This one didn't get very far but I started it in year 7 (11-12), and I remember that because I got the idea of the name from a book I read called Wolven (Wooh, Di Toft is awesome.)
Anyway... I had this character in my head for a long time...
I have no idea how to comment but it didn't make it very far... :'(
It's a bit innacurate...
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Crescent
Saphea lay on the dirty grey hospital bed, in the dull stone hut in the cloudy town of Brigon, Her body broken from the accident the previous winter. She glanced through the small gap in the wall , the sun was shining and she had a sudden longing to be out there basking in the sun in her summer skin. She twisted her stiff white neck back around and stretched her arms and neck, yawning.
“Ow!” She yelped, placed her hands on her shoulders and rubbed at them. Her neck was now stinging as well as her still bleeding leg which was confusing her and her brother, Owen. Her leg had been bleeding since the end of winter and was still losing blood continuously, and yet, Saphea had not become weak ,neither was she showing signs of death, which was a good thing. But it should have healed by now, it should have healed a couple of days after it had happened, but, no, it was still bleeding, staining the diseased sheets.
“Are ya alright ma de’r?” It was the healer, Poppy. Saphea did not think the name Poppy suited the old fat women, Saphea thought she would be better known with a boys name, like Jamie or Merlock. Poppy had a huge bulging wart protruding out of her chin on which rested two firm grey hairs and a type of gunk of which Saphea did not know nor desired to know the name of. Poppy’s Hair was scraggly and so hard, dirty and golden that you could have mistaken it at any time for a straw wig. She wore a long gown which was not long enough to keep her over-hairy legs hidden under, around her waist ,on top of the gown, was a slightly torn apron the colour of soot, it had once been white. She beheld nothing for her, black, sore feet, exactly the same as many of the villagers. Just then, Amelias brother walked into the room happily, walking as if there weren’t a thing that mattered in the world except his little sister. But, of course, there was. It wasn’t just lack of food for Saphea’s family. There was another problem, a problem that could mean immediately being hung. Her Parents were dead, they died when she was just a month old, they were caught. Their secret revealed. If Saphea and Owen weren’t careful, they would also be dead, and being a werewolf in the middle ages was nothing to be proud of.
It had been a couple of months before Saphea’s leg wound had completely healed, and now she was able to return to her own hut instead of being in the healing hut, which she thought smelled, very bad.
“You stay here, ok?” Owen said gently to Saphea,
“Why? Can’t I come hunting with you instead?” She replied, a small whimper sound in her voice
“Your 5 years old. Too young to hunt!”
“And your 15 years old, but you still go hunting!”
Owen laughed, a small true laugh, and began to walk out of the largest hole in the hut which was the door, he pushed the piece of cloth covering it to one side and turned around, kissed his sisters head and said simply,
“Remember to keep a low profile!”
Then he sped into a jog and headed off towards the wood for something that werewolves could eat without throwing up.
Saphea paced slowly around the small circular hut, sighing deeply after a few minutes due to boredom. By keeping a low profile her brother had meant,
