With a touch of Olas' talons, a mark wrote itself upon the shadow's forehead. A sigil of a owl diving from the skies, wings stretched in sharp, sweeping lines shone brightly as powerful funnels of wind whipped up around the Puppet. Wind, undefined, untenable yet with perfect focus carved form and definition into the shadows that the Puppet took for a body. Skin and sinew emerged from below the surface, with a pinkish tint as blood poured into the veins. Oh, and a plenty of green hair that slapped the Puppet's face as the tornado that surrounded it died down.

No, 'it' wasn't the proper pronoun was it? Not anymore, as the shadows left a parting gift of an evanescent memory, a dying scrap that the Puppet now held unto.
[color=8dc73f]"Gael."[/color] She said. She repeated the foreign word, now familiar. [color=8dc73f]"Gael, huh."[/color]
'Gael' furrowed her brow. [color=8dc73f]"Wait, Gael?! As in gale? Gale Gael?"[/color] She looked accusingly toward Olas, trying to find someone to pin the blame for the sheer lack of originality. Then again, he didn't know her before she met him either.

Figures. Maybe her past self (if she had one), had a terrible sense of humor or had terrible luck. The common denominator being 'terrible'. But well, Gael, with all its dramatic irony, was short and simple. She bargained there was some virtue in that. [color=8dc73f]"Gael it is."[/color] She said, puffing away strands of hair that still clung to her face.

Gael took note of her body, at first getting weirded out by the amount of sensations that now flowed from the more receptive skin, but merrily spinning about as her mind understood how to tune them out. She was clothed, thankfully, with a tidily sewn short tunic. It was lined with pragmatic straps of leather that gave the clothes sturdiness against duress, studded with stubby tacks that held pouches and rings for clips together. The inside was lined with furs and feathers to help keep warm (which was immediately useful against the wind she could now feel much more sharply), along with a slightly weighted hood. There were basic patterns that seemed like they were kneaded and inscribed by hand, making basic shapes of flowers and geometry. The matching set of breeches had a hole at the back to let her tail, roughly pruned, to waver behind. Whoever made it was clearly an amateur that poured in way too much effort, but Gael at least appreciated the thought. The owl sigil that was imprinted in her boots and fingerless gloves were given especially intense detail, however, with even the details of the feathers stamped out.

Her actual body was thin but toned with muscles, the kind that came not through training, but consistent habit. There were a few minor scratches here and there, perhaps from fights against struggling wildlife, but besides those, Gael's tanned skin was intact. Her hair reached the length of her tunic, or would have, if it was left to flow instead of being tied up in a pragmatic bun. Her pointy ears, attentively twitching, was sitting squarely on top of her head. And the best part - she wasn't missing any limbs! Well, she probably should have expected that, but considering how fast she cut herself with the arrow back in the void, she wasn't leaving any guesses up. Gael pulled and stretched her face, puffing up her cheeks and sticking out her tongue, testing her face's functions. She did find out that eyelids weren't supposed to be pulled out that far, though.

Gael realized the two moons that watched her from above, and beamed back at the owl king. She was pretty impartial at first, especially with her remarkably unremarkable name - but man, she did look pretty sweet with all this gear. [color=8dc73f]"Well, now I certainly look the part, don't I?"[/color]