Beneath the wan crescent moon, Deymora was born a creature of shadow and earth, her coat an intricate mosaic of black, brown, grey, and white. She moved with a quiet, predatory grace even as a pup, her bone-colored eyes betraying a preternatural intensity. From an early age, it was already forseen that there was potential in the young wolf.
At the helm of the pack stood Armitox, a leader of once-formidable strength and renown. In his prime, he had been a titan among wolves, his dominance unquestioned and his wisdom unparalleled. Yet the seasons had turned unkind. Years before, a raging forest fire had stolen from him his lifelong mate, Asena whose fire had matched his own. The flames had consumed not only her body but also the spirit of the wolf he once was.
The aftermath of her death left Armitox hollowed, a shadow of his former self. Grief clung to him like a second pelt, its weight dragging him into long bouts of isolation. His dominating howl, a clarion call that had united the pack, grew infrequent and faint. Decisions that had once been swift and sure became hesitant, and his authority waned beneath the burden of his sorrow.
Deymora, though young, was no stranger to his plight. She watched him with a mixture of reverence and disappointment, for she had once admired the strength he embodied. Yet, as seasons passed and his grief bled into the lifeblood of the pack, she began to see him not as the towering figure of her youth, but as a relic of a time now buried beneath ash and memory. His mourning, though justified, had become a poison, sapping the vitality of the pack he was sworn to protect.
The fracture became undeniable when the pack's hunts began to fail, their cohesion dissolving under Armitox's faltering leadership. The prideful wolves grew restless, their hunger and uncertainty gnawing at the fragile bonds of unity. Deymora felt the weight of their desperation pressing upon her shoulders, an unspoken demand for change that no other dared to voice.
Her rise was not an act of rebellion but of necessity. She challenged Armitox not out of ambition but out of a fierce determination to see the pack thrive once more. The duel that ensued was swift and deliberate, a ritual as old as the wild itself. Armitox, though weakened by age and grief, fought with the dignity of a wolf who understood the stakes. Deymora's movements were precise, her strength tempered by restraint. When the older wolf fell, it was not in disgrace but in quiet acknowledgment of his successor's inevitability.
Winter Frozen Hudson Bay
Scar: Stop
Scar: Hock [Right]
Scar: Wrist [Left]
Scar: Old Trauma
Blinded Eye
Cold Breath
Extra Shadows