Path Quercus | D11 (F)

Path is a small, lean fourteen year-old with long light brunette colored hair. She has hazel eyes, with pale skin. Her hands are always cut up and dirty, matching her dirty face. She always wears old, ragged, light colored shirts and torn up jeans.

She has strong arms and legs, used for climbing up and down trees. Her hair, most of the time, is to the side of her shoulder in a ponytail. Path has cuts and scars down her arms and legs. She has small feet that always hurt everyday. Her small body is swift to move from tree to tree, and to run away.

Path Quercus has found her own ways to think and to act. She hates bees and wasp the fill around her house, and the tacker jackers that fill the trees when she works. She hates everyone who think they can do anything they want, who are know-it-alls. At the same time, she trys her best to act mean towards others. But deep inside, she is just a sweet and lonely girl.

Her past mended her mind into thinking to hate others for being nice to each other, acting like they are having a great time taking about who knows what. She misses her father and the half of her mother that broke away when her father died. She hates the coldness of her house, the feeling that nobody will ever be around to keep her safe again, and she most of all hates working in the trees, cutting her skin up.

But, then again, she feels safe up in the trees. Its' the only place to feel alittle safe. At home, where there are a bit of trees around, she hides up in them. She learns to hop from tree to tree, to climb faster, and to go up to the highest part in the trees. Her heart warms alittle when she does it, when she hides away from everything.

Try living out in the middle of nowhere. (Well, not by our main part of D11, at least.) I was born on a rainy day, at least that's what my mother, Crown Quercus, told me. Anywho, it was a rainy day, pouring down rain at a fast speed. Where I was born was right by a large path, outside of the house, thats why I was named Path, at least. Boring story I hadn't heard since I was like six.

But, my father Don Quercus was a weathly man. My mother was a pretty women. That's how he fell for her, and she fell for him. I grew up happy, always had food, money, and warmth. At the age of eight, when I started school, my father grew ill. Nobody knew what he came down with. He was sick for months, and after four months of the illness, he passed away.

My mother grew ill in her own way. We lost everything, our money taken away on the house, our food eaten, our warmth faded. For two years we lived lonely, my mother didn't want work, but she had to. She took me to school, and was gone. When I got out of school, my friend's mother took me home, and she was still not there. Not till later in night. Her job seemed to get more time away from her each day. I was ten, and I seemed to be nothing.

Each year I would work in the trees for a few months, picking the fruit, the walnuts, or just berries off of bushes. I was working hard, always had cuts when I came home, but I found my happy place at least. My mother came home one day, her eyes flooded with tears, her legs were badly cut up, and so were her thin arms. Each day that happen. She told me they had her working at the middle of the trees now. That's how we had the rest of the four years (Till now.)