Post by ZEE! on Dec 12, 2012 15:18:27 GMT -5
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[STYLE=background-color: #8d937d; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 17px; color: 000000; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: right; width: 100%; margin-top: -5px;]personality←[/style]
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There are a few good, comforting words that perfectly describe Yiska: simple, honest, and capable. To be just a little more honest than Ysika, simple really means something a little closer to pretty darn dumb. That is to say, he's not some cunning, conniving wolf that will try to take everything you have for his own gain. He simply isn't capable of it. His mind reads only one or two dimensions of interactions, which, while it makes him a very dependable wolf, also makes him easy to deceive and likely to be quite lost when it comes to some more complicated wolves' emotions. Instead Yitska says what he means and means what he feels with every ounce of his being. Everything he does he absolutely means. Love, hate, jealousy, generosity - all are incredibly strong emotions for him. Where one wolf might have a crush, He's convinced he's found the love of his life. However, this also makes him quick to anger and disproportionately slow to forgive. Because he feels as if he failed his first family, silly as that may be, he desperately wants a family of his own to love and raise. This is not a wolf to lead revolutions. All he wants to do is hunt and sit in the sun with a full belly and watch his pups play. If he feels like anything were to threaten that opportunity he would probably act rashly and go against his normal ethical code in order to protect it. The only thing Yitska values more than family is the hunt. He loves the taste of fresh blood in his mouth and his blood sings for it constantly. Now that he is injured he is chafing at the bit to be back on his feet and in the hunt. New to the pack, he is trying desperately to make friends and may look odd and overbearing as he seeks to do so. 311t
[STYLE=background-color: #8d937d; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 17px; color: 000000; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: right; width: 100%; margin-top: -5px;]history←[/style]
Yiska didn't always have such a lovely name. He was born in a litter of five to a much smaller pack where naming customs varied somewhat. At first the pups were given a name that was purely a physical or personal descriptor - the largest was named Big, the girl with the tint of red was Berry, and good ole Yiska was called Paws. See, it took a long, long while for Paws to grow up so big and handsome, and when he was just a pup he was a big mess of flinging legs, tongue, and big paws. It made him pretty clumsy too, and he spent most of his puppyhood getting into shenanigans. The first time he was taken out of the den, the curious little guy was examining a wolf that looked just like him - the imposter! - except he seemed to live deep under the water. Well, that just wouldn't do and Paws took a swipe at the big old meanie's face. Into the water he fell with a splash! A deceptively hidden current in the deep mountain stream caught him up and swept him away, banging him against stones and filling his poor lungs with fire. How could water seem so very much life fire? It felt so wrong. Suddenly powerful jaws closed around his small body, yanking him out of the icy cold water with a force powerful enough to send his head whipping back and forth on his neck. His favorite uncle, Moose, had saved him. After that Moose wasn't just the pup's favorite, he was his idol. Everything was about growing big and strong like Moose, who was the biggest wolf in the pack, and he threw himself into being the best he could be.
At last the time came for Paws' first hunt. He was more than excited, he was ecstatic. The young wolf bounded about with his brothers and sisters, eager to get on their way and take down a big elk. How wonderful it would feel to be big and strong enough kill an elk! Or at least help. When the hunt had started the big wolf felt power surging through his paws and felt more glad than ever to be doing what he was doing right now. This was his life, his purpose. To hunt with his siblings and parents at his side and prey before him. Life was good. Well, like I said, Paws isn't the smartest wolf that ever rolled out of the den in the morning. Before long all that rightness had just turned into over confidence and our Paws and his brothers Big and Dash went chasing after one of the biggest male elk in the herd. If that ain't stupid I don't know what is, but young wolves will be young wolves. In a pattern that will quickly become familiar of bad things happening to the plucky hero, Paws was kicked pretty hard by the bull elk. Hard enough to leave a dent and a memory - don't go after things when they're too big!
After the pups had been through a rather more successful hunt they were ready to be fully initiated into the pack. It was the night they would receive their true pack names and not a one of them was unexcited. Due to the festivities to come, guards were down and the wolves were a little less alert than they should have been. Make that a lot less alert. Some how a huge grizzly bear managed to blunder onto the den, surprising most of the wolves there. Paws was gripped with fear. He felt as though there was nothing he could do, no decision he could make, no where to run. So he went the only place he thought he could get away - into the branches of a low, old tree that stood next to the den. Luckily, after wandering around the clearing for a while and snuffling at all the non-prey smells, the fat bear wandered off in search of easier food and the wolves were able to return. Unluckily, they returned to Paws stuck in a tree. That very night they named him Tree Rat. His brother's got cool names like Deer Fleeing and Brave Fang but he got Tree Rat. It was, of course, because of being hid in the tree but what was he supposed to have done? Run, probably. Fight, maybe. Not climb up the stupid tree like a stupid squirrel.
