Roslyn Dia Chavelle

[roslyn chavelle]

N A M E '

Roslyn Dia Chavelle

A G E '

Twenty-two

G E N D E R '

Female

S H I F T I N G '

Roslyn shifts into a moderate sized Mexican gray wolf. Since staying in one particular place never suits her fancy, Rose has yet to find a true family of wolves alike though is very familiar with her werewolf family--she just chooses to roam out alone. But like they do, she believes she is better than everyone else, she just tries not to dive into the concept of politics so quickly.

P E R S O N A '

Her spirit seeks and thrives for adventure; Roslyn does what she can to make things interesting, though this isn't to be mistaken for an adrenaline junkie, necessarily. Just as her skin shifts, so do her masks. In a split second she can switch into a different sort of mood--not the polar opposite, but she takes whatever qualities she wants for the moment. She's not necessarily the talkative one, but she makes things fun. Of course she has her arrogant bouts and through years of propaganda she does believe the werewolf is the superior species. Who wouldn't?

S K I N . D E E P '

Roslyn descends from the Incas and Mexican bloodlines. She takes on the height of her ancestors, the Incas, and stands at five feet, nine inches. Her body build is relatively slender but that could only attribute to her shifting because most of her exercises fall in line when she's loping as a gray wolf. Dark black hair reaches down to her mid back and two dark eyes stand out from her side-swept bangs. Rose enjoys dressing up and showing off her proud dark skin tone.

Her other form is the Mexican gray wolf. She stands, at the shoulder, two feet above the ground, but her length is about four feet and a half long. Like all of the other Mexican gray wolves, her coat color is gray at the top with hints of burgundy at the bottom. A few stray black hairs mix in with her coat and her dark eyes remain unchanging. She's the smallest compared to the other wolves and also the only accepted subspecies considered a wolf. Her kind, however, remains terribly endangered.

A . S M A L L . T A S T E '

Days stretched far and few between; each our lasted for a lifetime. Rose plopped down, weary from sleep deprivation and lack of food. Her stomach growled intensely but like the rest, no one budged and looked onward. This was the beginning; this began the limitless possibilities for the werewolves and their prosperity. To hear the words bubble from the vicious throats of others sent with it a thrill that she longed to take part in, but for now she listened with intent focus, or as much focus as she could possibly muster from this prolonged retreat. Argument after argument abound, but within the next few minutes of rowdy and growling humans, she understood the necessity of a meeting adjourned.

The sudden clash of teeth brought with it a range of emotions that racked through the bodies of her and the other wolves; like the rest she doubled over and gave way to the popping bones, the throbbing veins, and the stretching and shrinking of muscle mass. One at a time different forms appeared and after a grueling ten minutes, she looked forward with renewed strength in her eyes and a thicker scent of the fear and excitement that pulsated through each vein and heartbeat that, although each stood growling with teeth bared, they were unified. And so the conquest began. From spits to growls and finally to yips and howls, they all settled down for the day and went their own ways. Everyone looked pleased; Rose felt pleased with the proceedings though felt anxious to get out.

Staying in one place for too long never suited her and she always longed to see a new horizon set, a new star placed up in the sky. Using her smaller build as a tool, she slid out before the rest of them noticed and easily managed her escape through the darkened civilizations. Something about the nighttime made her giddy with excitement and joy, but not tonight. The cool air couldn't use its magic to work on her, and the tired animal found a secluded tree that formed at the base of the mountains and plopped ungracefully by the trunk. Perhaps tomorrow would bring new adventures, new friends, and undoubtedly new enemies. For now she pretended to be normal and fall into the maze of sleep.

But that sleep was restless and she dreamed of her Inca father standing proud on the hill they once called Macchu Picchu and her Mexican mother following with a labored breath. She would have surgery soon; and despite the wonderful outcome, the stress of the unknown and fear yelled in Roslyn's ears, making it unable for her to climb the hill. She looked at the top, seeing only glimpses of the ancient civilization where she imagined a proud race of people. Her father had gone under much stress these past few years; she read the lines on his face, felt the fur of the wolf he uncoated at night, and watched as her mother wished the same thing for herself. And thus it was done.

Night slipped into day but Roslyn didn't stir; the dream continued to play upon her conscience but sleeping mind. For now, at least she had rest and ignored whatever or whoever else would have the luck to stumble across an endangered species of wolf. Not all humans were knowledgeable, though she hoped so.