Emberflame Ridge You'll be a scab, not a martyr

The dark silhouette trekked silently along the bitter cold ground of winter. Sage enjoyed the dense forest (even when most of its dead) far better than the wide open beach. It gave her chance to hide, the spotlight something she never learned to enjoy. Off in the distance she spotted a young wolf, circling around a patch of Posion Ivy, a plant she learned when she was a yearling. Suddenly, he burst with a sense of joy and the repeated words Poison Ivy could be heard excitedly, against the usual run from the rash-causing plant. 

Sage stepped closer, seeming to appear out of the shadows, staring directly at the teen. "Rather elementary of a discovery." She said simply, a somewhat judgmental glint in her eye as she observed the thin features of the boy. She then glanced down at the plant, almost disapprovingly.

It wasn't that Sage lacked muscle or size - though she was rather average on both, it was how she had been raised. Throughout her life, being abandoned by her biological family at an age nearly impossible to survive on her own, she was tossed around like a child in foster homes. Waiting for a family to truly accept her, but she usually screwed it up rather early by causing too much trouble. Until, being found by a mangy, rustic looking wolf by the name of Madam Julie. She taught her everything to know about plants and stars and anything remotely spiritual. Madam was her only willing parent - and to follow her footsteps felt only right.