Foggy and gray, the world swirls from her grasp and before she knows it, she is walking, no longer the five month old pup laying in the fields, struggling to rise from a groggy nap. She is a yearling now and with each step she shows an ever-more renounced pride that she had made it to her first year alive, and strong. With being the only daughter within four sons, she had learned to fight fiercely and without an ounce of holding back. By now, in her year of age, she only held three brothers she called her own. Murder had taken her fourth brother, the youngest of them all, from the family. It was a murder, no less, handed down from Elettra herself. Though years from now, in a land of Relic Lore, she would be shamed for having killed her own brother, within the lands of Torbine the wolves of the country sought her as brave and mighty in her youth. After all, it was her brother which had sought the life of his sister, attacking her whilst she rest due to a buried jealousy turned to hatred. He could not stand to be the lesser of the litter, mainly to a woman and so, had attempted to rid the world of her and find himself a way to prove worthy of his name. No longer was their unrest in the Archer litter and now, they were as strong as group as ever.
In her strides, protected from the front and back by escorting warlords, does she walk the country side in exploration. The princess was on the move and to each band of wolves which they crossed (only few whom were allowed to stay in the family's lands, if only by following strict rules and offering of support and food) would all bow before her as she passed them. It was with these things, did her arrogance rise, did she know that she would forever and always be royalty. And it is here, too, that she meets a man known as Lycus Corvius. He is the leader of a bachelor gang of males. He is older then her by a full year, though everything about him catches Elettra's attention: he is black, black as the darkest of nights with a tuft of snowy white at his chest, a slashing through his right ear and deep, deep roaming eyes of liquid gold. He holds a mysterious, dark air about him and a charm that was unmatched. He took her affections with a possessive paw and obsessive grip, though none of which would be relieved beyond that shimmering gaze. Elettra was different in much ways and in color. This intrigued Lycus, not to mention her being the only princess of the litter. All of Elettra's family through the generations had been light in pelting from creams to grays to tawny, and nothing ever darker then natural timber patterns. That is, until Elettra's mother.
It had been her grandfather to first rise as King of the lands and finally taking the family's royal placement in the court to the very top. He had been enslaved by the traditions in which the elders had served for many generations: the lighter the pelt, the more 'pure' you were. White women were reserved only for royal men, to lighten the generations to come. The lands of Torbine were ruthless with their customs and would steal women of white pelts and cream away into their lands in order to heighten the ability for lighter litters. Though the ending of this came with Elettra's father's ruling and a new revolution. Taking a dark colored woman as his mate, he shatters the code and rises the pack into a height of power in had never exceeded before. Now, Elettra realizes, she is sitting beside her mother, along the rocky formation fitted for the king and queen. She is amongst her brothers, close to her. She could feel their warmth in her coat, smell their far different scents and hear their mumbled words. Elettra's eyes drift over the sea of wolves which were of their pack, and of the gangs and bands which resided in the country. Elettra is smiling- a true, undeniable smile and in moments, her gaze flutters upwards to her mother, with more pride and happiness then she would ever known.
...She awakes again. This time, is is within a large, hollow log of a red wood tree. This time, she is not alone. Next to her slumbers Lycus, so dark in color that within this log and within the night, he is nearly invisible to her. But there he lays, cuddled at her side, his breathing long and deep, his toes twitching ever so often in obvious dream of the hunt. He is everything of beauty she knew him to be back when she had first met him and now, it is eight months since then. There time together grows more and more frequently, Elettra's need to sneak away from her pack and into his arms at the outskirts of the land. Tradition had once told her the darkness of their pelt reflected the darkness of one's heart. Elettra Archer knew this not to be true. She loved him. She loved everything of him and she knew that he, too and endlessly, loved her....
