Growing up in the shadow of Fenrir wasn't easy. It's not that he wasn't a kind older brother, or protective, or caring...he was just too much to live up to.
Why couldn't you be more like your brother? All the time. It was frustrating, and frankly, it drove me away from spending time with my family, with the clan, sometimes, even with the whole tribe.
Maybe it was easier to spend time with the townsfolk at Whitey Town because they weren't concerned with the fact I couldn't track a yao guai down and kill it myself with an axe. ...and when they told me about the things they were digging up, well that's when I knew I'd found my calling.
The rest of the axe tribe I worried about living off the land, but just a few generations ago people made machines that would let you point at a monster and watch it die with a bang. Why struggle for everything when we can dig up the easy way out? Or learn to make it ourselves?
I don't want to leave the tribe. I don't want to go back to what we were before the great war. It's still family, despite their pigheaded avoidance of technology, and even the most distant has been good to me through the teasing, but...well, there's got to be another way, right?
They teased me and called me vulture for what I do, but I don't care. Vultures live on when others die. They thrive, in fact. So when the naming ceremony came at my thirteenth birthday, and I got to choose my adult name, I took it. My father added the two-headed part, for my stubbornness in knowing I'm right, but my curiously in seeking to learn what I don't...and because I can't seem to make up my mind if I'm Axe Tribe or not some days.
