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Description

Welcoming; Amur, of Blackwood.
The small blue roan doeling was born quiet - bright eyed and even tempered. She did not fuss about the chill of arrival and hardly made a sound when the first lances of moonlight slit through the lids of her eyes. She was trembling and overwhelmed, damp and cold despite a weighted presence at her rump and yet when she blinked away a bit of the blur and settled her eyes on the world around her for the first time, she was brave. Regarding the world with a muted curiosity and even an invisible fear, she allowed the urgency in her instinct to stand to be her first desperation, tossing her tiny hindquarters upward and using her legs like stilts as she braced them up and wobbled. There was a strength about her that made it look smooth despite the newness of it all and she seemed determined, despite her wide-eyed, somewhat floppy appearance.

When her lean legs were finally gathered beneath her, albeit not neatly, she took the moment to glance about, her eyes falling upon her mother for the first time. The fiery chestnut doe seemed to inhale softly under the intensity of her daughters eyes and a hint of pride whispered across her lips in the form of a smile. The smile faltered suddenly when a voice sounded from not that far off - a soldier talking to another fellow proudly about the new arrivals. If it was discovered that Muur's daughter was part Blackwood, the young doe would surely be slain and Muur was realizing, as a weight settled in the pit of her stomach and swelled in her chest, that this small creature was precious and she couldn't...wouldn't allow it. She had to have a fighting chance.

They would make the journey to Blackwood as soon as the doeling was steady enough and had eaten her first meal. Muur would ease through the darkness looking for one stag in particular and, when she found him, he regarded her at first with surprise, then with caution as soon as his eyes landed on their daughter. Muur, being the prideful doe she was would tip her chin up and crinkle her nose with a soft snort, "I'm returning your gift." She'd murmur, tapping the filly forward with her muzzle. Timbre would visibly tense and his eyes would narrow, "You know damn well that it isn't a stag's job to raise foals." He'd growl, settling his ears back against his nape, although his eyes dropped to the small filly quietly with an unreadable expression.

When Muur turned away from him with a long swish of her tail, his attention was re-drawn to the doe as she smirked at him, "It's not my problem anymore." She piqued, suddenly pushing off with a quick bounce as she went crashing back through the foliage. Timbre would have no chance to retort, nor a chance to argue as he turned to follow a couple strides before the small filly bawlked in fear at the sudden realization that she was being left alone. He watched after the chestnut doe with a silent fury although he wouldn't know that Muur had circled around to turn her gaze back on her tiny daughter for a final time. The bitter sting of tears slid over her cheeks as she muffled a sob.

The large bay roan stag would circle the blue roan filly quietly, almost shyly at first as if contemplating what to do with her. She studied him with the same caution, somewhat wobbling as she twisted around to watch him. Her hind legs would tangle as she did so causing her to tip forward, falling - but Timbre would slip his head beneath her chest in an instant, halting her decent almost instantly as he righted her and took a step back. She bleated at him softly, her large ears swiveling forward and he rumbled back at her, lowering his head to her level. She would take a few shaky strides towards him, touching her muzzle to the bridge of his nose at first, before pressing her face against his cheek with a quiet affectionate sound that made the hardness of his eyes soften and his ears flick back.

He'd curl himself around her small blue frame, sliding his tail around his legs as she curled up against his side and pressed her nose into the warmth of his flank.

He'd be a great father, Muur assured herself, turning on her hocks and slipping away. She had borders to cross to get back into Silverthorne and her disappearance to explain. An explanation that would exclude her young daughter. No one could know that Amur was Muur's daughter and no one ever would - for the sake of that small precious life, Muur would make no mention of her ever again. She was Timbre's now and that thought alone was devastating enough.

Statistics;
Name: Amur.
Meaning: Type of maple tree.
Alias(s): None.
Gender: Filly.
Born: June 7th.
Year of Birth: 759 of the New Age - 0 years old.
Height: Predicted at 12hhs or less.
Build: Light/Medium.
Phenotype: Blue Roan Restricted Fawn.
Genotype: Ee/aa/nRn/Ff/nPg/fwfw/Rxrz.
Eye Colour: Honey brown.
(will likely darken with age.)

Sire: Timbre .
Dam: Muur .
Original Design: Here .
Proof of Breeding: Here .
Bloodline: 50% Silverthorne x 50% Blackwood.
Magic Type: Born without due to being a hybrid.

Personality:
Amur is quiet and, for the most part, brave. She has an inlaid curiosity that often times over-rides her common sense.
Although she is small and especially smaller considering her heritage, she has a big heart and is oddly compassionate.

History:
Still young with much of life to enjoy, Amur's mother dropped her off with her sire in order to protect their young daughter from Silverthorne laws.

This isn't an ideal situation either, with Timbre being physically unable to produce milk for his young daughter, although he does what he can.
He rarely strays far from her and pre-chews what he can find such as grubs, moss, scarce fruit and occasionally small animals for her.
Although this does provide her with nutrition, it's the incorrect kind and can't sustain the filly at 100%. Just enough to keep her alive.
So for the time being, her life is one big struggle that she has only the slightest of fighting chances to over come.

Herd Information:
Herd: Blackwood.
Herd Position: None(too young).

Skill Points:
Speed: 2 [Basic Level] (Build Cap: 15 points max)
Stamina: 4 [Basic Level]
Strength: 4 [Basic Level]

Magic: 0 [Basic Level]
Herbs: 0 [Basic Level]

Experience: 0.

Breakdown
+2 speed - base bonus.
+4 stamina - base bonus.
+4 strength - base bonus.

Hereditary Magic: +0*.
Hereditary Herb Lore: +0.

Fawnlings © to Ehetere .
Design/Character © to myself.

