klondike "ike" shepherd . d2 . wip

Somewhere along the edges of her mother's fence-long plume of strawberry plant, a young Klondike Shepherd dragged herself against the sod and soil gently. Hours had lapsed since night first fell on District 2, yet Ike, covered in as much light from the stars as she was dirt from the ground, felt as though it was only morning.

"Solus," she breathed. The word still tasted familiar on her tongue to this day, like she had read it somewhere in her youth and become addicted to it. But as she inhaled the night and loam until lightheadedness back at the ripe age of just seven, "Solus" was what she called her imaginary friend— the name having been taken from an archaic word for alone, unaccompanied. 

Ike spent many of her nights in her lonesome, and happily so. She had begun working out younger than most, around 2 or 3, in fracas with her uncle. Sometime around when she started school, however, she fractured her leg in real training and became more of a recluse. She explored humanity and studied people from that point forward, taking an interest in mind over matter, growing her relationship with life versus death. Most importantly, Ike stayed smart on her toes during this time. She healed and got stronger. She got stronger and healed right. 

When the youngest of the Shepherds finally dove headfirst back out into the world, she wasn't startled by the loudness of the training center, nor by the boisterousness of her peers. No, Ike waited until she was ready to walk through those doors again, until she was once again capable of holding her head high and her blade higher. From that alone, her entrance was sublime. 

Ike was beautiful. Her eyes were a cold blue—  her cheeks, a warm red—  and one of the first things you'd notice about her, even in passing, was how every freckle on her face served some divine purpose. From the bursts along her jaw to the splay across her nose, Ike carried her beauty like a mask. Somehow, though, the glow fit her more snugly than a mask ought to; it was as if she were destined to be eye-catching.

She never was the kind that folks would flock to, however. Ike was someone that her peers admired from afar, someone whose presence was felt rather than proven. And because Ike focused more on herself rather than herself as compared to others, she commanded an energy around her that was intimidating to approach— yet addicting all the same.

Ike would make you fall in love with her while demonstrating just how easily she could slit your throat; she would wear her hair down and grit her teeth and flex her lean body in combinations you couldn't help but gawk at; and she would give you a face of calm and preparedness enough to make your skin crawl, even if her heart and mind and soul were buzzing.

"Formidable" was another word that Ike chewed on from time-to-time. She loved language— feasted on it, savored each syllable as if it were her last. Still, Ike did not waste her breath. Every word Ike spoke, Ike spoke with purpose, and she often wondered to herself whether or not she avoided conversation as an avenue for protection. Was she afraid of vulnerability? Or was she so in-tune with her vulnerability that she knew her heart would be better off closed?