▪ Username: Christine25
▪ Whelkon Name: He is called many names because his parents never got a chance to name him. Sometimes he is called Tuska, which means pain in Finnish, because of the look of pain he always carries in his eyes. Another name he is sometimes called is Vaitiolo, which means silence in finnish, because of how shy and reserved he is. Also, he is called Loimu, Flame in finnish, because of how his fur looks like it has been scorched and burned by flames. He calls himself Bakarrik, which means alone, because he feels completely alone in the world and because the only family he ever had was killed right before his eyes.
▪ Name Meaning: Tuska - pain, Vaitiolo - silence, Loimu - flame, Bakarrik - alone.
▪ Gender: Male
▪ History:The first thing he ever saw was a flame, the second, his mother burning to death. Of course, he had no idea what was happening to him, he was only just born a moment ago. An older, red and grey welkon was ushering him away from the welkan on lying on the ashen grey earth, who was screaming and howling on the ashen grey earth. The newborn welk couldn’t stop stumbling and tripping over rocks and burning logs, and every time he fell he was nudged back to his feet in a very hurried way. Everywhere he looked he saw a splotchy, dark grey color dancing and twirling with streaks of crimson, burgundy, scarlet, and chestnut reds along with some oranges and a couple streaks of blazing whites. The flames lapped at his legs as if inviting them into their dance while the sounds of crackling, snapping and sizzling filled forest. Soon he realized a strange taste and smell flooding into his mouth and nose and spilling into his lungs, filling them with their toxic stench. He coughed. If it were any other morning, the sky would be a vibrant mix of pinks, purples, oranges, or any other color the sky likes to wake the world up with, but this morning, this morning the sky was angry. This morning the sky was burning with an intense rage, and in the center of this burning rage was a mother, a father, and a brand new baby welk. Heat began to cover him like leaves and twigs cover the forest floor and he could feel all of his energy being sucked out of him, but the more they ran, the more comfortable he became with his strong legs and sturdy hooves. He began to maneuver with more ease; he could jump over large logs, turn faster, and even take longer strides without having to look at the ground directly in front of him. This gave him a chance to look up, he saw his father. His father looked down at him and gave him a worried smile and a warm, loving look that only a father could give that said everything and more. He smiled back up at him. There was a very load crack, then a slow, horrible groan, and then, a crash that boomed as loud as thunder. The biggest oak the forest had ever had and the best father a welk could ever have, both gone. He stopped dead in his tracks, but being only a few moments old, he fell face first into hot ash and ember covered, and slid a few feet before he came to a stop. His face burned and his face burned and his eyes began to water. Sorely, he made his way back onto his sore, bruised legs. All that he could see of his father was the end of his tail and one of his back hooves. He stumbled over to his father as fast as he could, but stopped a foot away. He waited. For what seemed like days, he waited. Waited for his father to lift himself from under the tree, to stand up and smile at him again. He didn’t get up. Maybe he just needed a nudge. He limped over to his father and nudged his leg. It fell limp to the broken, burning earth. He nudged him again and received the same results. Confused, scared, and unwilling to leave the only family he had, he laid down with his father, curled up in the C shape that the tip of his leg and the end of his leg created. He laid and waited until he fell asleep. Until he fell into a dreamless, dark, and lonely sleep.
. . .
When he awoke, he found himself coughing and gagging and struggling to get a breath. He must have slept for a long time because all that was left of the fire were a few embers burning dimly against the grey world he lived in. His face stung, his legs were scorched and burnt and could barely support his weight, and his tail was bald, striped of its long, soft fur. Struggling to his legs, he felt a piercing pain in his stomach and his throat and mouth were so dry he was unable to swallow. He realized he had to find food and water or he would die. He rested his nose on his father’s hooves, silently saying goodbye. Three tears crawled out of his eyes. They tumbled town the gentle curve of his cheek until they found their final resting place on his father’s night black hoof. Painfully, he lifted his head, turned around, and limped away. He didn’t look back, he couldn’t.
. . .
He lived alone for the first nine years of his life. Late into his ninth year, a herd found him and took him in. He was very thin and the fur on his tail had grown back but I grew back darker than his other fur. Although he was a full-grown whelkon, he still felt like a young, scared and lonely welk. He was very shy and reserved and found it hard to trust others. Young welk tended to avoid him, but young male welk would sometimes compete to see who could get the closest to him when he wasn’t looking. All he wants is for the herd to except him. He always carries a look of pain and loneliness in his eyes. He dreams of having a family and finding someone who can teach him how to trust again, someone who will never abandon him.
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