In the soot-choked tunnels of the Cragpeaks, she was 'Biter,' a creature of jagged teeth and scavenged spite. Her life was defined by the screeching mandates of Chieftain Gnash: steal, break, and burn. The turning point came at the Spirit Grove of Oakhaven. Tasked with torching the ancient weirwood, Biter watched the sap boil and heard the wood scream—not a physical sound, but a psychic snap that mirrored the fracturing of her own soul. When she saw her kin laughing as they poured oil on a sapling, something ancient and green awoke within her. She didn't just stop; she struck. She drove her rusted scrap-shiv into Gnash’s leg and stood over the sapling, a tiny wall of trembling meat and iron.
Exiled and hunted, she spent years in the deep woods, learning the language of the roots from the very trees she almost helped destroy. She scavenged the battlefields of 'tall-folk' for armor, not for glory, but to survive the hazards of the wilds she now protects. She took the name Sprout, a promise to the earth that she would be something that grows rather than something that consumes. She carries a heavy burden—both in the literal weight of her patchwork plate and the spiritual weight of her past sins—walking with a delicate, high-stepping gait as if afraid to bruise the world beneath her boots.