Description

Welcoming; Amur, of Blackwood.
The small blue roan doeling was born quiet - bright eyed and even tempered. She did not fuss about the chill of arrival and hardly made a sound when the first lances of moonlight slit through the lids of her eyes. She was trembling and overwhelmed, damp and cold despite a weighted presence at her rump and yet when she blinked away a bit of the blur and settled her eyes on the world around her for the first time, she was brave. Regarding the world with a muted curiosity and even an invisible fear, she allowed the urgency in her instinct to stand to be her first desperation, tossing her tiny hindquarters upward and using her legs like stilts as she braced them up and wobbled. There was a strength about her that made it look smooth despite the newness of it all and she seemed determined, despite her wide-eyed, somewhat floppy appearance.

When her lean legs were finally gathered beneath her, albeit not neatly, she took the moment to glance about, her eyes falling upon her mother for the first time. The fiery chestnut doe seemed to inhale softly under the intensity of her daughters eyes and a hint of pride whispered across her lips in the form of a smile. The smile faltered suddenly when a voice sounded from not that far off - a soldier talking to another fellow proudly about the new arrivals. If it was discovered that Muur's daughter was part Blackwood, the young doe would surely be slain and Muur was realizing, as a weight settled in the pit of her stomach and swelled in her chest, that this small creature was precious and she couldn't...wouldn't allow it. She had to have a fighting chance.

They would make the journey to Blackwood as soon as the doeling was steady enough and had eaten her first meal. Muur would ease through the darkness looking for one stag in particular and, when she found him, he regarded her at first with surprise, then with caution as soon as his eyes landed on their daughter. Muur, being the prideful doe she was would tip her chin up and crinkle her nose with a soft snort, "I'm returning your gift." She'd murmur, tapping the filly forward with her muzzle. Timbre would visibly tense and his eyes would narrow, "You know damn well that it isn't a stag's job to raise foals." He'd growl, settling his ears back against his nape, although his eyes dropped to the small filly quietly with an unreadable expression.

When Muur turned away from him with a long swish of her tail, his attention was re-drawn to the doe as she smirked at him, "It's not my problem anymore." She piqued, suddenly pushing off with a quick bounce as she went crashing back through the foliage. Timbre would have no chance to retort, nor a chance to argue as he turned to follow a couple strides before the small filly bawlked in fear at the sudden realization that she was being left alone. He watched after the chestnut doe with a silent fury although he wouldn't know that Muur had circled around to turn her gaze back on her tiny daughter for a final time. The bitter sting of tears slid over her cheeks as she muffled a sob.

The large bay roan stag would circle the blue roan filly quietly, almost shyly at first as if contemplating what to do with her. She studied him with the same caution, somewhat wobbling as she twisted around to watch him. Her hind legs would tangle as she did so causing her to tip forward, falling - but Timbre would slip his head beneath her chest in an instant, halting her decent almost instantly as he righted her and took a step back. She bleated at him softly, her large ears swiveling forward and he rumbled back at her, lowering his head to her level. She would take a few shaky strides towards him, touching her muzzle to the bridge of his nose at first, before pressing her face against his cheek with a quiet affectionate sound that made the hardness of his eyes soften and his ears flick back.

He'd curl himself around her small blue frame, sliding his tail around his legs as she curled up against his side and pressed her nose into the warmth of his flank.

He'd be a great father, Muur assured herself, turning on her hocks and slipping away. She had borders to cross to get back into Silverthorne and her disappearance to explain. An explanation that would exclude her young daughter. No one could know that Amur was Muur's daughter and no one ever would - for the sake of that small precious life, Muur would make no mention of her ever again. She was Timbre's now and that thought alone was devastating enough.

Statistics;
Name: Amur.
Meaning: Type of maple tree.
Alias(s): None.
Gender: Filly.
Born: June 7th.
Year of Birth: 759 of the New Age - 0 years old.
Height: Predicted at 12hhs or less.
Build: Light/Medium.
Phenotype: Blue Roan Restricted Fawn.
Genotype: Ee/aa/nRn/Ff/nPg/fwfw/Rxrz.
Eye Colour: Honey brown.
(will likely darken with age.)

Sire: Timbre .
Dam: Muur .
Original Design: Here .
Proof of Breeding: Here .
Bloodline: 50% Silverthorne x 50% Blackwood.
Magic Type: Born without due to being a hybrid.

Personality:
Amur is quiet and, for the most part, brave. She has an inlaid curiosity that often times over-rides her common sense.
Although she is small and especially smaller considering her heritage, she has a big heart and is oddly compassionate.

History:
Still young with much of life to enjoy, Amur's mother dropped her off with her sire in order to protect their young daughter from Silverthorne laws.

This isn't an ideal situation either, with Timbre being physically unable to produce milk for his young daughter, although he does what he can.
He rarely strays far from her and pre-chews what he can find such as grubs, moss, scarce fruit and occasionally small animals for her.
Although this does provide her with nutrition, it's the incorrect kind and can't sustain the filly at 100%. Just enough to keep her alive.
So for the time being, her life is one big struggle that she has only the slightest of fighting chances to over come.

Herd Information:
Herd: Blackwood.
Herd Position: None(too young).

Skill Points:
Speed: 2 [Basic Level] (Build Cap: 15 points max)
Stamina: 4 [Basic Level]
Strength: 4 [Basic Level]

Magic: 0 [Basic Level]
Herbs: 0 [Basic Level]

Experience: 0.

Breakdown
+2 speed - base bonus.
+4 stamina - base bonus.
+4 strength - base bonus.

Hereditary Magic: +0*.
Hereditary Herb Lore: +0.

Fawnlings © to Ehetere .
Design/Character © to myself.