Current mood:	symbollic
Current music:	All Along the Watchtower
Entry tags:	ykinde

chickenscratch.
When he was young, he had been named Quickrunner for his fleetness. A lithe, leggy Panthera whose deep grey fur and intelligent peridot eyes pegged him handsome - whose agility and deftness pegged him a future martial bloodwalker.

When he was newly adult, his name had shifted to Clawfighter for his innate skill in unarmed combat. He'd filled out since his youth, leanly muscular and surprisingly strong for his streamlined build. He wore precious little armor - only a few leather wraps around his stomach, his neck, his hips, his wrists. He foreswore mail and plate armor and all weaponry.

When he neared mastery of his path, his name became Skinhider for the full-body leather armor that covered him from nose to toes to tailtip. Only on his muzzle and the tips of his fingers could one see that beautiful grey fur, and those yellow-green eyes were shadowed with the cowled cloak that he cast about his shoulders, atop the well-knit leather armor. He was never seen uncloaked or unarmored.

Skinhider could not be convinced to strip himself of his gear, even in places of safety. No enemy could touch him - he was too swift, too skilled, too well-protected.

After a while, none at all could touch him.