Waverly

Waverly knows she’s a little bit of a brat. She has an inattentive mother, and a father so grateful to have children that wanted to stick around that he lets them get away with anything. She knows she is lucky to have her family, but sometimes she wishes they were just a bit. . . different. That her mother paid more attention, that her father was a little less needy, that her brother wasn’t quite so bossy. Still, she loves them, and she knows that they love her, though their ways of showing it are very different.

She has her father wrapped around her talon, and takes advantage of it, sidling up to lean against him, smiling coyly and prefacing her requests with the words: “You love me, don’t you, Papa?” It works every time. Sometimes she feels a bit guilty about it, but not enough to stop. At least, not entirely. She is finding that as she gets older, the thrill of getting everything she wants is lessening.

She feels a bit at loose ends within the clan. There are no real jobs here, beyond taking care of yourself and your family, and that never takes up the whole of her time. She spends a lot of time painting her hide, erasing it, then painting it again, in ever more elaborate designs and colors.

She knows she is a bit vain, too, but that’s okay. At least she loves herself, right?


(jaguar, freckle)