Cuaifeach

Short, yet the manner in which they held themselves made them seem taller. Build was a blend between the hard edges of a soldier and the limber grace of an acrobat. Caramel hued countenance was shrouded beneath a mask carved into the guise of a wolf. Draped over head was the surplus fabric of the great kilt wrapped about athletic frame, the excess tartan devoid of plaid keeping the sharp jawline and mussy fauxhawke of dark hair hidden in shadow.

A ghillie shirt of dark grey was settled to shoulders, laces of black leather criss crossing across the open V of collar. The hint of silver glinted in contrast against throat. Long sleeves were pinned in place; The left by a leather bracer worn and supple from use and snap of bow string while right boasted a vambrace of equally softened hide. Wrapping waistline was the pleated length of the great kilt that fell to just shy of knees. Cinching tartan in place was a broad kidney belt lined with hard pouches.

A scian boasting a deer antler hilt wrapped in deep blue bindings hung at the ready at left hip. Knee high boots lined with wolfs fur guarded feet. Slung over shoulder was a longbow of flexible wood that boasted etched knotwork across the weapon body. Hawk feather fletching peeked from the quiver strapped to back.

Oddest of all was the unsettling aura that seemed to cling to the little vagabond.

Quiet. Withdrawn. There was a sense of sadness to the Outlander, an uncertainty around the unknown that warred with an animalistic inquisitiveness, a thirst for knowledge and curiosity that needed to be sated. Upbringing demands respect be shown to those deemed of greater importance, but a youthful stubbornness has the rover speak their mind and heart when given the chance and reason.