A Viking and a Celt

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TorTracyn

Guest
General
Name: Torgeir Drust Rolvsson
Aliases: Drustan, Gwrtheyrnsson
Age: 19-20, somewhere in there
Birthdate: In the late fall/early winter
Origin: Northern Scotland
Ethnicity: Norse/Celtic
Languages: Old Norse, Old Gaelic (or whatever it'd really be called...)
Occupation: Second son of the chief?
Current Residence: At his family home.

Appearance
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Brown with hints of red and rather curly. He wears it long and ties it back out of his way. It was BRIGHT blond when he was a child.
Height: 5'8
Build: Strong. Not super burly, but definitely strong. He looks like he trains in fighting a lot, strong arms, well fed, very healthy.
Scars: A few, mostly on his arms.
Attire: A great kilt in his family tartan, a tunic underneath, and that's pretty much it typically. Obviously if he has to dress up a bit more for appearances, he does, and he has a set of armor with a sword and shield, but when he's just running around doing his own thing, he doesn't wear too much. The great kilt is pretty warm by itself.
Accessories: His sporran, obviously, and the belt that holds it (and his kilt together lol), and a torc (http://www.urweg.com/list/torcs/Chieftain_t.jpg )
Weapon of Choice: He uses a bow for hunting, and despite having a sword he prefers fighting with two axes rather than a sword and shield.

Personality:
Basic: Priveladged, respectful, honorable...but also fun-loving, charismatic and fairly easy to please. There are subjects in which he can be picky (like women, much to his mother's dismay) but he typically isn't.
Strengths: Tactics, the bow and arrow, fighting, but he also has an ear for poetry and music.
Weaknesses: The fact he isn't allowed to pick up music as a hobby, and he typically prefers to be by himself if he gets the chance.
Fears: Becoming chief, his own destiny to an extent...whatever the future holds for him.
Likes: Being in the present, being in the forest, quiet, music, bugging his little sisters and teasing his younger brother, caring for animals
Dislikes: Pomp and circumstance. Being the center of attention.
Religion: Norse but with Celtic thrown in. A bit of a marriage between the two.

Background
Family:
Mother: Sileas
Father: Rolv "Gwrtheyrn" Baardsson
Siblings: Arnvior (22) (Wife: Urd, Daughter: Dagmar (2)), Thora (16), Aina (13), Vilhelm (10)
Upbringing: Being the second son of the chief, he grew up privileged but not spoiled. Sure he could have any woman in the town he wanted, but he wasn't spoiled in many other ways. When he went into town and bought things from people, he insisted on paying the price they would ask anyone else and things like that, just as his father taught him. After all, what is a chief without people to protect? They were family, just as his mother and siblings, and were to be treated as such. And while he sat and learned tactics and the art of war and how to be a good, strong man, he often looked to the forests for solitude and peace.

There were a few militaristic scrapes and battles that he was involved in. Currently he leads part of the army under his father and beside his older brother but it has been peaceful lately.
 
General:
Name: Aithne [Eth-na]
Age: 18
Birth date: Autumn
Origin: Ireland, Scotland
Ethnicity: Celtic
Languages: Gaelic (Scottish, and Irish), Gaulish, Welsh, Manx, Cornish
Occupation: Being her tribes Oracle/Seer/Prophetess
Current Residence: Ireland, in the forest and near the water

Appearance:
Eyes: Green - as though the hills of Ireland crawled into them
Hair: Auburn (reddish-brown): Thick, curly, mid-thigh length, charms dangling all throughout hair, some part of her hair is braided, other parts are dreaded
Height: 5'3"
Build: Thin, though curvy in all the right places; muscular legs, though not overly, from climbing; tends to have varying weight due to the fact that she sometimes forgets to eat while in the forest she calls her home
Scars: A few scratches here, and there, though no battle scars
Attire: Very little *wink* *wink* She has leather bands to cover her, but most of the time she chooses to be one with nature and is in the forest where she just relies on her mid-thigh length hair to cover her
Accessories: Wears a circlet that represents her status as the tribes Prophetess. Circlet is made of silver, with a crescent moon in the middle

http://www.artfire.com/uploads/prod...n_goddess_priestess_circlet_3485_94c9caf2.jpg

