The world in which Wran's mother lived was a simple one. She lived a hand-to-mouth existence, darting among the towering trees after her usual prey: mice, frogs, rabbits, birds, and other such small prey. The world was harsh, but the vixen was adept and accustomed to such an environment, and so she prospered.
The forest was unremarkable in most ways—thick undergrowth permeated the ground, and vicious predators lurked in the shadows at any given moment. Only the truly fit survived here. But there was one peculiarity of the forest: the willow tree. Not only did it not belong in this climate, but it grew at the very center of the forest, in a large clearing. The reason for this clearing was that strange things happened to the creatures that rested under the tree. Mice were transformed into men, tree saplings flew away as insects, and so on. So the simple-minded animals simply avoided the rainbow-colored tree altogether, until only thick grass grew around its roots.
There came the time when the vixen carried many little pups in her belly, and she cared for them valiantly. Each of the eight pups inside her grew and developed, and each had perfect little eyes, noses, teeth, even claws, before they were even born. The vixen was a good mother—she took no unnecessary risks. She was at the height of her physical and mental fitness, with snowy, silky white fur, and kohl-rimmed eyes that were sharp and clear.
Then came the storm. It was the worst that the forest had ever weathered, with powerful winds that simply tore the smaller animals off the ground and sharp, pelting rain that drenched a thick fur coat in a minute.
The poor vixen was caught in the rampaging storm, and could find no shelter. The ancient trees themselves fought against the shrieking wind that threatened to rip them from the earth. After many hours of this, the vixen was bedraggled and bruised, and could barely crawl. But she thought of her still-unborn pups, and she wished for them to live. And so the vixen did the unthinkable, what no animal would think of doing in its right mind: she went to the willow tree. The field was the hardest. Here, there was no protection offered by the trees, and the wind grabbed and whipped at her mercilessly, throwing debris and bruising her little body relentlessly. But finally she made it, into the sighing quiet beneath the willow tree. It seemed altogether unaffected by the raging storm outside: it rustled and shivered much in the same way as when there was no wind at all on a clear summer day.
The vixen finally gave birth, to her eight healthy pups, all squirming about with eyes firmly closed and making the soft whimpering sounds of babies. Her final task finished, the vixen succumbed to a deep, peaceful sleep, from which she never woke again.
Sometime in the dark hours of early morning the storm quite suddenly abated, and the creatures of the forest that had survived breathed a sigh of relief. Bu the pups and the willow tree, unaware of the tumultuous storm to begin with, slept on obliviously.
And when morning finally touched the treetops, the world was silent. No birds twittered or greeted each other, for they were exhausted from the storm's deluge. Only one bird, if that was what you could call him, faintly stirred. He had been a small fledgling, and, unable to fly properly been caught in the swirling winds and hurled about—straight into the slender branches of the willow tree. When he awoke, he found he was not quite in the form he had been in when he had lost consciousness. For one thing, he looked more like a two-headed elephant than a bird. But he had proper little wings, all right, so he fluttered down to the ground to perhaps see quite where he was. What he saw on the soft grass was only one small pup, sleeping peacefully, and seven little sweet pea sprouts clustered about him. A few feet away, the only thing that remained of the vixen was a large white rock. All this the little bird did not understand, but he knew warmth and companionship from his young days as a chick with his fellow nestmates, and so he parted the curtain of sprouts that surrounded the pup, and fell asleep beside the warm bundle of fur.
Wran is, of course, rainbow colored, though he was not born so. His color was a gift of the willow tree.
Wran has always considered the willow tree his home—a good thing as well, since he would not be able to survive in the wild forest without a parent to teach and protect him. Wran has no idea of what happened to his mother—he's seen other animals with their parents enough to know he should have one—and wonders constantly about her. The cruel irony, of course, is that he sees her every day in that white rock of which he is so fond of sleeping and playing on. Wran is similarly ignorant in the knowledge of his brothers and sisters.
Despite this, Wran is largely a cheerful and innocent soul. He knows not the evils of the world, or even of the duality of creatures like himself. The willow tree has never been unkind, and of course Rolo and Binti are peaceful creatures. Wran spends his days playing and tumbling in the long grass, and at night he snuggles in the roots of the willow with his "bird" friend beside him.
Rolo & Binti
Formerly a fledgling bird, these two are not quite used to their unusual form, so they are always clumsy, though they seem to be able to fly fairly well. They have two heads and two distinct personalities, which will be explained shortly. They have six legs in total, and two dainty little wings, which, somehow, manage to keep the weighty two aloft.
Rolo was the first of the two to exist—he was the original bird. Shortly after Rolo woke up, Binti also came into existence as the second head and personality. The two are always bickering, but they are Wran's best and only friends. Rolo and Binti cannot speak; they make soft trumpeting and snuffling sounds instead, which only they seem to understand. Rolo is a little slow and dreamy, while Binti is naughty and always causing trouble.
The Willow Tree
The willow tree is more of a creature than a plant. It can move voluntarily, and is only bound by its roots in the soil. It has moods just as an animal might, and can be benevolent or malicious to those who rest beneath its branches. In Wran's case, the tree was angry that the vixen and the cubs had invaded its sanctuary, and thus turned them into mere objects of the landscape. By the time it reached Wran, however, its anger died and it kindly gave Wran his rainbow color in an imitation of itself. Since then, the tree has continued to look after Wran protectively, and has even extended those feelings to his siblings, allowing the tender bean sprouts to crawl up the willow tree's trunk. The willow tree is fond of Rolo and Binti as well, though it finds them irksome when Binti nibbles on the leaves.
Mother and Siblings
As mentioned before, Wran's poor mother was turned into a simple white rock upon her death, while his siblings were turned into hapless bean sprouts. Nevertheless, his family seems to get on quite contentedly, considering their predicament. Wran's mother, of course, doesn't move at all, but she is always around her son, who grows up happily. His siblings are equally happy despite their simple forms, blooming frequently and with vigor.
VINNY VINNY VINNY ♥
Thank you to everyone who did art of Wran, I love them. C: