Snowdrift

"Eternal Warrior of the Moon"

ID #10674297

Owned by LunaTheMoonWolf (BREAK)
Bred by LunaTheMoonWolf (BREAK)
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This wolf has a mutation or secondary mutation that causes blindness! Unfortunately, he can never lead the pack, participate in training, become an apprentice or perform a role.
This wolf has not rolled over today and will not be able to be traded or gifted until its next rollover.

Level	1

Strength	56
Speed	45
Agility	49
Wisdom	37
Smarts	41
Total	228

This wolf cannot be retired right now!

Family

Wardrobe

Currents
Age	3 years 10 months (Adult)
Sex	Male
Energy
Mood
Hunger
HP
Personality	Combative

Breeding Information
Age in Rollovers	92
Pups Bred	6 pups bred
Last Bred	2024-10-16 14:28:05
Fertility	N/A
Heat Cycle	N/A
Items Applied	None!
Pair Bond	None

Looks
Base	Larimar (0.03%)
Base Genetics	Cool Light III
Eyes	Olive
Skin	Black
Nose	Fungus
Claws	Black
Mutation	None
Secondary Mutation	Spontaneous Blindness
Carrier Status	Unknown
Variant	Default

Markings
Slot 1	Selene Ornate Spots (55% : T3)
Slot 2	Lavender Shimmer (54% : T3)
Slot 3	White Inuit Unders (17% : T7)
Slot 4	Diana Carnage (49% : T3)
Slot 5	None
Slot 6	None
Slot 7	Diana Carnage (6% : T3)
Slot 8	None
Slot 9	Ghost Carnage (83% : T3)
Slot 10	None

Biography

"I serve Cynthia and Cynthia only."

Wardrobe Link

Snowdrift was born during the gentle warmth of spring, when flowers blossomed, and the air buzzed with life. His fur was as white as the petals of wild daisies, a stark contrast to the vibrant colors of the world awakening around him. But when he opened his eyes for the first time, it was clear that he would never see the beauty of the season—his eyes were clouded, unfocused, and forever shrouded in a fog that kept him detached from the vibrant life surrounding him.

From the moment he took his first unsteady steps, it was clear that Snowdrift was different. While his littermates bounded through the meadow with energy and confidence, Snowdrift stumbled over roots and flowers alike, his movements hesitant and disoriented. His thoughts were scattered, his attention fleeting, and he would often get lost in his own little world, chasing after sounds that only he seemed to hear. Fragile and easily exhausted, he was always a few steps behind, unable to keep pace with the others.

To many in the pack, Snowdrift was seen as a liability, a pup whose survival would only hinder their strength. Yet Snowdrift was spared the fate that weaker pups often faced, and the reason for his survival lay in the peculiar tastes of the queen. She was a wolf known for her love of the unusual, a fascination that bordered on obsession. The broken, the deformed, the outcasts—these were her treasures, wolves she kept close as living symbols of her twisted benevolence and control.

When Snowdrift was presented to her as a newborn, the Queen Bloodmoon's eyes gleamed with cruel delight. "What a delicate little thing," she had murmured, her voice dripping with false affection. "So fragile, so… unique. Yes, he'll do nicely. He's exactly the kind of rarity I enjoy."

And so, Snowdrift was allowed to remain in the pack, not because of his strength or potential, but because of the queen's morbid fascination with his frailty. She took pride in her collection of "broken" wolves, relishing the control she held over them. Snowdrift, with his clouded eyes and scatterbrained nature, was her latest prize, a living testament to her power and her twisted sense of charity.

Under her watch, Snowdrift was sheltered from outright harm, but he was also kept at a distance by the others. They treated him as an oddity, a fragile thing to be avoided rather than included. Oblivious to his role as a mere curiosity, Snowdrift would often trail behind the queen, his steps slow and uncertain, yet hopeful. In his scattered mind, he was just like any other pup, unaware that the queen's kindness was nothing more than a thin veneer over her need to collect the strange and broken.

While the other pups wrestled in the sunlit fields, honing their skills and growing stronger, Snowdrift would sit on the edge, lost in his thoughts and separated from the vibrant world by the fog in his mind. The queen's gaze would occasionally fall on him, her expression a mix of twisted fondness and cold detachment. To her, he was a beautiful oddity, a delicate snowflake preserved in the spring warmth—a creature to be admired, not for his life, but for his rarity.

Despite the queen's protection, Snowdrift's life was one of isolation. His world was a haze of faint sounds and blurred scents, and though he was often lost and confused, he remained gentle, his innocence untainted by the darkness that surrounded him. In his own way, Snowdrift was content, drifting through life like a petal carried by the spring breeze—fragile, fleeting, and ever so distant from the harsh truths of the world.

Part Two

Snowdrift stood before Queen Frostbite, his white fur almost glowing in the dim light of the moon. His eyes, cloudy and gray, held a sharpness that belied his blindness. He could not see, but he sensed everything: the quiet murmurs of the pack, the weight of their stares, and the presence of Queen Frostbite herself.

"So," Frostbite's voice cut through the silence, cool as the night air. "Why have you come to me now, Snowdrift?"

A moment passed before Snowdrift responded, his tone low but resolute. "I want to fight," he said. "To be a warrior for the pack."

A hint of surprise flickered across Frostbite's features, but it was gone just as quickly. "A warrior?" she echoed, as if testing the word on her tongue. "You, who were kept here out of pity by Queen Bloodmoon?"

Snowdrift's lips curled back slightly, not quite a snarl, but something close. "I never wanted her pity," he replied, voice hardening. "And I certainly won't be defined by it. I was a fool to trust her… to believe that she saw something more in me than a broken pup. But that was then."

He took a step forward, head held high. "I see more now. I know the truth of what Bloodmoon is—a tyrant who hides behind her cruelty, who masks her fear with power. I want to prove that I am more than what she made of me. That I am not weak, not worthless, but strong enough to fight for this pack… to protect those who remain."

Frostbite remained silent, her gaze steady on him. Snowdrift continued, his voice cold and unyielding. "I won't be a pawn in another game of lies. I will be a warrior, even if it means fighting without sight. I will learn to see with my other senses, to move with purpose and intent. I owe that to myself, to the pack… and perhaps, to the wolf I might have been if not for Bloodmoon's twisted whims."

The queen tilted her head slightly, considering his words. "You think you can fight without sight? That you can overcome the blindness she used to control you?"

Snowdrift's jaws clenched. "I have already begun to see clearer than any wolf with perfect vision," he replied, a sharp edge to his tone. "I see who my true enemies are. I see who is worth defending. And I see that this pack needs wolves who aren't afraid to face the darkness… or the ghosts of their past."

There was a pause, a heavy silence between them. Then, Frostbite gave a small nod, almost imperceptible, but enough. "Very well, Snowdrift," she said quietly. "If you wish to prove yourself, you will have the chance. But know this: it will not be easy. And your past… it will not be so easily forgiven."

Snowdrift's eyes narrowed, his expression unyielding. "I don't ask for forgiveness," he replied. "I ask for a chance to make things right."

Frostbite's gaze softened, if only slightly. "Then earn it," she said, turning away. "Show me you have what it takes to be a warrior… even one who fights without sight."

Snowdrift watched her go, his heart steady. He had chosen his path, and he would walk it—blind or not.