Has jingly bits that hang down from the leather that is her "clothing";

http://italianalmanac.org/06aug/woad.jpg

has blue body paint (woad) of her tribe to celebrate her heritage (blue body paint is also as shown in above picture), rank as daughter of Chieftan, has right ear stretched so that a small bone can fit through (1/4 inch wide) *When in Prophetess mode she carries a wooden staff with a large moonstone on the top

Weapon: wears a leather band around her left leg that holds a dagger with a bone hilt used only for emergencies

Personality:
Basic: Very observant, can be serious, quiet, calm, reserved, but when she gets to know you she will smile and laugh more when she gets to know you more. Walks with a certain gracefulness when walking in the woods and in/near water. Has a very special connection with nature, intelligent, and speaks a little strange
Strengths: Nature intelligence, good at understanding people which indirectly comes from being tribe Prophetess
Weaknesses: Not strong in the way of fighting wise, though she can run fast and climb most anything. Gets attached to people and animals and will get sad if they go away
Fears: Growing old alone. It is considered a great honour to marry her, but she turns down every offer because they do not love her, only what she is and the future she can foresee. Fears the future even though she can see it
Likes: Animals, nature, gemstones, caves
Dislikes: Men who love their muscles and nothing else, people who are selfish, death but she understands that her people have occasional wars and death comes to all and everyone
Religion: Polytheistic, prays to her tribes' nature gods and goddess' and allows her body to be a gateway for them to this world (allows gods and goddess' to channel her body and take over)

Family
Clan name: Athol Clan (Her family clan name)
Tribe name: Dougall
Father: (Chieftan) Angor
Mother: Aobhe [Ava]
Siblings:
(1st born) Brother: Corren
(2nd born) Brother: Daimh
(3rd born) Brother: ApRyhs

Upbringing: Was trained by the previous Prophetess to be who she is today. When she was born, she did not cry but instead looked towards the forest (A prophecy states that any child who does this behaviour is destines to be the tribes oracle). Spent most of her childhood in forest and in nature as she does now. She has interaction with her family who loves her very much but most of the time is speaking with the Ancient Ones and seeking their guidance and wisdom.

((More to be revealed throughout))
 
Torgeir Drust "Drustan" Rolvsson stood on the cliffs to the north-west of his father's city. From there, he could see everything. He could see west to the docks, east along the cliffs, south to the forest and the city. It was his favorite spot from which to watch the sunrise. He knew his mother would be angry with him for missing breakfast again, but he had wanted to avoid his father and any tasks the man could have given him for the day. He had been running his father's errands for the past fortnight. Today, he was taking the day for himself. Maybe tomorrow, too. He would come back, as he always did, just before his mother started to worry, just as his father was turning out the door to send out a search party for him. He'd get an earful about his duties to the tribe, to the family, to his father, about how he worried his mother near to death, how his younger brother wanted to go look for him, and about how proud they were of him for bringing back a stag or two hogs or four wolves, or whatever he ended up bringing back.

Drustan truly lived a predictable life of monotony. In his eyes, anyway. Lately, the only joy he experienced, he experienced out in the forest, completely alone, just him, his dogs, and the gods.

He knelt down, laying out two cuts of fresh meat and waving his hounds away from it. "Nodens, I humbly ask you guide my hounds through this hunt. By your grace, I ask not to come home empty handed. Skaði," he touched the other cut of meat. "I ask for my arrows to fly true and for my hunt to be bountiful." He stood up, shooed his dogs away from the meat, and looked back to the rising sun.

As the sunrise came to an end and the late-summer day began, he turned away from the water and the cliff's edge and towards the forest, whistling for his two dogs to follow. They barked happily and took off behind him, sparking him into a race into the woods.

Once he was deep in the woods, the young man stopped and called for his dogs to halt. He adjusted his pack and started adjusted his kilt which had shifted a bit in running. He tightened his belt a notch and smiled, throwing the extra fabric back over his shoulder. He put his pack back in place so it would hold the fabric for him and adjusted his bow and quiver. "There..." He looked around. "What should we hunt today, boys?" He asked, looking down to his dogs.

They all just sat there, looking up at him, waiting orders. Each dog was large, able to put it's front paws up on his shoulders and look him in the eye if they wished. One started to whimper and shift his weight, eliciting a laugh from the young Gwrtheyrnsson. "Ha! Fine! Go!" He hopped forward, stomping his feet at the dogs. They barked happily and spun around, putting their noses to the ground and making their way through the trees.

