Profile of Henbane

An earthen motley — a base of bark, with pieces chipped away, and remnants of charcoal — make up Henbane’s pelt, that even as a pup hangs thickly from her frame. Her pelt is soft, and despite the fire-fallen tree that she is, the girl’s pelt is meticulously groomed. Perhaps unusual for a pup, which should be littered with leaves and twigs from bounding about, Henbane keeps herself neat and tidy — she cannot stand for mud to cling to her fur. The cloak that drapes around her is thick and soft and will remain that way through the duration of her life. Henbane will never be particularly large; as she grows older she will come to be a medium-sized creature. Her frame is neither large nor small, average in almost every aspect. As she grows, she will garner a more feminine figure, with most of what size she does possess coming from the length of her legs alone. She will never be a stocky creature, but upon first glance, one would not assume her to be frail, either. While still rounded in puppy-softness, her facial features will one day become angular; a viper in her own right.

Even from her young age, Henbane’s eyes are a vibrant blue-green, the hues of the forest canopy melted and swirled together into a cohesive color. Her eyes are expressive, although as she ages, that expressiveness will turn to something she can hold power over, showing whatever emotion she chooses to. As a child, however, it’s easy enough to see her feelings by a simple glance at her eyes. Henbane’s voice, still touched by childhood pitch, will eventually become a deeper, almost sultry tone. Her tone will become that of the palm reader’s, tempting you to only step into the tent, to let her peer into the future that you may face. But, for now… It holds the sound of innocence. Her scent already holds the spice of clove, and the twang of pine sap, mingled together like incense smoke in the air.

For now, Henbane walks with the clumsiness of a child still learning how their legs work in conjunction with gravity. But, eventually, her gait will turn into a fluid, easy motion, something languid and eye-catching to those she wishes to lure in. Henbane possesses no scars as of now, and it’s impossible to tell how life will wear upon the canvas of her skin.

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fluent in common tongue.

Henbane, is a child of an already curated personality. With the upbringing that she receives, she views some things as absolute, while other aspects of her personality are more her interpretation and natural being. She holds a particular level of intelligence, one that seems almost beyond her young age. She garners this intelligence from a knack of watching others, absorbing every little thing like a sponge. She excels at learning herbs, and more so… at learning others. She already picks up on the small things, giving her an almost cunning level above others. It perhaps can be unsettling when a child has the ability to latch onto things in the way that Henbane can, but it’s a skill that she’s already started honing, seeing the benefit in it.

As she ages, a certain level of calculatedness will become apparent within Henbane. She will grow to consider every action that she takes and consider those three, four, maybe even five moves ahead. There will be nothing that she does not consider about a situation, and will not be someone who behaves impulsively. Within this, she already shows a meticulous manner, taking great care in everything that she does. Neither of these traits portrays themselves as a sense of anxiety, but rather, formulate themselves into a confidence that is borderline unrivaled in her life.

Loyalty to her family comes before all, and as Henbane ages, she will easily be described as loyal… So long as you have the approval of the coven. Anyone beyond its confines might even come to consider Henbane as someone who is fairly disloyal, with shifting loyalties that are ruled by who benefits her the most. But that will never be the case with the Coven. She would do anything that she could, no matter the level of unreasonableness that it takes.

She is devout in her beliefs, indoctrinated into the Coven’s belief system at an obviously young age. She was taught that that is truth, that is how the world works, and believes that anyone who does not adhere to those beliefs has been steered wrong by the patriarchy of the system.

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Life is something precious, and pups even more so. Perhaps in her earliest days, Henbane remembers a fuzzy face, a pretty face, a warm face; one that looks like an older version of her, when she looks in the water’s reflection. But… who was that face? Henbane remembers a warm den, soft moss, and rabbit fur beneath her — still her favorite nest materials now. But these memories are fleeting and hard to see, like a mouse amongst the brambles.

She often wonders where these memories come from, but does not question them. Why would she?

Henbane’s birth, although she does not remember it, was an arduous one. Her birth mother lay in labor for hours, tears touching her cheeks as she pushed forth one stillborn after another. Their conception had been something of love, childhood friends joined together in a moment of passion, that… while an act of love, had not lasted long. Unbeknownst to Henbane, her father was a nobleman, who had been married off, and had instead coupled with her mother before he had with his own wife.

But those details are neither here nor there, and not something Henbane would ever come to know.

She only has flashes of the woman who looks like her, of quiet crying in the night, but nothing more in that regard.

What Henbane does come to know, however, is the woman — women — who she views as her family. Her sisters. Her mothers. Their ways and teachings. While the child remembers very little of her origin, she is still young enough to remember any at all. As she grows older, those memories will fade to dream figments, and she will see Rhiannon and the others of the coven as her family, and will not ever question who her father may be, because… why would she care when she has everything she needs already?

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Living through the war of 1710 has left Henbane as someone who hates the powers that be, on both sides. Her world was turned upside down, their Forest touched by the blood of others who were not meant to have their blood spilled upon the ground that Henbane considers Holy. Male powers at be, specifically have left a bad taste in her mouth, and while she was too young to understand the intricacies of war, she does understand that it was pointless. In her mind now, the only ‘just and right’ power is that that a woman possesses.

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