Profile of Rhiannon

And then she is the darkness...

The she-wolf is rather unassuming in appearance -- of average height for one of her species and sex, and a lean form developed after months of journeying. She wears a soft pelt of smoke and cloud, with shades of gray and highlights of inky black. Her eyes are a shimmer of amethyst, barely visible between narrowed lids of the wolf, as she is ever watchful. Rhiannon is constantly aware of her surroundings and in tune with the natural world that is her home. She bears a certain effortless grace and beauty, but this one has no interest in being beautiful for the sake of others. Her head is held high with a dignity she believes she has earned. Her façade is one of intrigue, vaguely interested but showing little to the world beyond the family of her choosing. To see her by day's light is a rarity, as she prefers the quiet and enigmatic hours of night -- the witching hours.

And when the sky is starless...

The experiences of Rhiannon's first year helped to shape the creature she has become: watchful and alert, slow to trust, but a truly loyal friend to her sisterhood. She is often found silent in the deepest hours of the night in contemplation or devotion to Ceridwen. Her mind is constantly active, ruminating with countless ideas in one day, thoughts that she will usually keep to herself. To strangers, Rhiannon may seem cold, passive -- and to some extent, she is, as she does not trouble herself with most. When in the company of her coven, Rhiannon is more likely to engage in conversation and to make wry jokes. She has no tolerance for controlling or domineering males. The wolfess will grow angry at the sight of aggressive brutes, especially if a pup or female is involved. While she is not a fighter physically, Rhiannon is not afraid to speak her mind. Besides, she has other ways to deal with conflicts -- and she feels no qualms about the "curses" she has spoken or potential damage left in her wake. This girl firmly believes that misdeeds will be punished, and the oppressors will reap their grim reward someday.

Rhiannon was born of the Lowlands, in an ancient place called Ayr etched by wind and rain in the passing of eons, to a group of wolves worn by the generations of difficulty. They were cold by necessity, or so they would say: survival of the fittest, the strongest, most cunning… the most male. Masculinity was valued as a necessity of power, while females were delegated to tasks such as child rearing. And there were many pups, an ever-growing community.

She was birthed by a meek wolfess they called Sbwriel -- trash. Rhiannon was considered of little worth from her first breath. Her father was never known, casting the she-wolf named Carys in a negative light: a whore, a troublemaker, a freak. Two littermates died in their earliest months, but Rhiannon was resilient, protected by her doting mother.

Carys was five years old, and the knowledge of herbs and remedies had been passed down from her own mother, through generations. But these skills were deemed useless by the group, a secluded clan who believed the injured were deserving of the grave, should death claim them. Disease was instead taken care of directly: at the first sign of illness, a wolf, no matter the age, was cast into the sea to die swiftly, for the greater good and strength of the community. This would ultimately become the fate of Carys.

For her first year, at least, Rhiannon had only her mother. The pup was a quirky child, and her unusual character traits mingled with her parentage created a being that easily became a target for abuse. Rhiannon grew fearful of the world around her, as the pack deemed her Pechod -- the sin... To her fellow pups, she was known simply as Collwr -- loser. The others thought the pair foolish, some even whispering that Carys was insane -- or worse, accursed -- and teaching her unfortunate child the same wild habits, thus dooming Rhiannon to a similar destiny of depravity.

But to her mother, Rhiannon was the brightest full moon, the light of her world. To her child, Carys would pass on the ancient knowledge and wisdom from their foremothers: which plants were good for you, and which to avoid. The names of the old goddesses who were with them each day, along with the spirits unseen. The seasons, the connectedness of all life. Doing wrong, and doing what was right. Magic was as part of their reality as seeing and breathing, all around them, just waiting to be found by those clever and crafty enough. Rhiannon’s mother told her she was special, and powerful in ways not yet discovered. Rhiannon was unsure.

The larger world of their pack and their politics meant nothing… all that mattered was staying alive. And the crows. Rhiannon was fascinated with the birds, and many called Ayr their home. She would study the murder of crows -- how they flew, the way they communicated, their intelligence. And she loved them, but was also envious. She would give anything to be one, to escape the degradation of the community, all she had known. She began to feel simmering anger beneath a quiet surface as she grew, seeing how they treated her mother, until she loathed every one of them, from the youngest to the oldest.

Then, Carys fell ill. The wolfess attempted to hide her symptoms, but soon, she was cast away -- thrown into a merciless sea. Rhiannon was a year old and helpless to stop it, and the rage within her was overwhelming. That night, her dreams were filled with beautiful darkness… a sky absent of moonlight, so black that no stars shone. She stood, alone in her grief and her fury -- until she heard the familiar caws of her corvid companions. She could feel the wild wind in her fur, and she felt alive. In her dream, Rhiannon uttered her first curse -- May they all meet the end that they deserve.

Rhiannon woke to a changed existence. It was not just one or two wolves now suffering with an unknown illness -- it was five, then six, too many to discard. Within days, half of the population had fallen sick, and agonizing death seemed the inevitable conclusion for each. Young and old, the powerful and the meek, none were spared… except for Rhiannon.

Now, she was certain of her own power. With one curse, an entire village had been wiped out, though Rhiannon did not stay to watch the last of them perish. With newfound confidence and resolve, the yearling would never allow herself to be their victim, or anyone’s victim again. She had heard the whispered warnings about life beyond Ayr, and into this unknown she would stray...

For two months, she wandered in solitude -- a joyful time, free from the confines of her former home. Something more interesting soon arrived in the form of a tiny girl pup called Juniper, who had been mistreated and nearly killed for her differences. With some persuasion, Rhiannon convinced the child to join her, to learn from the ancestors, to be the family both she-wolves deserves. Soon, they would be joined by another wolfess called Moro, and so the Sisters of Samhain was born -- a new start after tragedy, safety, as one.

From the icy depths of a nameless lake, a woman appeared before Rhiannon. She was called Nimue, and she would be part of the Sisters of Samhain. From their first meeting, Rhiannon found Nimue to be enticing, a siren just out of grasp. But from every beginning there must follow an end, and the Sisterhood was short lived. Juniper was the first to vanish. Moro was gone, just like that. Soon, only Nimue and Rhiannon remained...

All your life you've never seen a woman

Taken by the wind...