dark and the cold and the dark. The faint scent of dried blood clung to the ground, and she could smell it, and she could feel it, and it scared her.
...
Blink.
Warmth. A strange sensation - a texture like rock, but not cold, not so abrasive. Soft. Wrapping around her like a pocket, like her mothers' jaws, firm yet gentle, lifting her into the air.
