INDIANA

Minimal expression grullo frame overo. Has a grullo coat with socks on all four feet. Has a blaze that tapers to cover the right side of her face only. Her eyes are a pale brown, looking amber in bright lights. She is 15hh and relatively compact, with fine, even muscles. Her head is long, but quite pretty. Her mane is quite thin, but her tail is sparse enough to be noticeable. Both are black.  link

Ee/aa/DD/nO

Long story short, Indie isn't scared of you. It doesn't matter if you're a mare or a stallion, she'll take you on without a thought, and do a good job of it too. While she may not actively seek out violence, she's smart enough to know when she sees an easy target and will take advantage of it if the opportunity arises. In her mind, if you're dumb enough to make yourself vulnerable, you deserve whatever you let others do to you. While this mindset has gotten her into a few scrapes in her time, she certainly isn't malicious: she has a strong sense of justice, while it may not be 100% correctly aligned, she has, and will often respond passionately to something she deems as unjust.

Despite her attitude, she is not unfriendly. She enjoys the company of strong females, and while she doesn't appreciate the submission and cowardice some of them show, she will behave defensively over the weaker equines in her care. She sees most males as troublemakers, annoyances, always trying to prove themselves with badly-executed displays of strength, and often itches to show them a thing or two when she sees a male with an inflated ego. She is, for the most part, loyal, but her trust has to be earned. Once given, she will be a reliable source of company and camaraderie, being both emotionally and physically strong. She would, one day, like to have a family of her own, with a mate who will be her equal, not her superior, and would happily spend time with anybody who would treat her this way. She's likely to avoid having a foal, because she won't consider herself a maternal figure, but will, in fact, be an adequate mother.

Indiana was born to a small herd of nomadic mares, who would make a regular circuit around the lands. They planned their pace to the seasons, so that they were in the correct place to match their needs. Every year or so, a few mares would be chosen to head to the breeding lands while the rest of the females waited nearby. It wasn't always the kindest process - not all of the mares wanted foals, some thought themselves too young or too old, but when the time came, they had the choice of producing a new generation to continue the herd, or being expelled from the group. One year, a young dun mare, born in the group only two years prior, was sent to be bred. She was reluctant. While young, she wasn't stupid, and was fully aware of the complications that came with carrying a foal as young as she was. Nevertheless, she was successful and later birthed a pretty young filly, who she named Indiana. While the birth was difficult, Indiana's mother got through it with only a touch of weakness that lasted a few months.

For three years, Indiana traveled with them; watched as they accepted independent mares and took in the damaged, meek little things that seemed to seek them out each year. Indiana thought they were pathetic, and would much rather spend time with the more dominant females, lest she accidentally say something to hurt the weaker mares feelings. Things went on much the same as they always had; until the late autumn of Indiana's third year. She was taken aside by the lead mare, as she had seen many mares be over the years, and told that it was her turn to continue the herd with a new generation of foals. She hadn't protested, though she had felt like doing so - she had seen when the mares did that, when they begged and argued and sometimes even wept. Indiana wouldn't shame herself that way. She simply nodded, head held high, and later that night, crept away from the herd while the rest of the mares were sleeping, unwilling to see their disappointment when they realized she had run away from the trials that faced her.

Her desire not to be bred was overwhelming; she had seen the results of a stallion's brutality on other mares and wanted no part in that. She found foals to be an annoyance, and couldn't fathom the idea of some strange male's young following her about until it was old enough to leave her alone. So she left, without a word and barely a glance cast toward her mother: now six years old and expecting her second youngster. She misses them terribly, still, and longs to find a herd that she will enjoy and that will allow her her independence.

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The day was characteristically dark for the season - the sun hidden behind pale gray clouds, barely lighting the earth enough for shadows to be cast. A chilly morning had given way to a cool afternoon that blurred the air with fog, and through the thick mist, Jonah could barely see the silhouettes of the collected pack. A dozen or so individuals wandering about, their voices penetrating the distance in an indecipherable hum, and since Jonah so rarely saw the Beruine members collected together at once, it was enough to pique his interest. He had taken to staying away from the bulk of the pack, finding no real need to mix with the rest of the group and only really staying at all because Beruine gave him a useful status when he was out in the city.

His usual haunt, a grounded plane with a cracked hull and shattered windows, was collecting condensation that occasionally dripped against the damp tarmac, and the golden wolf hauled himself to his feet, belly damp from the fog-wet ground, and made his way toward the rest of the group at a languid trot. The murmur of speech grew louder until he was only thirty feet or so away, at which a single, powerful voice silenced the rest of the crowd.

Beruine! Listen up! As all of you know, our dear Alpha has abandoned us, the voice said. Huh, Jonah thought with a wry grin, so even the devil himself couldn't handle Beruine. The plan that had remained half-formulated in Jonah's mind began to develop at the new information - he had thought, somewhat arrogantly, that he would be able to manage Beruine much more efficiently than Satan had, but had forbidden the notion to grow beyond simple fantasies. Now, with Satan gone, there was nothing stopping him, and he felt his stance change as he neared, tail rising into a confident arc behind him, pace lifting to something more energetic, more eager. He could do it; he was so close he could taste it. He heard the voice again, muffled. That's why I am taking over the position of Alpha. Huh? The large wolf's step faltered in shock for a moment, and a loud howl rang through the air, clearly that of the unknown speaker. A surge of jealousy, of possessiveness, rang sharply through Jonah's body, adrenaline spiking his blood in a wave of instinctual urge to dominate whoever got in the way of his goal. Hackles prickling at his neck, the russet wolf finally came to the troop of watching canines, breaking through the mass of them until he came to the wolf at their center.

He realized, with a hint of surprise, that he knew the name of this member. Noire. He knew little about him, except that he at least matched Jonah in fighting ability and could obviously rile up a crowd. Said crowd was watching silently as Jonah stalked a few steps closer and paused a meager few feet away, hackles pricking at his neck. He jerked his chin upwards defensively, amber eyes intent, bright with hormones. Noire's words still rang in Jonah's brain, echoing back and doubling his anger with each rebound. That's why I am taking over the position of Alpha. Jonah's lips tensed, flashing the barest glint of teeth, before he spoke.

"Is that so, my lord?" The words were sarcastic, bitter. His gaze flitted around the collection of Beruine members. "A lot of subjects to rule, is it not? Are you certain you won't..." His focus snapped back to the wolf before him. "...Break under all that pressure? Seemed our precious Satan couldn't handle us all," A growl gurgled in Jonah's throat. "How are we to know you won't be the same?" He ducked his head to the side, lips twitching in humour at the notion. Jonah was a fighter by nature, but a charmer by career; he could smile and talk his way anywhere, and when he turned back to Noire, his expression was beguiling. "How about this: you fight me. Prove yourself. If you win," He tilted his head aside to indicate the metaphorical first outcome. "Then I'll accept your leadership, no questions asked...but if I win," His eyes tensed; lidded into false laziness like a lizard. "You step down." The implication was unspoken, but clear - if Noire was unsuccessful, then Jonah would take place at the head of the pack.

A moment passed in silence, and Jonah grinned, dipping his chin and dropping his voice as if sharing in a great secret. "Of course, you could reject," He said, as if he were telling something obvious to a child. "And I'll chew you up and take the position anyway." His smile dropped, golden eyes hard and cool, the facade of hushed diplomacy gone. His wrinkling lips exposed teeth and gum, creasing the pink-white scar that split his cheek from lip to eye.

Despite his calm offer, Jonah was determined to succeed by whatever means were necessary. He was just too adept at manipulation to let his anger really show.