Bitterroot Valley "excuse me if I seem a tad fucked in the head"

@Steele i guess if you don't like Nym, we can try Uki next

 

She'd never known how old she was. 

Perhaps that was an odd thing to be worried about, particularly for The Reaper, but she'd never had anyone to tell her. When she looked into still water, she saw a girl fresh out of childhood with eyes as dead as any grizzled warrior. The years she'd lived in her head didn't match the single cycle of seasons that she'd seen and she was constantly left off kilter by this perception. 

Kizok figured she must have been around four months old when she was sold to the charter though the general opinion was that she was much younger based on her size. She must have been about six months, perhaps seven, when initatied and eight when she began to infiltrate other territories. By Kizok's count - nine months when the war with The Dead Brothers started and ten by the time she was a slave. Eleven months saw her with the nomads and now, only a month or so past her first birthday,  and the only thing that she had left was the mark on her shoulder.

The Night Stalker was but a blip amongst the colorful blooms - bitterroot flowers bursting with fuchsia and vermilion, the whole meadow scented with their aroma and  the distant ash of a volcano.

Deep groves littered the ground, drawing the femme's attentions. Her slender neck dipped, mouth open to allow the scent of prey animals to flood her senses. Deer, by her guess, though there was a tinge that suggested an elk or the odd buffalo. Insects buzzed in the air, threatening to irritate whatever shaggy creature lingered too long and the wolfdog moved away soon enough. 

Her gamine frame could be seen slinking through the flowers, pausing at the edge of a stream to drink - moving cautiously all the while in case a threat lay in wait.