Wrenna took her first breath in the Bree-lands and, for the rest of her childhood, she took no breath elsewhere. As soon as she was old enough to carry a bucket, she was put to work around the neighborhood. After all, with a family that’s now seven children strong, there were many mouths to feed, and a gravedigger’s pay is poor. The family valued good work, good behavior and good reputation. Good education was a luxury for the rich, so the Larkspur children never went to school, same as their parents and grandparents before them. At seventeen, Wrenna cannot read much more than her name.

As the oldest child still living at home, it fell to Wrenna to help her father dig the graves. With such heavy labor day in and out, and multiple siblings pecking away at home, Wrenna never turns down a chance to eat. She'll often pawn some labor around the Pony in hopes for a scrap of food. Besides, it is a chance to see new people and hear the stories that books hold secret from her.

Over the years, she's become accustomed to a stigma surrounding her work. Boys mocked her growing up, other girls shunned her and even now some give her a wide berth. But accustomed does not mean accepted. She's still sensitive to being treated like she carries the disease that put the bodies into her care.