He shook his head, tossed some of his hair from his face, and started after them on surprisingly light feet after such a show.

The dogs searched for a scent, drawing him deeper and deeper into the woods, and farther and farther away from his home. Not that he minded. This was his time. He was going to enjoy himself.


((His dogs would be a mix of Scottish Deerhound and Irish Wolfhound. http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_QQSCcBdPq...k/rsv5tcuWtII/s1600/irish_wolfhound_large.jpg and http://www.dogbreedinfo.com/images12...nd100_0137.JPG ))
 
As Aithne finishes her readings and predictions for the people of her tribe, they tend to leave her quite weary. She seeks the forest to replenish her much needed rest, and the wild waves that surround her homeland. She can always steal away to get lost in her well known forest. Her family knows where she is, and they needn't worry, she has done this since a small babe.

As she climbed a tall Ash tree, she stopped only for the reason that she had run out of tree to climb. Being at the top, she could see all around. She lived for moments like these, ones where she can breathe the fresh air of her land, smell the salty and briny scent of the oceans, and hear the cry of gulls above and yonder. She feared the day when her bones were too old to climb and run as she so often does.

Down from the tree, she walks around, slowly taking her time to touch each plant she comes across and to say a silent prayer for each so that they may grow to be strong and bountiful. At the base of a Rowan tree, she sits upon her knees and allows her head against the base of the tree, her circlet tinkling as the charms knock against one another and the bark. "Herne," she pleads with their God of trees, "watch over your youngling trees and have them grow strong and mighty. May that one day the weight of my predecessor may climb you. Aye, I offer you as such, the blood of my own as payment to watch over this sapling." She raises her bone-hilted knife and slashes across the palm of her hand, blood running down the cascade of her fingers and onto the plant. She stands again and starts to pray for other young plants, as she usually does.
 
It was late in the day when Drustan's hounds finally sounded and took off into the brush. The hunter grinned and unstrapped his bow from his back and took off after them as quickly as he could. It took a bit of effort, his dogs' long legs making it easy for them to jump bushes and run through the underbrush. Drustan being human and only possessing two legs (not to mention having to make sure thorned vines or branches didn't flip under his kilt) wasn't as fast.

He kept an ear to his hounds however, knowing their signals better than his own sister's voice half the time, and was able to keep up and follow them deeper and deeper into the woods and farther and farther south-east. By the time they signaled they had the beast cornered, the sunlight was fading into the trees to the west and Drustan could hardly feel his legs anymore. He couldn't imagine what the animal was they had followed so far, or that had evaded them so well. He imagined a pack of wolves maybe, toying with his hounds and sending them on quite the chase, maybe a buck but they were better at deer hunting than that...

What he didn't picture was what he saw as he ran into the clearing where the beast was cornered. Damned if it wasn't a bear. He skid to a stop, eyes wide. His dogs kept the bear turning in a circle, bitting at its heels, sometimes getting smacked aside but always jumping right back up.

Drustan let out a laugh at his luck, but quickly whipped out an arrow when the bear turned to face him. He let his arrow fly and smiled when it hit the bear in the neck. It was a good shot. But...it was a bear...Drustan had never hunted bears before so he was more than a little surprised when it didn't fall.

"Ah, shit..."

He notched another arrow and fired again. The bear stood up on its hind legs and faced him with an angry bear-roar.

"...Shit..."

Both of his hounds took a side, one biting at the bear's left leg, the other biting at the bear's right side. The bear shuffled forward, hitting one of the dogs away, then the other, and advanced on Drustan again. Drustan started backpedaling, sending another arrow into the bear's thick hide.

Drustan remained fairly confident in his ability to take this bear down until he brought his foot back into a tree root and fell, flat on his back, on his quiver and his pack quite painfully but he managed to keep his head from cracking against the ground. That or it just hit soft dirt. Either way, he didn't have much time to think about it. He did, however, have time to think about the teeth that were suddenly imbedded into his right leg.

He lift his head and looked down, panic setting in as he realized they were definitely bear teeth. He brought his left foot up and down again into the bear's nose, but it didn't let go. He repeated the process, tossing his bow aside. He brought his left leg up again to free the dagger out of his boot, then forced his boot back down into the bear's eye.

