Blackfeather Woods Slackers are not allowed.

Potema thought back to the pathetic looking wolf who inhabited the same body as her father. He had looked the part, yes, but his voice, his mannerisms, were not her father. Whatever the dominant personality of that vessel was, she would not call him father. Not anymore. "I would have been pathetic." She grumbled, more to herself than to the man she knew was her father, regardless of the lack of blood between them.

"Damien has always been bossy. Cicero has always been day-dreamy. I've always been curious." She knew there were base traits that every wolf grew from: she had seen it for herself first hand. Her mother could testify for this.