Biography
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Don't let them see. Don't let them know. YouÂ’ve got to keep still. Just like momma said.
Rough jaws grabbed the scruff of his neck. Stay limp. Don't move. Don't breathe. Just like the rest of them. Pretending to die. He knew they weren't playing. He knew his pack was dead. He knew his tan and brown momma wasn't faking. That his important poppa caused this. Just because his big, important Poppa had to breed outside the pack. He was a stud, yes, but to an enemy pack? Why? Just because he couldn't control his emotions?
They shook him. He couldn't feign death anymore. He whimpered. He didn't want to die. Not yet. Now wasn't his time! Someone laughed, deeply. Heartily. Had he taken pleasure in this?! He opened his eyes.
“Look what we have here. A runt.” They looked him up and down, his muscular legs, and long claws. He shivered under their judgemental stare.Could he say anything to make them stop? Probably not. The dark black male who laughed flicked his tail, causing the one holding him, to drop him. He landed roughly, hurting himself.
They pushed him forward, out of the cave. The sunlight blinded him, They gave him no chance to rest, ever pressing on.
Time passed. Hours? A day? He couldn't tell. The only way to tell that time had passed was through the aching of his paws and joints as he passed through the dense forest. Darkness surrounded him. His eyes had adjusted long ago, but he still couldn't see clearly. He kept tripping over rocks and prey bones. His paws had been rubbed raw from the rough gravelly dirt. It was probably broken bones.
They reached a new den. This one reeked of death. He wrinkled his nose. He didn't want to enter. What were they going to do to him?
Hour after hour, they forced him to hunt. He didn't tag along to learn, oh no. He had to bite, and scratch and pounce for fear of being hurt. Boars had wounded him. Their long tusks ripping his flesh. Bobcats ripping fur and skin. It hurt, so badly. But, why were they doing this? He wasn't very strong, nor was he particularly attractive with his ratty long white fur with disgusting gray stripes along his side while tan claw-marks traced his legs and flooded his paws till there was no more white. He hated the way he looked. He wasn't even very rare, unlike his mother and father. He was a dud. He hated it.
He hunted. He got hurt. He had to flee. He was punished for being a coward.Rinse, repeat. Until, a day before heÂ’d be considered an adult, a hunt went wrong. Terribly wrong.
He gasped, the leopard's semi-short fangs piercing his skull. It hurt. It hurt too much to scream. It hurt too much to cry. All he could do was go limp, letting his eyes snap shut. He could hear, but pain paralyzed him.
No one made a fuss. No one said anything. The fight continued, the leopard releasing him. . .
He awoke, his head heavy. He opened his eyes, a sympathetic female looked at him.
“Good morning, little one. . “ She smiled sadly, grabbing something above his head with her teeth. It pulled him up to a sitting position. His head ached. He knew this female. This beautiful chocolate colored fae, with brown tipping her paws, muzzle, and tail. Silver patches engulfing her body. The one who was raising him. The one they force-fed butcher’s broom to make her pups defected. That could range from pelt coloration to blindness to internal bleeding from the unnatural extra or misplaced bones. . .
“H-Hello.” He murmured. A shy smile on his face. His head was so heavy. He attempted to look up, only to see the tip of deer’s antlers. The more he tilted his head, the more the weight moved. He could never see the entire thing.
“What. . ?” He whispered to himself quietly. He looked to the female for an explanation. She looked down tears in her eyes. She seemed regretful. He tilted his head to the other side, whimpering.
“I’m so sorry, child. . . I had to. . . They made me. . .” She smiled sadly, her dazzling blue eyes refusing to meet his disgusting ones.
“What. . . What did they make you do?” He asked, shaking his pelt. His head ached so much. . .
“Antlers. . . They. . . They’re not just an accessory now. . .” She laughed dryly. . .
“They’re part of you.” She murmured, looking down. Toffee glanced up, trying to see them. He nearly fell over, their weight being thrown around.
He looked at her pleadingly, trying to get her to take the gear off. Before he got in trouble. They didnÂ’t feel light like the normal wooden antlers, though. His expression changed to one of panic. He whimpered quietly, pawing at the warm bone. They were real, and attached to him. Blood still stuck out of the holes they sa
Breeding Info
N/A
| Personality
He's extremely jumpy in territory he's unfamiliar with. He's quick to judge and has a harsh exterior. Even Basil prefers to avoid giving him a hard time. He uses insults to cover for his nervousness. He often comes home from the hunt with bloodied paws. Though, kind of nature to newcomers, he's very rude with Sprite, who he's best friends with.
His horns are a part of him (for role-plays)
Preferences
He prefers to sleep most of the day. Though he is young, he has an old soul. Many battle-strong wolves do. When he is awake, he'll be pacing outside of the waterfall, or staring at his ever-ripping reflection in the waters of his home.
Special Skills
He's very skilled on the battleground, unusually so for someone his age. Mostly because of how tough you were required to be in his old pack. How berated you would be if you couldn't take down your prey. Bitten if you showed emotion. Kicked out if you showed pity. Here, he's not nearly as pressured to be tough, but, old habits die hard, right?
BIO CONINUEATION
at in. He hated them so much. It hurt. It hurt so much. He looked up at her pleadingly. She only shook her head sadly.
MONTHS LATER
He gasped for breath. He’d become used to the horns. But somehow, they’d grown with him. Always. He didn’t want this life anymore. He didn’t want to be a stud. He hated it. He was barely producing ‘good’ pups, anyways. They were always sent away. But he loved each and every one of them. Their beautiful white coats. Lovely green and blue eyes. The tan stripes and jaws. . . Lovely.
He was being sold. Why was he being sold? HeÂ’d given them plenty of money. He was only three. He wasnÂ’t too old. . .
Quickly, he was bought. For a mere twenty-some mushrooms. Worthless. Then, he was sold again. For more this time. A hundred or so. Then, he was sold. One last time. For ten mushrooms. He was truly worthless. . .
A pretty white female with brown cheetah spots, and a black shoulder marking. Smoky black ears, and facemask. Her paws and most of her legs were covered in brown.
“Hello, Toffee!” She smiled, wagging her long tail. Toffee. Such a pretty name. It was much better than ‘R32 7G CL’ One he didn’t deserve. He wasn’t going to be rude, though. He nodded, following her.
“I hope you’re okay with where we live. It’s kinda odd, but it’s kept us safe for a long while. Very clean.” She giggled, walking a bit faster. An odd. . . Noise. . . Filled his ears. It sounded like rain. The consta
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Spring 
Day Weather: 