Tree Rat loved his family, but after that he could never fit in right with them again. Perhaps it was all on his side, but he felt as if there was a wedge shaved between them. He would never be able to be respected as an adult of the pack with a stupid name like Tree Rat. It was all those stupid squirrel's fault and he would get them. He swore. No squirrel would ever be safe around him again. Soon the wolf left his home pack. Even that did not allow him to escape from the shame that shrouded it his heart. It was silly, foolish, the shame of an adolescent, but that can be the shame that stings the worst. Now the wolf was forced to see that he was not only a coward when it came to bears, but also his own family as well. He had not been brave enough to bear the shame that he deserved. Guilt crippled him and he wandered far from his father and mother, leaving his siblings behind to never see again. The wolf wandered, nameless, for a year before at last he found himself among the Toopi. Enough time had passed for him to long once more for the embrace of a pack and he begged to be made a member. When he told his story he sought to keep the embarrassing bits out, introducing himself as Yiska - "the night has passed'. Alas, Yiska is not a very good liar and this merely made him look false, forcing the pack to think he was an imposter. While he was allowed to stay he was not really a member of the pack and had not yet been given a task to complete for initiation like the pups of this tribe.
Things weren't looking too sunny until the day a bear wandered into the woods. It was not the fat, content bear of Yiska's youth. This bear was thin and starved, ribs standing out starkly against its pelt. Something had injured it, perhaps a rock had fallen on its paw. causing the creature to limp badly. It was mad with pair and hunger, and to its addled mind wolf meat seemed like good meat. A young wolf pup was killed and another was injured horribly. Something had to be done. No one wanted to give the task to one of the pack's youngsters, but it looked as if that was the only option. Yiska stepped forward. Let him kill the bear, he begged, as his initiation. Surely if he was willing to take the risk of killing the bear to protect the pack he wouldn't try to harm anyone? At last everyone agreed: He would kill the bear and join the pack. Yiska tracked the injured bear for two days and nights without rest, confronting it in the last gleamings of twilight. The bear was huge and the wolf was reminded of the important lesson he had learned on his first hunt. What was he doing here? What foolishness was this? Surely he would die. But no. No, he had already failed one pack, he could not fail another. The bear may be bigger than him, but it was mad. His wits may be small, but at least they existed. Carefully he baited the beast into attacking him, darting at its sides and avoiding its swiping paws. One stray hit caught him, throwing him against the bole of a large tree and tearing open his hide. Now that it was angry (angrier) Yiska picked himself up off the ground and fled. Crashing through the underbrush, the bear followed him, slavering constantly at his heels. While the chase seemed to last forever, it was in truth only a matter of minutes before the wolf's paws stopped treading over soil and passed onto the rough bark of a felled tree that crossed a deep, rocky gulch. The rotted wood may support him, but there was no way it would hold the weight of that big bear. Just a few more feet and he would be over to the other side, just a few more feet and he would be safe. Alas, it was not to be. A resounding crack rang through the air as the wood splintered, sending wolf and beast both spinning into the gorge below.
For once, however, luck went Yiska's way. He had been close enough to the other side of the gap that his drop was comparatively short and somehow miraculously cushioned by a springy young tree. Knocked unconscious, he awakened just as dawn's tendrils were peeking tentatively over the horizon to find himself, bruised and bleeding, slung in the y of a tree. Cautiously he half-clambered half-fell down and stood shaking on the ground. The strong scent of blood in the air lead the young wolf to a heaving mass of fur and blood upon the forest floor. Muted gargling could be heard from deep within the she-bear's chest, heralding her eminent death. Yiska stood and stared at the bear in a moment of silence then turned and stumbled away. It took him many long days to return to the tribe. At first they did not believe his tale, but when they returned to the ravine they easily found the picked-over corpse of the bear. When he was finally initiated into the tribe, Yiska was finally given his best name: Flies With Bears.1641
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