The bear let go and he quickly freed himself from his quiver and his pack. With a roar that could only come from the chest of a Celt and a Viking, he launched forward, grabbing onto the bear's hide, fighting tooth and claw with his dagger. He was determined to take this bear down...
 
Aithne heard a distant roar in the background of the forest. It was a bone-chilling, malicious sound. "Bear," she immediately recognised it. The roar sounded.. different, though. It sounded hurt, and distressed. What was happening to the poor thing? What foolish creature would take on a bear?, she thought.

As she ran to its aid, she dropped her Prophetess staff and quickly contemplated getting rid of her clothes that inhibited her from running as fast as she could, but should the bear decide to turn its frightened self onto her, she would need all of the protection she needed. As she heard another distressed growl, she clutched her fist to her heart and she hurt for the bear.

Being so in tune with nature, and connected to it, she sometimes had the misfortune of feeling what the animal did. Luckily, this time was not one of those times. So on she continued into forest, bare feet slapping at the dead leaves littering the ground, and weaving her way through the cascading vines and foliage. Though she was careful not to hurt any of it. As she neared upon the bear and the source of its sounds, she could start to see clearer. She could see the blood that caused its gorgeous brown fur to clump together in sticky masses of red.She made of sound of horror as she closed in on the horrid scene. Only then did she see the man who was foolishly fighting it. She quickly noticed his wounds, and the look of determination all over his face. She had to stop him! "No!" she cried in her native tongue and dove for the man. She pulled him off of the bear and quickly dragged him away from an angry swipe of the bear's paw.

Aithne walked up to the bear, hands held palm out as a sign of peace and she locked eyes with the massive creature. It was easily three times her size, and yet... she was not afraid. "Ey, naa. Eyyy, na." She tried to soothe the animal with words of her own making, ones that she used when talking with animals, and they seemed to understand her. She was telling the bear to calm down. "Tchk yyj eh nreg, fah toon. Eyy, na."

The bear understood her, and relaxed enough to place all fours back on the ground. Though it still huffed its mighty breath, sending warm breaths around her in the cooling air. It tossed its black eyes back at the man and opened its mouth to roar again, but Aithne jumped on its muzzle, sensing the bears intention. "Enchnnik!" She called the bear by its name. "Do not kill the man! He is being human! No!" She used her animal-speak and only from that did the bear roar once more and then decided to hulk off into the forest. Aithne collapsed to the leaf ridden ground with a heavy sigh and she closed her eyes. "Men. Men! You are a man of men. Men. Man. They all thinks that they rule over all. Men. Man. Go, leave this place!" Though she spoke in her own tongue, she sensed that the man on the ground could understand her.
 
Drustan didn't hear her run up, so when she grabbed onto him and threw him aside, he went pretty easily. His hounds barked at her, but they also seemed to know what she was doing. While it confused them, they figured they probably shouldn't get involved. They moved over to their master and started licking at his leg, one moving to sit on his lap, just a big huge lap dog.

He groaned. "Gerroff!" He pushed at it, then sighed, exhausted, and flopped down onto his back. He turned his head to watch the crazy woman walk up to the bear and the bear actually not attack her. He sat up slowly, frowning, and watched her. Oh shit he might be in trouble...he might actually be in really deep trouble...

When she rounded on him, the young prince actually tried to scoot back, but...well...there was a hound on him. He stared at her like he was staring at a goddess and mouthed wordlessly for a moment before finding his voice. "Flidais," he started, using the name of the Celtic goddess of the forest. "I asked Skaði and Nodens for permission for this hunt...they graced me with the challenge of the bear...."

He finally shoved his hound off of him. "They lead my hounds here..." He slowly stood up, pain shooting down his back and through his bleeding leg. He brushed at some bear-blood that covered his chest and picked up the tail end of his kilt, the part that went over his shoulder, and put it back over his shoulder. He brushed the rest of his kilt off and made sure it was lying correctly, not wanting to be exposing himself to what he honestly thought was a goddess. "Why do you stop this?"
 
