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Description
Syl

Winter, Year 755 of the New Age

Blackwood, Northeastern Slopes of Whitepeak

Four Years. Four years it had been since fleeing her prison. To her, four years felt like a lifetime - whether that be a lifetime spent well or poorly, she had yet to discover. Never since arriving had she bothered to really make her presence known in the herd. Slowly over time, others would see her. Those who did or told stories of her rejected her all the same. She was different. She was a ghost. A ghost against a sea of darkness, she didn’t exist to them. She didn’t exist to anybody here.
With no time for others, it gave her plenty of times to play in the garden that was Blackwood. Herbs of all sorts, those never even heard of back in Silverthorne, all came to here. Some plants had a positive side, only masking the deadly potency underneath. These were the herbs that fascinated her, those she could mash into a poison of the sort, paint on her sharp hooves, and if confronted - lash out a special kind of torture most unexpecting to the victim. In four years, she had only made a dent in discovering all the effects of these plants.
Being the ghost she was took a great deal out of her physically as well. Forced to the outskirts of the territory led her to often become the target of wolf hunts. They happened fairly often, but never once did the threat of death fade. It took careful thinking and a lot of strength to outrun the pack. They never forgot the white doe either, each time returning with a vengeance to finally end the elusive prey’s life. Whatever Syl did to survive, it worked. Never in four years had Syl come face to face with death, she always outran it - but it never quit chasing her. Always lurking, just waiting for the right moment to cut her down. It may have come close with each nick, scrape, gash, and cut - but The Ghost outran death on every instance. Her survival was first based on luck, but after a few years she learned what she had to do.
It was a risky existence, but Syl could not sit idly just because of it. She lived with death every day, if it finally caught her, she’d congratulate it and go along. Until then, she continued to move around- studying what she could of plants and fleeing from the jaws of predators. It was this instance that brought her to the slopes of Whitepeak in the middle of winter. Even in a time of cold and slumber, Syl worked everyday to observe plant life. Nothing could hide from her observant, icy-blue eyes. Especially the creature that was hiding in the shadows.
Syl had been followed. Not by a stag, or another fawnling - as she normally disliked in this time of the year, but by none other than a wolf. Sizing him up, he appeared young - probably fresh out of the pack. Perhaps he was off on his own, trying to start his own group, or more likely - he was just stupid and off on his own. A foolish mistake on his part.
Finally, the wolf sprinted towards the ghost, leading into a long chase. He nipped at her heels, but could not bite down - she was just inches ahead of him at the closest instances. The Ghost was not cocky, nor was she fearful - this was routine to her as she carefully weaved between rocks and darted up the slopes. Each foot was placed carefully, for if one slipped it would mean certain injury. While she would accept death if it came, she was not looking for it today.
The wolf never gave way, keeping close even though it sounded as if it were to collapse from exhaustion. Enough was enough for Syl - the wolf was determined, set on ending her life, or even just to land a single blow. Point being, it wasn’t just going to give up on the hunt. There would only be one way to end this. However, Syl would be unable to do this - she wasn’t much of a fighter, she relied on her herbs to fight for her - and with them gone for now, she was left defenseless as the day she first stepped in Blackwood. She would have to lose the wolf herself, or rely on the mountains to kill it for her.
Sprinting towards a ledge, her idea unfurled itself, taking control of her nimble feet and using what she had left her energy to leap up on the ledge. As fate would have it, the rocks underneath her landing could not hold much more than the snow that had rested there, and fell just as the doe sprinted away. The predator had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, lured in by the ghost to its doom. While the falling rocks may not have been fatal in this instance, the loud whine the wolf emitted was enough to convince Syl it would not follow her further. It was obviously injured - the severity unknown to her, but it wouldn’t bother continuing the chase. Maybe if it was duller than it looked, but any creature with a brain would know not to keep running in a situation like this.
The Ghost looked down upon the creature, observing as he hobbled off back into the snow, taking with it whatever confidence and strength it had left. The luck had been in her favor today, had the rocks not fallen, it would have been the wolf who had the upperhand. Syl could have very much today greeted death, but just as days before -it was narrowly avoided. There was no smile, no smirk, no sly remark that slipped from the doe’s lips, instead maybe a sigh. A sigh of relief, as if the whole run she had been holding her own breath - waiting to see what would happen herself. It was in the past now, as quickly as it had happened, but there was no use reliving it. Turning away from the ledge, The Ghost walked on, continuing her own duties as if the chase had just simply been another part of her life...

-------------------------

Story Length - 1,047 words

Wanted to sketch a running picture of Syl (or even just a picture of Syl - everything lately had been with other fawnlings >.>), and I had this hidden on my computer. It stayed a sketch for a long time, but having re-done Syl's plot journal and reference image - I felt like, "How have I not done a picture of Syl almost dying yet?". She's lived in Blackwood so long, somehow she's managing herself (Even as an Outcast). At some point she probably needs some scars XD too bad they wouldn't show very well on her >.> Also - this is the first time I've done stats in a while, so if something looks innacturate then let me know and I'll fix it. I'm also pretty tired, so there could possibly be errors

Syl

Races/Chases +1 Speed (Image and Story (+400 words) = +1 speed)(Story over 1,000 words =+1 speed) TOTAL = +3 speed

Travelling Long Distances +1 Stamina (Image and Story (+400 words) = +1 stamina)(Story over 1,000 words =+1 stamina) TOTAL =+3 stamina

Artwork:=ChrissyMax (c)

%Fawnlings =Ehetere (c)

