<div class="floatleft">(http://i980.photobucket.com/albums/ae282/caela_ecub/Brunettes/cc8b0e54-722b-4004-9c15-840827963052_zpse2771e5a.jpg) (http://s980.photobucket.com/user/caela_ecub/media/Brunettes/cc8b0e54-722b-4004-9c15-840827963052_zpse2771e5a.jpg.html)</div><strong>Character Name:</strong>Eira<br/><strong>Who:</strong>Any<br/><strong>Where:</strong>Moving about the Village<br/><strong>When:</strong>Early Morning<br/><hr/><br/>Eira made it a point to be up and moving before most of the other sacrifices in the small village. This had nothing to do with wanting to earn brownie points with the Wolves, and everything to do with being seen moving and appearing busy. The busier she looked, the less any of the Wolves seemed to notice that she was around. She never gave one a reason to find her still abed after sunrise (should one come looking in the Sacrifices small house for someone to do some sort of scut work for them) unless she was so sick that she needed the Healer.<br/><br/>Up before the sun she had seen the Pack Second making her morning rounds and known the Wolf wouldn't bother checking the path of her scent. She was only a human and a known scent at that. This deep into the winter there would be no doubt of her trying to run away and while she might seem to avoid everyone, she always returned and her chores were always completed in a timely and efficient manner. For all that she despised being a sacrifice (and didn't that word want to spin out into a small mental rant of it's own that she hand to tamp down with a low growl at herself!) she wasn't suicidal.<em>When</em>she chose to try and escape, it would be on her own terms, and at such a time as she thought she truly had some hope of escaping and not with it just being a game for the young Beta's to hunt her down and drag her back to her servitude.<br/><br/>Out in the forest around the village she heard the howling of the Alpha and the Second and didn't flinch at either. Both voices were known to her and the Wolves being happy about being home, or having their others home, was of little consequence to Eira. Tramping through the snow she collected broken branches and twigs to be be dried and used for kindling. Those who ran the cookfires would be up and starting the morning meal soon, and no doubt it would be a feast with the Wolves calling to each other as they were, and a large pile would be needed. Keeping her eyes open she saw signs that the Healer had been out as well. Not many traveled the woods this early and she recognized the shape of her boots and size of her step.<br/><br/>Only when the basket she used for her collecting was full did she stop to<em>really</em>look around her, to appreciate the beauty of the woods in winter, the light of the sun dawning over the horizon. Staring into the face of that light, as it broke through the trees, she, gradually, let her eyes fall closed, simply letting the faint warmth kiss her face as she murmured a soft prayer to a Goddess she wasn't truly certain listened any longer. Her faith had been badly shaken when a jealous wife had seen to it that she'd been shipped off as a sacrifice and little in the two years she'd been with the Wolves had happened to restore it, but every morning her face was turned to the rising sun and while she never prayed for herself, she offered prayers for those she loved and were lost to her.<br/><br/>As her prayer came to completion she drew the hood of her grey wool cloak up far enough to almost entirely hide her face, the voluminous robe hiding all but the barest outline of the shape within and her petite stature more than anything marking her as a human female. Hoisting her full basket onto her back she turned back to the village, trudging through the snow in a pair of warm boots that actually laced up above her knees because of her petite stature, grey woolen pants tucked into the boots and a green woolen tunic, all simply made but the wool of good quality and warm enough even for her frail, human, sensibilities. Some of the sacrifices found small ways to decorate their garments, cutting the cloth they were given into more fetching styles, but Eira's clothes were always simply in cut and look. Utilitarian and unremarkable. To glance at them one would never have guessed that her Mother used to praise her embroidery. The greatest hint that she might have untapped skill with a needle was actually in the make of the garments themselves. Simple as they were all they tended to hold up far longer than most other's and her seams were as straight and even as if some machine had made them instead of human hands.<br/><br/>Returning to the village she slipped to the edge of those gathering to greet the returning Hunters. She had no real care for those returning, but it would be expected that she, and the other sacrifices, would be present to help carry packages to the varying houses as needed and she didn't want to be noted for shirking such a simple responsibility. She didn't want to be noted at all.