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There are a lot of luxuries in life to which Imperia was denied for much of her early life. Freedom to speak her thoughts. Freedom to sleep where she wanted, when she wanted. Freedom to express herself, even if it was a bit different from the status quo. Romping around the forests with other children her age was among the few privileges she was granted, though it was in hopes that child's play would toughen her up in a way that Pierre's "lessons" were unsuccessful. For a time, Imperia was happy. She loves to run—always have and always will. She ran and ran, laughing till her sides hurt because she loved being in a safe place with people she felt comfortable around. That all changed, however, when her best friend Katherine suddenly decided that she no longer liked Imperia. Kat was the unofficial ringleader of all the pups in the pack, so when the boss declared that Peri was unfriended, everyone else followed suit. And just like that, Imperia was denied the freedom to play as a child would. The bullying and the harassment eventually caused the young girl to remain within her family's home unit, but it was not much safer unless her father was not home. It was her mother, Marguerite, who made Imperia's life just a little sweeter. Marguerite taught her all about herbs and other fauna. About songs and how to read, too. Marguerite helped her learn how to not be so afraid, how to fight against the fear and anxiety that plagued her even when no one else was around. And, when the time came, Marguerite helped her escape the pack.
Imperia misses her mother horribly. It is terrifying being in this world all alone, trying to navigate without any guidance. Around every corner is a new unknown, a variable that could mean life or death depending on how the universe decides to play its cards. But the she-wolf is doing her best. She always keeps a smile on her face, is friendly to everyone she meets, and busies herself by doing things she loves. It just so happens that Marguerite could often be found in a similar state as Imperia: limber body arranged comfortably within the cozy shelter of low-hanging branches and dense foliage, ruddy brown fur reminiscent of iron-rich clay shining beautifully in the dappled sunshine spilling through the trees while sketching some plant or another; angelic voice humming one song or another. None of the Ascendants would be able to tell, but Imperia resembles her mother immensely.
Soft pawsteps draw the female's attention from her drawings—lovely silver eyes sweeping up from the ivory pages to observe the creature now approaching. Ah, Warringkingdoms! The one who is monitoring the collection of herbs. A friendly smile tugs at her lips. "The song is called Shady Grove," she replies, lean muscles rippling beneath a pelt of starshine and moondust as she pushing herself up into a seated position. It feels strange not to communicate with others while lying down. "My mother used to sing it to me when I was little." As she concludes her response, both Suiteheart and Washington arrive. Sterling eyes linger on the latter for a moment before focusing on the alabaster female. Upon the compliment of her abilities, Imperia immediately blanches, struggling for words before stammering an expression of gratitude. Evidently, the creature does not handle positive feedback very well. "Yes," Peri responds once she finally finds her words again. "I was never good at fighting so I was taught how to heal." What she does not say is that it was never in any official sense. Her pack never has much use for medics, as the general opinion encompassed a belief that anyone who could not survive of their own merit was not strong enough to be supported by the pack.
A delicate laugh rings from black lips in response to Washington's question. It is not a mocking laugh, simply one of genuine amusement. "In a way, I suppose," she says with a smile. A single paw beckons him closer. Just because he is physically larger than everyone else does not mean that he has to sit so far away. "I am learning how to be a healer, of sorts, so I like to record drawings and applications of the herbs I gather for future reference." In the rare event that she forgets something important, Imperia is comforted by the knowledge that all she has learned is stored safely within the leather bindings of her journal.
Imperia misses her mother horribly. It is terrifying being in this world all alone, trying to navigate without any guidance. Around every corner is a new unknown, a variable that could mean life or death depending on how the universe decides to play its cards. But the she-wolf is doing her best. She always keeps a smile on her face, is friendly to everyone she meets, and busies herself by doing things she loves. It just so happens that Marguerite could often be found in a similar state as Imperia: limber body arranged comfortably within the cozy shelter of low-hanging branches and dense foliage, ruddy brown fur reminiscent of iron-rich clay shining beautifully in the dappled sunshine spilling through the trees while sketching some plant or another; angelic voice humming one song or another. None of the Ascendants would be able to tell, but Imperia resembles her mother immensely.
Soft pawsteps draw the female's attention from her drawings—lovely silver eyes sweeping up from the ivory pages to observe the creature now approaching. Ah, Warringkingdoms! The one who is monitoring the collection of herbs. A friendly smile tugs at her lips. "The song is called Shady Grove," she replies, lean muscles rippling beneath a pelt of starshine and moondust as she pushing herself up into a seated position. It feels strange not to communicate with others while lying down. "My mother used to sing it to me when I was little." As she concludes her response, both Suiteheart and Washington arrive. Sterling eyes linger on the latter for a moment before focusing on the alabaster female. Upon the compliment of her abilities, Imperia immediately blanches, struggling for words before stammering an expression of gratitude. Evidently, the creature does not handle positive feedback very well. "Yes," Peri responds once she finally finds her words again. "I was never good at fighting so I was taught how to heal." What she does not say is that it was never in any official sense. Her pack never has much use for medics, as the general opinion encompassed a belief that anyone who could not survive of their own merit was not strong enough to be supported by the pack.
A delicate laugh rings from black lips in response to Washington's question. It is not a mocking laugh, simply one of genuine amusement. "In a way, I suppose," she says with a smile. A single paw beckons him closer. Just because he is physically larger than everyone else does not mean that he has to sit so far away. "I am learning how to be a healer, of sorts, so I like to record drawings and applications of the herbs I gather for future reference." In the rare event that she forgets something important, Imperia is comforted by the knowledge that all she has learned is stored safely within the leather bindings of her journal.