Named after the landscape of the barren desert in which she was born, Dune’s rusty coat is unintentionally fitting. There’s nothing particularly special about her appearance, brown eyes, rough coat, average build. It’s the look of a wolf well weathered and well travelled, and the assumption would be an accurate one. Years of travel, both with her rogue family for a time and then on her own, has done little good for an appearance she has no desire to upkeep, not for lack of trying. It was simply something that’d never been a necessity. An average passerby might think her years beyond her three based on outward appearance alone. But she’s got some bulk to her and she carries it well, less feminine than her mother would have liked. Isn’t that how it always goes, though?
Having crossed paths with countless wolves in her travels, Dune built up an outgoing shell from the start. It’s not overpoweringly bubbly, just casual enough to make most wolves feel comfortable engaging with her. Everyone always moves on, though, and deep at the core, she carries a modicum of self-doubt and worthlessness. Born amongst a desert backdrop she never had many friends, so she carries the word in high regard, if she could ever truly recognize such a thing. She’s not outwardly lonely, but some part of her will always seek out what she’s always lacked. That said, she often comes off as rather mature and laidback, her small knowledge of herbs and plants often coming in handy, her knowledge of birds and their habitats and patterns less so. She’s simply a traveling wolf with a few tricks up her proverbial sleeves.