- Username: jensenaackles
Kiamara's Name: Caoilainn
Kiamara's Gender: Female
Age: 21 years, May 18th
Birthstone Emerald.
Language/Nationality: Irish/Celtic, speaks the Celtic and Breton language.
Sexuality: Unknown, she hasn't interacted with other Kiamaras yet.
History: Caoilainn was born in the withered wildflowers, far from other "civilized" people. She lived with a group, or tribe, with her mother and father. She was young but bold in a sense, and followed her parents whenever she could to experience the world around her. As a tribal tradition, at around age nine, the parents would have to teach their brood how to hunt and take care of themselves. Around this time, Cao learned how to defend herself, and soon left her large family to live on her own. The den in which she lives in now was where she had stayed for the majority of her life.
Hobby: Her hobby is archery. She learned these skills at a fairly young age, and it is one of the only meanings of survival as long as she stayed in the mountainsides. She doesn't usually use it for hunting, but from time to time, she uses it to protect herself. She enjoys the feeling of shooting an arrow towards a target, whether it's heart is beating or if it has been still for years.
Accessories: Four leaf clover pendant, bandages on front legs
Wishes: She wishes to raise a family, see a double rainbow, and see her beloved bird again.
Fears: Agliophobia, the fear of pain and clithrophobia, the fear of being enclosed.
Likes: Archery, sketching, singing, plants and wildgrasses, wildlife, running, fog, drizzle/rain, birds.
Dislikes: Danger, mountain lions/bobcats, fears, winter, pain, people, scraggy terrain, tight spaces.
Personality: Her personality is a mixing bowl of the most positive traits you would find in a girl, the reason being that she had rarely faced the dangers and fears in the wild. Of course, even the most innocent would have a negative, but being solitary for plenty of years, she had nothing to yell at, be aggravated from, someone to fear (excluding those bobcats and mountain lions), or talk to. She was alone, but she was happy. Passionate even. She would speak with the animals, a gift that is thought of as magic to the ''city people'' (meaning tourists) as she calls it, when it is really something anyone could learn if they work really hard toward it. The animals who she calls family makes her to kind for her own take, so she is willing to trust you very easily with no knowledge of any bad things behind it. Her independent, placidity, and wit allowed her to survive the rigorous life in the mountains, near the sapphire lakes and silver spires. She was a feisty heroine who's more than a pretty face.
Story: A foggy blanket hangs over the rugged mountain trails, the animals are left clueless with the visibility down to zero, and a young girl herself enshrouded in a veil of murky haze. The mountains were a misty, heart-warming landscape. It reminded her of cotton candy, and gives her the confidence to retrieve the things she desires. The effects it does to her are remarkable and quite unbelievable. The fog is usually near the ground, close to her mountain terrain home, drifting through the delicate curtains inside like little spirits in storybooks. But even in this seemingly muggy but pleasant weather, her birds are still around, waiting for the fog to disappear. In the spring time, it is quite exceptional when the fogs cover the melted snowcaps and shadow the flowering blossoms and wildflowers. She would follow the forbidden shores of the nearest lakes below her den to look at the fog in a new perspective: in peace, sketching what she saw to remember the memories. She finds it endearing, peaceful, and a world of calm as the fog stray away from the cloudy homes, and a time where she could enjoy nature at its fullest. She had to no longer worry of danger and tourists, but instead, a time of freedom and tranquility. It convinced her to stay near nature to enjoy the beauty it has inside, as enticing and inviting as it is. The fog leaves an impending question on hand, a question that could only be answered by nature itself. It sparks Caoilainn's curiosity for this obscure outlook. Unlike rain, which would soak the earth; the sun, which would dry the earth to it's core; and snow, which would offer a snowy white blanket for the long-gone blooms, fog is merely benign. Innocuous. The flowers are left untouched only for a sweet drizzle, the earth becoming the clouds above and the treetops being the castle. It was a kingdom. The fog gave her memories of her old friends, a girl of fiery red hair that would be highly noticeable to the bobcats upon the mountaintops, and a boy whose eyes were blue ink. They would play among the birds and make wings out of feathers and run through the fog, and attempt to carry it in jars with no success. The memories used to give her a heavy burden, but she adapted to it and learned to love the fog: a time and place to hide and admire.
[ 798 words, palette ]