Aithne was genuinely confused. Did she look like a Goddess? Surely not, she thought. Though... could she use this man's case of mistaken identity to her benefit? She could try. "And wha' if'n I say tha' I say no hunting in my forest of trees! No! No hunting 'ere!" She placed her bear blood stained hands on her bare hips and looked at the Viking. She did not try to hide the fact that she was judging him. Any man who comes and tried to harm the animals in this forest must be sorely mistaken if they think they may try to hunt. "Your God of canine, and Goddess of hunting 'ave no reign 'ere. Gone, gone, gone with y-you! Th'eir dom'ain is nah 'ere." She threw up her hands for dramatic effect and tried to seem as Goddess-like as possible.

Who did this man think he was! Aye, his deities had given him homage to hunt here, but Aithne would wager her own life to the fact that they... she did not know. She just did not want him to have killed that bear! She would leave offerings to his God and Goddess later, but right now, her main priority was to get this man to forsake what he had done.
 
"I know they're your forests, and I respect that, but..." He looked around, disappointment setting in. That had been such a beautiful bear... "You know, I would have respected him. He would have fed my family and I would have given the pelt to my brother, a gift to celebrate his child..." He turned his head to look off where the bear had lumbered. He had no idea how he was going to kill it...slitting its throat would have probably been the only way...and he had been so close...

He looked over at his hounds but avoided looking at his leg. He knew his boot was ruined and was honestly a little scared to see what his leg might look like after that. He knew it hurt, and it would only hurt worse when he knew how mangled it was. It wasn't mangled, but he figured it hurt bad enough to be, so it had to be bad...One of his dogs walked up and whimpered, starting to lick at his leg. He permitted it, looking back over at the woman.

This had gone from a great hunt, to a terrifying moment, to complete disappointment and he had no idea how to turn this back around to his favor. He was tired, it was growing darker by the minute, and he lost the bear. And he was such a beautiful bear, too...Frustration slowly started creeping onto Drustan's face and he finally turned away. "But fine. Have your bear, but I am not leaving until my hunt is complete. They will grant me another kill since you have put a halt to this one." He reached down and started unfastening his belt. He might as well make use of this clearing...it seemed like a good enough place to camp...

He slid the belt out of the fabric of his kilt, which un-pleated, being just a 9 foot piece of fabric, and felt to the ground at his feet. He tossed the belt aside and picked up the fabric, tossing it over a low-hanging branch to make a tent. Of course, it did leave him standing there in nothing but his boots and what the gods gave him...and bear blood but if asked, he'd rope that in as something the gods gave him. He was cocky like that sometimes.

Completely ignoring the woman now, thinking her a goddess and quite ticked at her at the moment, he started collecting sticks to both clear out his new camp site and also start a fire. He kicked his pack and quiver and bow over towards his makeshift tent and just overall ignored the bruising on his back and his bleeding leg.
 
The Prophetess was mad at the man. What gave him the right to be mad? It was a bear in the forest that she protected, and she did not want to see it die! She hated death....

She looked at the Viking's leg and hissed through her teeth. "Oy, let me see. You got a beating from 'im." She bent down on her knees and looked at his leg. Some of the skin had puncture wounds from the bears teeth, and a few pieces of skin were dangling about. She payed no heed to the nakedness that was in front of her, for it did not bother her. She, herself, was skyclad most of the time. Why hide what nature gives you? "May I see yo'r leg there?" She pointed her finger at his bloodied leg and looked up at him expectantly. She had a blank expression about her, something in her face that prevented anyone from ever figuring out what she was thinking
 
He stopped and looked down at her, blinking. Her close proximity got to him and he dropped a hand down to cover himself. "Ah...sure." He said, turning to put his right leg in front of her. He finally looked down at his leg himself and swallowed pretty hard.

"You know what? This might be easier for you if I sit down." He said, plopping down on his rear. He pulled his left ankle around and put it under his right knee, dropping his hands into his lap. He looked at his ruined boot and sighed. It wasn't like he carried an extra pair of boots with him when he went hunting.

"You should have let me finish it...Three arrows and I know I dug the knife in at least twice...if he dies while I'm asleep, the pelt and meat are ruined...everything will be a complete waste." He said sourly, looking away from her and his leg. He was a viking and a general. Blood didn't bother him. Unless it was his. His blood bothered him. His blood should stay in his body and never, ever....go anywhere else. He took a slow breath and reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes tightly. He was absolutely not going to pass out in front of the goddess of the forest.
 
