Fire burnt and lashed throughout a small fishing village on the border of Rohan and Dunland, the hill-men, as they were called, had laid a raid upon the Rohirrim there, afraid they were a threat to their homeland. Embers and flames cracked and laughed at any nearby that was close enough to listen, starring pitilessly into the eyes of those who dared to look. Nights silence was replaced with screams and cries, those of mothers, children, and husbands. On the outskirts of the village, near the river was a single cottage, chaos developing it amongst fire and a frantic family. Wood and timbers shattered as the door to the small cottage was burst inward, one of the savages entered, looking about with frantic, wild eyes. The large, ragged man snatched up a small tan skinned child from the cradle it was in, thinking it to be where his wife had left their child during the raid. Thus he carried the small babe off into the dark, along with his wife who soon followed, into the wilds of Dunland. The babe grew into a woman as quickly as she had been taken away from that hell she was snatched from, though she did not grow to look as her mother and her dirt brown hair, or take her rather homely looks. Instead the child grew with the hair of a raven, and a beauty that many in the village had to restrain from pursuing. It became more and more obvious that the babe was not their own, she looked nothing like the pair, and she was much more gentle in nature, soft. To preserve their standing in the tribe, and stop all suspicion she was cast out, as an outcast, and as worthless. Only one man followed her, a man she had grown up with and developed with. So, as things go, the woman became pregnant, thus Juhryhu's daughter was born. Though the life in Dunland was too harsh, especially as outcasts being wanted no where but rotting in the dust so they decided to head North, through Rohan, and into the Caradas.

           Dry grass crunched and tore from underneath the six feet of Juhryhu' and her family, trudging Noth-East through the northern parts of Rohan. They tried to travel by night, and sleep under what trees they could find in the plains during the day. Juhryhu' looked ahead with a smile throughout most of the journey, her husband in hand and their daughter between them, she was still young at the age of 4. With Juh and her husbands help she was able to run along with them, nearly just as well.  As they approached the borders from Rohan, coming up upon the great river they saw dust gathering in the distance, from riders. At first she thought nothing of it but started to panic once she saw the horsemen riding towards them. Frantically they started running, faster and faster to try and reach the river before the riders and their strong beasts they rode. Less then a mile away from the river they were surrounded and covered in a circle of spears. Seeing the inevitable her husband sprung from his spot and took one of the men's heads, slaying another, and another. Though before he could ever breathe after the third he was loosing blood like a waterfall, falling to his knees and crumbling into Juhryhu's lap, asking her for forgiveness from his weakness. She gave him a single passionate kiss, urging him leave, reassuring him she'd be with him soon. And so she looked up to the riders with angry tears in her eyes, holding her screaming daughter in her ams to wait for her death, snarling and crying. Though all of a sudden she was pinned by two men from behind her, shaking  and yanking to try and get from their grasp while her wailing daughter was taken from her. She watched as her daughter was forced to walk north alone, towards the running river and the forest, filling her with more pain and fear, sorrow. After her crying daughter had slowly disappeared into the distance she was lifted onto one of the horses, arms and legs bound. Thought she wouldn't have tried anything as she was too busy weeping, and wailing.

          For six months she was used by the men in their camps and on the ride, time after time passed from man to man until he grew too bound it duty or bored of her to take use anymore. One the sixth month they realized they had become pregnant, the captain did not follow strictly to law and customs, honor of his kind so he ordered them to take the growing child out of her. She was saved only by one of the camp-wives that followed the men, she was stitched, fed, and cared for. Only to be struck time and time again by club and blade, her face scared, her eye blinded, and her soul ravaged. She was left on the bank of the great river, broken. She laid there for what she thought was days, not wanting to move. After a while she finally pushed herself up, only letting herself live so that she could perhaps find her daughter, to no avail. Her husband she thought no longer loved her, after having she believed watching her from the hunters halls, having been ravaged over those  six months.

          Because of all of those things she has become a broken, bent and savage woman. Not definable under any stereotype or state of mind, she is simply herself. Even though her exterior and interior are both mostly rough and cruel, she is very soft and compassionate for those she cares for and thinks she can trust. She is loyal, and would die for those select few she loves.