Elettra is two and she sits within the heart of a deep, thick forest. She pants, but not in fear or anxiety, but nervousness. As the night falls deeper and deeper still, does Lycus Corvius finally emerge in all his glory. He is not of royal blood, he is not even a great knight or a member of the pack, but the leader of a bachelor gang and still he moves in an air of utmost confidence. Each stride he takes into Elettra's direction, she quivers with guilty pleasure, her spine tingling, her tail rising to not dominance, but invitation before realizing it's wrongs and clamping back downward. She is an adult now and he three and she, in heat. As he comes to her, he embraces her without pause, his hot breath at her neckline before his muzzle plummets into the tick mixed grays of her nape. His rough voice whispers his unmistakable, unbreakable, love for her yet ends in a feverish growl of obvious lust. Though her body quivers furthermore, she trusts ever ounce of him, her defenses in never a need of settlement within the presence of Lycus. “I can't....My family will not condone it. I know it. Fear not, my heart; my love.... We will be together one day. I- I'm...” She wasn't ready. ”I don't know if I want to be a mother.” Her words were soft, a softness that after this event, she would never have the ability to hold again. Delicately she speaks to him, breaths into him as her cheek rubs along the white tuft of furs at the middle of his chest. She doesn’t know if she ever wants to be a mother, she had only just made it to adulthood after all. And not only was Lycus not of the Pack, but he was not royal blood, ether. She knew she would have to leave Torbine for him, but could she? Her trust in him was never wavering: her love, her devotion, her loyalty.... She would have never saw it coming.
Before she could react, she was shoved face-first into the dirt of the forest floor so hard that her muzzle flashed with white hot pain from nose to jaw. She could feel the liquid warmth of blood from her nostrils, just a moment's distraction of what was to come next. Realization struck her, as her body lay hunched over on the ground and teeth, long, razors clamped down into the thick of her scruff, without an ounce of sympathy. They sunk deep, slicing past fur and sinking into flesh, but even this was only worth a moment's distraction for her. Nothing compared to it's finale... But even as Lycus pressed himself upon her backside, even as he swallowed her whole with such hunger for the taste, such greed for it all and such uncaring ruthlessness to finish his 'meat' he had craved for so long, Elettra's body was but a vessel in all this. Even as the rape continued on, it is not this which pains her most. Is is the broken trust, the lies, the betrayal, the utter anguish of her heart breaking apart. Lycus has hurt her in ways no other wolf has ever, and as Elettra would not allow any other to get close enough to even try. When Elettra cries out, it is in sheer pain not of the body, but the tearing of her heart.
This time when she awakes, it is alone, cold and hungry. Pains shoot through her sides and down her spine, her body shifting uncomfortably at her side where resting of her full, rounded belly could not be accomplished. She is thin and full of children, which eat every ounce of energy she harbors. It has been months since her rapist (her love!) had raped her and left without thought nor care. It has been just as long since Lycus Corvius execution as well. The moment Elettra had returned and the moment the vile smell of forced breeding was sniffed through her family's muzzles, did Elettra's father take off, her brothers and their closest royal guard in pursuit. ...There is a clearing of a throat near the entrance of her hollow and without even looking up Elettra knew who it was: Deacon. “Sister....I'm so sorry.” Eletra's brother's words were a delicate whisper, such a tone she had heard him use of her and no other. He was the youngest of the three remaining brothers, older over Elettra. Though he was clearly and had proven numerous times that he was the strongest in the litter, it was he which visited her where her other brothers would not allow themselves to see their sister in this state of tainting. ”You must eat. It will all be over soon, I promise.” He spoke as he entered, nudging a large hare to Elettra's front. He touches his deep silver and gray mug to her forehead in which Elettra turned from with a sigh. Though Elettra's attempts at starving herself had failed, even near birthing, she still begged for abortion. It was a risk, however, the family was not willing to take. To damage their only daughter internally (or just the possibility of it) was too great.
The pain was unbearable. Though Elettra had been locked up away so most of the pack would not know of her innocence (and purity) being taken from her, all the lands would know it now with her screams. Her mother had not seen her in weeks, unwilling where it pained her too much to see her daughter in such a state and, in her position, unwilling to allow others to see the weakness (the soft spot) she held for her daughter. No one was supposed to know. In the den, were the best of healers and nurses, all of which Elettra snapped at each moment she could between screams and gasps for breath. When it was over, four children of blacks, silvers, grays and highlights of gold, squirmed around for warmth and milk. There sexes were unknown to her, their arrangement they had been born- they held not even names. Though Elettra could not see the innocence in their sealed eyes, their yips and grunts for their mother broken Elettra further. They cried on the outside and she, internally. Their innocence demanded justice, care, understanding and forgiveness- none of which the family offered to them. Elettra, though for the first moments of feeling something motherly, would not be allowed a single lone moment with them. When it was clear the birthing was over, Elettra's father and his head guards came into the den one by one, scooping up one child for themselves and without a word, her litter was taken away. Elettra never saw them again.
When she finally awakes, truly awakes, Elettra does so in a panic, her body jerking from it's lay and backing up into a sitting position. She is panting, her body trembling in nothing of anger, but everything of fear: everything of true pain and horror of her past come to light, so fluidly, so vividly. She awakes as though she had lived it all again, to the point where she could still see the expressions of her her children's faces and still hear the whispers of disappointment from her father. ...Still smell the thick, musky scent of Lycus...
Her body still very much trembling, she lifts from her make-shift sleeping area: a dug out curve in a ground nestled along the side of a willow's trunk, its branches turning downwards to which its long, whipping vines flowed over like a veil from the world. She steps out with shaky footing, her silvery gaze blinking away the cloudiness of just waking. Still, it is night which drapes all of Relic Lore. Though the darkness is not deep and engulfing, but a delicate twilight- the sky is clear, not a single cloud in sight. The moon is full and pregnant, this night, and kept company by an array of vast sparkling stars. Such a beautiful night to bring such horrid memories.
Shaking away her past and the fears from within it, the woman takes a deep breath before inhaling the chilly air. She adjusts herself, to stand high and proud and back once more into the woman she had grown to become. Her past had made her stronger and she knew now never to be so foolish again. Knowing sleep was beyond her grasp now, with the past images still tugging at her mind, she pushes forth physically, as a reminder of herself to keep pushing forth emotionally as well. Within the Drooping Willows, she travels to the east towards the mountains, destined yet still to find her territory she could finally call home.
When she finally finds it, it is almost a shock to her then anything else. She pauses as the formation appears in her pathway: it is a formation of rock collected together, likely here which she drew nearer and nearer to the mountainside. She sniffs as she approaches, cautious, but without finding any trace of another creature's presence. She scales the formation before she enters it, taking in the view of the territory around her. The Drooping Willows is the most open of the forests and from here, she feels as though she could see much of the landscape around her. She could see far to the east beyond the patchy forestry of willows the Riddle Heights in all their mass of gray glory. She knew from this position, she was not far from both the Hush Meadow and Fireweed Rise. The den itself provided a height advantage for overlooking the territory and, with the small river just south, from here it could be heard delicately in the background of the wild. Here, the pack would have everything lied at their feet: shelter, water, and various territories plentiful with food (goat from the mountains, rabbit and deer from the meadow and rise...) of much variation.
Atop her placement, she can no longer hold back the smile upon her lips. Her nightmares but a backdrop in her mind now, as her dreams she had so longed for becomes a reality for her. She bounds from the top of the rocky formation, darting into the open cave from which her new home would be formed: her herbs would reside in here, storage over the winter, children (should they ever be) and already she could see her fellow members gathered together in tangled of limbs and fur for an afternoon nap. Her tail waves and after her small investigation, she rushes outward, determined to mark what little she could to begin her stake of claim. When she was finished, she stands outside the cave's mouth, her pallid lips parting as her muzzle lifts, calling out for her brethren with her claim of these lands: this as hers. This was Willow Ridge.