Description
Syl

Winter, Year 755 of the New Age

Blackwood, Northeastern Slopes of Whitepeak

Four Years. Four years it had been since fleeing her prison. To her, four years felt like a lifetime - whether that be a lifetime spent well or poorly, she had yet to discover. Never since arriving had she bothered to really make her presence known in the herd. Slowly over time, others would see her. Those who did or told stories of her rejected her all the same. She was different. She was a ghost. A ghost against a sea of darkness, she didn’t exist to them. She didn’t exist to anybody here.
With no time for others, it gave her plenty of times to play in the garden that was Blackwood. Herbs of all sorts, those never even heard of back in Silverthorne, all came to here. Some plants had a positive side, only masking the deadly potency underneath. These were the herbs that fascinated her, those she could mash into a poison of the sort, paint on her sharp hooves, and if confronted - lash out a special kind of torture most unexpecting to the victim. In four years, she had only made a dent in discovering all the effects of these plants.
Being the ghost she was took a great deal out of her physically as well. Forced to the outskirts of the territory led her to often become the target of wolf hunts. They happened fairly often, but never once did the threat of death fade. It took careful thinking and a lot of strength to outrun the pack. They never forgot the white doe either, each time returning with a vengeance to finally end the elusive prey’s life. Whatever Syl did to survive, it worked. Never in four years had Syl come face to face with death, she always outran it - but it never quit chasing her. Always lurking, just waiting for the right moment to cut her down. It may have come close with each nick, scrape, gash, and cut - but The Ghost outran death on every instance. Her survival was first based on luck, but after a few years she learned what she had to do.
It was a risky existence, but Syl could not sit idly just because of it. She lived with death every day, if it finally caught her, she’d congratulate it and go along. Until then, she continued to move around- studying what she could of plants and fleeing from the jaws of predators. It was this instance that brought her to the slopes of Whitepeak in the middle of winter. Even in a time of cold and slumber, Syl worked everyday to observe plant life. Nothing could hide from her observant, icy-blue eyes. Especially the creature that was hiding in the shadows.
Syl had been followed. Not by a stag, or another fawnling - as she normally disliked in this time of the year, but by none other than a wolf. Sizing him up, he appeared young - probably fresh out of the pack. Perhaps he was off on his own, trying to start his own group, or more likely - he was just stupid and off on his own. A foolish mistake on his part.
Finally, the wolf sprinted towards the ghost, leading into a long chase. He nipped at her heels, but could not bite down - she was just inches ahead of him at the closest instances. The Ghost was not cocky, nor was she fearful - this was routine to her as she carefully weaved between rocks and darted up the slopes. Each foot was placed carefully, for if one slipped it would mean certain injury. While she would accept death if it came, she was not looking for it today.
The wolf never gave way, keeping close even though it sounded as if it were to collapse from exhaustion. Enough was enough for Syl - the wolf was determined, set on ending her life, or even just to land a single blow. Point being, it wasn’t just going to give up on the hunt. There would only be one way to end this. However, Syl would be unable to do this - she wasn’t much of a fighter, she relied on her herbs to fight for her - and with them gone for now, she was left defenseless as the day she first stepped in Blackwood. She would have to lose the wolf herself, or rely on the mountains to kill it for her.
Sprinting towards a ledge, her idea unfurled itself, taking control of her nimble feet and using what she had left her energy to leap up on the ledge. As fate would have it, the rocks underneath her landing could not hold much more than the snow that had rested there, and fell just as the doe sprinted away. The predator had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, lured in by the ghost to its doom. While the falling rocks may not have been fatal in this instance, the loud whine the wolf emitted was enough to convince Syl it would not follow her further. It was obviously injured - the severity unknown to her, but it wouldn’t bother continuing the chase. Maybe if it was duller than it looked, but any creature with a brain would know not to keep running in a situation like this.
The Ghost looked down upon the creature, observing as he hobbled off back into the snow, taking with it whatever confidence and strength it had left. The luck had been in her favor today, had the rocks not fallen, it would have been the wolf who had the upperhand. Syl could have very much today greeted death, but just as days before -it was narrowly avoided. There was no smile, no smirk, no sly remark that slipped from the doe’s lips, instead maybe a sigh. A sigh of relief, as if the whole run she had been holding her own breath - waiting to see what would happen herself. It was in the past now, as quickly as it had happened, but there was no use reliving it. Turning away from the ledge, The Ghost walked on, continuing her own duties as if the chase had just simply been another part of her life...

-------------------------

Story Length - 1,047 words

Wanted to sketch a running picture of Syl (or even just a picture of Syl - everything lately had been with other fawnlings >.>), and I had this hidden on my computer. It stayed a sketch for a long time, but having re-done Syl's plot journal and reference image - I felt like, "How have I not done a picture of Syl almost dying yet?". She's lived in Blackwood so long, somehow she's managing herself (Even as an Outcast). At some point she probably needs some scars XD too bad they wouldn't show very well on her >.> Also - this is the first time I've done stats in a while, so if something looks innacturate then let me know and I'll fix it. I'm also pretty tired, so there could possibly be errors

Syl

Races/Chases +1 Speed (Image and Story (+400 words) = +1 speed)(Story over 1,000 words =+1 speed) TOTAL = +3 speed

Travelling Long Distances +1 Stamina (Image and Story (+400 words) = +1 stamina)(Story over 1,000 words =+1 stamina) TOTAL =+3 stamina

Artwork:=ChrissyMax (c)

%Fawnlings =Ehetere (c)