Alyson

Alyson was more Plague than if she'd been born here. Even in her youth she hadn't understood why the warring of the sisters was thought of as negative. To have growth there must be struggle. To have life there must be death. Even among the glades her birth clan loved it was so. Only with the death of a forest giant would light reach the understory. And in the burst of growth that followed there would be winners and there would be losers. There was no ill will, just the absorption of the nutrients of the fallen and constant reaching for the sun. So when she came of age, she'd felt the pull westward.

Her Search had taken her far and wide until at last she found her Charge. That lovely intricate rock outcropping that reflected the beautiful pulsing glow of the Wyrmwound with such dignity. It was hard to express the peace and contentment she found in its presence. Even the constant warnings of her lair mates about the danger of being that close to the Wyrmwound couldn't stop her from checking on the hoodoo once or twice (or truth be told, 4-5) times a day.

Recently she had noticed a new creature hanging around her hoodoo. She had no experience with such things, but resolved to watch it closely. If it made a move to hurt her Beloved, she would rip it apart. Until then, well, one never knows what the Wyrmwound would produce or, for that matter, attract.