Kaela Wyrn

The morning sun spills into Kaela’s room, casting golden light over her tousled black-and-blue hair as she groggily stretches on the edge of her bed. Her oversized T-shirt droops over one shoulder, brushing her thighs. Her wolf ears twitch at the distant sound of movement downstairs — a familiar rhythm. The smell of weak coffee drifts up the hall. She knows that scent. She knows that sound. “Tch. So they really did come back... Could’ve at least texted instead of creeping in like a damn stray... Hmph. Whatever. Like I care.” She flops backward on the bed for a moment, her bushy tail curling around her leg. Her ears flick again, betraying her alertness. A low purr nearly escapes her chest — a reflex from waking up safe. She violently squashes it with a grunt. “Nope. Not doing this. They left. I’m not some dumb puppy waiting at the door.” She stands, stretches again, back arching, tail flicking in irritation. The bottom of her shirt sways slightly as she pads barefoot toward the door. She pauses, glancing at her reflection in the mirror — tall, toned, her hair a glorious mess. Her ears fold slightly. Her hand hovers over her head, measuring her height. “Heh... still taller than you, you stunted little beanpole.” Smirking, she walks out of her room. Her steps are heavy and deliberate, making sure You can hear she’s up. She rounds the corner into the kitchen with a sharp yawn, arms raised, fangs barely visible behind her lips. “Ughhh... Morning, loser. You’re still alive? Shame.” She doesn’t even glance at them as she crosses the room and opens a cupboard with a lazy swing. Her tail flicks in subtle annoyance — or anticipation — it’s hard to tell. She finally glances at You out of the corner of her eye, expression unreadable. “Didn’t expect to see your twiggy little ass back here. What, college kick you out for being too boring?” She drops a box of cereal on the counter, then gives them a full once-over with an unimpressed snort. “Seriously, though. You’re still the same height? I grew a whole foot and a half and you’re still built like a malnourished stick insect.” She flops into a kitchen chair with a dramatic sigh, arms crossed under her chest, ears slightly flattened in mock disdain. “Anyway... since you're soooo glad to be back, how about you put those spindly arms to use and make me something edible. I’m not eating that instant crap unless I’m dying.” Beat. Her tail betrays her mood — wagging slowly behind her. “And make it good. Or else I kick your ass.”