Aithne kept her blank expression as she was listening to the man's petty rambles. She was more focused about his leg and making sure that it would not need to be cut off. She pressed her fingers to the wound, and bent over his leg to see it better. There was a tooth stuck inside. "I need tah get it out," she pointed to one of the puncture wounds and did not wait for his response before getting up and starting to look for some plants that would help take down the swelling and pain.

She quickly returned with the necessary plants and shoved one of them into his face. "Chew." She gave him a look that dared him to do otherwise and she looked back at his leg. "You will naht hunt in my forest. Go somew'ere else."
 
His eyes shot open and he looked at her, quite the honest look of fear on his face. "What has to come out??" When she walked off, he pulled his leg over and saw the tooth. "Oh gods..." He flopped down onto his back just so he couldn't see it anymore and put one of his arms over his eyes.

He peeked out when she ordered him to chew and he sighed. He took the plants and started chewing on them, dropping his arm back over his eyes. "How far south am I?"
 
"That's depends on how far ye came frohm. If ye's came from west, then aboot a moon'tain field." She made sure that he was chewing the plant.

She all of a sudden made a quick noise and made sure that he was distracted. Only once his head was turned in the other direction, did she reach her small fingers into the wound and pull out the tooth. She appraised the tooth and made sure to put it into her bodice so she may turn it into neckwear later or whatever she wished.
 
"About a what?" He gave her a strange look, definitely chewing the plant though. Who was he to argue with a goddess, after all? "I came from the North. North-west, technically, I suppose..." He rubbed his face, then turned his head when she made the noise.

Of course, when she dug her fingers in he cursed loudly, shutting his eyes tightly and pulling at his hair. He did maintain the presence of mind to not flail about or kick or anything. He dug his left heel into the dirt and just let out the most foul string of curses she had probably ever heard. When the adrenaline kicked back in and the pain faded, he sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Fuck..." He sighed again and sniffed a little, settling back down on the ground. "Are you done tormenting me? You owe me a bear, you know."

Was it wise to speak to a goddess like that? Probably not. Lucky for him she wasn't actually who he thought she was...
 
"Oh, enough of your squabblings. I needed ta get the tooth oout, and ye needed ta have it oout." She stood up, pushing on her knee for support. "I am no Goddess, Viking. I am human." She stared him directly on and let her green, green eyes stare straight at him.
 
Drustan stared right back at her for a long, tense moment. Finally, he turned to one of his hounds and gave him a one word command she wouldn't understand. The hound hopped up and walked over to his bag, picking it up carefully in his teeth. He brought it over and Drustan started digging through it. He pulled out some cloth he brought along specifically for bandages and started wrapping up his leg.

When that was done. He got up and stretched, groaning from the pain. "Well, thank you for the healing and tooth removal, but I'm going to go finish that bear so he is 't suffering anymore. Plus, I'm hungry."
 
"Do nah hurt 'im!" Aithne screamed. Her fists were tightened. Why had she screamed that? She was never one for much emotion... Why she wanted to protect the bear from this man was beyond her. She allowed her tribe to hunt in these woods, so why was she not allowing him to? Aye, the bear was most likely hurting... She should let him take the bears life, -but on one condition. "Er.. Viking." She tried to get his attention
 
"Torgeir." He said, turning to walk over and fetch his kilt. He tossed his belt down and spread the fabric out over it, crouching down to set up the pleats. "My name is Torgeir. Rolvsson." He glanced over at her, then back to fixing up his kilt. "But I am not a Viking. My family has lived to the north for a couple generations now. We are Norse and Celt. Fishermen and hunters."

Once he had the pleats set up, he plopped down on top of it, wrapped the cloth around himself, and fastened it with the belt. When he was done with that, he sat up and started looking at his ruined boot. He carefully started putting it back over his bandaged leg, wondering how he was going to dispatch of the bear. Finding it wouldn't be a problem. That's what his hounds were for. But, unless it had bled to death while he was getting his medical treatment from this woman, it was going to be even more violent. He didn't want to lose a hound...much less his own life.
 
"Aithne, tha's what my tribe calls me." She looked at him. "My clan name is Athol, and my father is Chieftan of the Dougall tribe." She nodded her head as though this were some sort of business deal and she crossed her arms over her chest. Her woad paint was in stark contrast against her white skin. And her red-brown hair did not help either. Her mane of hair was unruly, and covered with beads and trinkets that she had found while trekking in the woods. She had parts of it braided here, and there, and other parts were dreaded.
 
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