Don'var was a lanky and pale looking teenager on the verge of his eighteenth birthday. In his tribe, the Vanished, turning eighteen meant he'd be a man, ready to conquer and fight beasts with the rest of his tribe. Don'var woke up as the sun-rays suddenly shined through the small pitched hut in which he was sleeping. He groaned like a demon as he rolled out of bed, rubbing his eyes. "Morning already?" he'd think to himself as reached for his fur clothing on the floor, slowly slipping into his shirt and pants. As he finished he sat still in his bed, staring at the exit to the outside world. He didn't feel quite up to the task of conquering the day ahead of him, infact he had a strong urge to roll right back into bed instead.

"Don'var, get up and outta here, you've got some training to do!" A loud and stern voice would come booming through the hut. Oh great it was his father.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Don'var quipped back, strapping on his sandals as he made his way to the tent's exit, the last thing he wanted to do was make his father angry at him.

Sepavriwhulth, or Sepa as he calls himself, stalks through the dark forest, his forked tongue darting out to taste the air. He hisses softly to himself, and waits for his prey to move just a little closer. He begins thrumming, a deep, hypnotic sound that echoes through the wind. The deer he's following stops, and looks toward the noise. He licks his lips, and the thrumming gets louder as he creeps closer to the deer. He licks his lips in anticipation, then lunges from the bush, tackling the startled deer to the ground, fasting his fangs around it's throat to stop it from getting away. It dies quickly and quietly, scrabbling at the packed earth for a moment. He then takes a deep breath, and spits fire out over the body to roast the meat, folding his wings to his back to enjoy his meal.