Sun Mote Copse Not another broken arm in the street

"Well, no one would dare to make fun about someone, who would hold the rank "Vulture"," Wraen nodded, but she did not sound entirely convinced, because Niamh did not look anything like the scavenger bird of prey. It was not the most handsome thing either and her packmate was quite beautiful. 

"Though - I have a funny story to tell," she said. "There was a little family of wolves my mom knew, when she was younger. And similarly to the naming traditions of Blackthorns, those guys too had the real name and the nickname. And the nickname was a big thing. Here you have a litter of puppies and the smallest and most fragile one insisted on having a very cool nickname. And with a good humour the parent figures agreed and said - alright, you will be Buffalo," she smiled. 

"The kid, who had the makings of a great fairy-tale princess and a beauty queen was outraged, but the nickname stuck. Even years later, when she was petite and beautiful and had charmed half the country's population of males, she was still known by all as Buffalo and nothing else," she finished. "So - the moral of the story... be careful, what you wish for?"