Horatio never felt comfortable at home. Or at school. Or pretty much anywhere in which there were people involved. His family was the trash side of the Thorns, a full social caste or two down from his cousin Christian and there was rarely a moment in which he wasn’t reminded of that by the rest of the family. Regular beatings by his brother and father taught him two things; how to be quick and how to be absent. He was very good at both. Despite his distaste for people and their presence, he did always find himself drawn to his cousin. He didn’t like him; he was mouthy, rude, weak, and cowardly, but he was to be protected from the predations of others. Rose couldn’t figure out why, but he always felt it was necessary.
Then it happened. He still didn’t remember it very well, but he could see parts of it very clearly. He saw Christian bleeding from his head, arm bent unnaturally at the bottom of the stairs. He saw the same bully he had chased off all year standing on the central landing and looking more surprised than happy with what he had done. Then there was blood and pieces scattered liberally around the stairwell. Just as his vision was clearing, he felt a touch on his wrist and he lashed out. His cousin fell to the ground again, once more dead it seemed.
Horatio Rose stopped existing that day. He never stepped foot on that school campus again and his family never cared that he disappeared. He wandered the streets at first. A few conversations with other Uratha explained a little but ultimately did little for him. Then he wandered into the wilderness. The desert was difficult to survive but he quickly learned that there were stranger environments for him to explore. The spirit wilds were uninviting yet infinitely better than high school. Horatio fought, stalked, and ran from spirits for six months before returning to the true desert a stronger, wiser werewolf. Once there, he spent another six months alone, indulging in his solitude, crafting his home with his gifts with only occasional stays in the city to retain his sense of harmony.
Human – Filipino, 5’7”, 159 lbs. He grew up fighting, his body lean and scarred by his brother’s knives. His hair is long and unkempt. He is constantly dirty, his home on the streets leaving him covered in stains.
Garou – 7’0”, 300 lbs. He remains small for a garou. His fur is dirty white, grey streaks strewn throughout.
Wolf – He appears to be a normal wolf except for the dirty white color of his fur. His paws are all grey.