Nari lay in the grass, reminiscing on what he past had been like. No enchantment of the wild, no freedom that all Varg share. She had been trapped by her parents in a endless sunset. End of day reverie of nothing but silent tunes and whisking herself away into stories of her own creation. Ones of the world, of the valor of mortal wolves perusing vengeance or righteousness. Those were the days she lie in her cell wishing time would fly as her stories did. Hoping by Tor and Fenris she would escape them and, in the end, she did. Bitter and alone for the days following, the power of her tales never left her, and she much loved to enhance their words with tastes of the real world, beyond the stones where he parents now lay in unbroken slumber. Red pelted and cloudy eyed and too blind to see the day.