Post by dumpster on Aug 11, 2020 13:39:39 GMT -6
rowan that burns
tribe of floating stones
a brawny red tom cat with a bobbed tail
prey-hunter
Tom
52 moons
A p p e a r a n c e
Rowan is a red furred tom cat with bold tabby markings and is broad in the shoulder and thick in the limbs, sporting powerful muscles that have allowed him to run down countless hares across the moors. While not sleek in frame or light in build, Rowan is capable of abrupt bursts of speed and makes use of powerful shoulder muscles to haul his prey to the ground. While the thick nub that Rowan sports as a tail is notable, it falls short compared to the extra toes attached to each of the brawny tom cat’s forepaws. His gait is wide and rolling to accommodate his digits, and his prints are quite distinct.
Short in length but surprisingly thick, Rowan doesn’t have a double coat, but it could be said that he hardly needs one. Scars that he has collected over the moons are mostly hidden beneath his fur, save for thin silver fleshed streaks that have etched themselves across his muzzle and ears. Perhaps considered handsome by some in a rustic sort of fashion, Rowan can often be found with dust and dirt clinging to his legs and belly from the days work; he puts less effort than he should into his grooming habits and allows the muck to accumulate until a quick wade into the water is in order.
Golden eyes regard the world with a veiled, guarded distance to them from above his silver-streaked snout, at times looking through his tribemates rather than at them.
Short in length but surprisingly thick, Rowan doesn’t have a double coat, but it could be said that he hardly needs one. Scars that he has collected over the moons are mostly hidden beneath his fur, save for thin silver fleshed streaks that have etched themselves across his muzzle and ears. Perhaps considered handsome by some in a rustic sort of fashion, Rowan can often be found with dust and dirt clinging to his legs and belly from the days work; he puts less effort than he should into his grooming habits and allows the muck to accumulate until a quick wade into the water is in order.
Golden eyes regard the world with a veiled, guarded distance to them from above his silver-streaked snout, at times looking through his tribemates rather than at them.
P e r s o n a l i t y
Faithless, Private, Steadfast,
Self-Reliant, Modest, Adaptable, & Unforgiving
faith·less: without religious faith.
similar// irreligious || Devout to the Tribe's teachings of their Ancestors and the afterlife that awaits them in his younger moons, Rowan's faith was challenged and eventually defeated by the deaths of his son and daughter. He does not presently believe that their spirits are anywhere in the earth or the winds around him... he is less than open regarding his personal doubts and grief.
pri·vate: (of person) not choosing to share thoughts and feelings with others.
similar// reserved || Rowan is very quiet when it comes to his thoughts and feelings on different things. He is not the sort of cat to share his opinions with others unless he is asked directly, and even then, at times he will give vague and clipped responses rather than whatever he actually thinks. It takes him quite a bit of time to share anything of himself.
stead·fast: resolutely or dutifully firm and unwavering.
similar// dependable || Since his recent return from his grieving period, Rowan has resumed his reputation as a reliable hunter and provider for the Tribe. Additionally, he has shown that while he is not open with his peers, he is loyal to them and able to be depended on.
self-re·li·ant: reliant on one's own powers and resources rather than those of others. similar// independent || In almost direct opposition to his reliability in the Tribe, Rowan is at times harmfully self-reliant. A request for help has never left his lips and he is a staunch believer in the lessons that harsh realities impart. He accepts his failures as a necessary part of life and seems to honor them (or at least their lessons) almost as much as his successes.
mod·est: unassuming or moderate in the estimation of one's abilities or achievements. similar// humble || Rowan is not boastful or prideful, and he does not respond well to this trait expressed in others. He seems to do his best to quickly accept and move past any praise issued to him; he is also not known for saying very much regarding the accomplishments of any other cat and can be tight-lipped with it comes to giving praise.
a·dapt·a·ble: able to adjust to new conditions.
similar// resilient || With time, Rowan has begun to adjust to even the loss of his family, though it has rendered him changed from his former self. Having already suffered his greatest loss, Rowan appears unbothered and calm during any present hardship. This sort of steely stoicism can at times leave him somewhat distant from others and unsympathetic in appearances.
un·for·giv·ing: not willing to forgive or excuse faults or wrongdoings.
similar// grudging || Rowan does not easily forget things; certainly not slights or wrongs done to him. Interestingly enough, his lack of a propensity to forgive and forget extends even unto himself. At times, he is more bothered by his failings or wrongdoings than others are and can become temporarily consumed by them.
similar// irreligious || Devout to the Tribe's teachings of their Ancestors and the afterlife that awaits them in his younger moons, Rowan's faith was challenged and eventually defeated by the deaths of his son and daughter. He does not presently believe that their spirits are anywhere in the earth or the winds around him... he is less than open regarding his personal doubts and grief.
pri·vate: (of person) not choosing to share thoughts and feelings with others.
similar// reserved || Rowan is very quiet when it comes to his thoughts and feelings on different things. He is not the sort of cat to share his opinions with others unless he is asked directly, and even then, at times he will give vague and clipped responses rather than whatever he actually thinks. It takes him quite a bit of time to share anything of himself.
stead·fast: resolutely or dutifully firm and unwavering.
similar// dependable || Since his recent return from his grieving period, Rowan has resumed his reputation as a reliable hunter and provider for the Tribe. Additionally, he has shown that while he is not open with his peers, he is loyal to them and able to be depended on.
self-re·li·ant: reliant on one's own powers and resources rather than those of others. similar// independent || In almost direct opposition to his reliability in the Tribe, Rowan is at times harmfully self-reliant. A request for help has never left his lips and he is a staunch believer in the lessons that harsh realities impart. He accepts his failures as a necessary part of life and seems to honor them (or at least their lessons) almost as much as his successes.
mod·est: unassuming or moderate in the estimation of one's abilities or achievements. similar// humble || Rowan is not boastful or prideful, and he does not respond well to this trait expressed in others. He seems to do his best to quickly accept and move past any praise issued to him; he is also not known for saying very much regarding the accomplishments of any other cat and can be tight-lipped with it comes to giving praise.
a·dapt·a·ble: able to adjust to new conditions.
similar// resilient || With time, Rowan has begun to adjust to even the loss of his family, though it has rendered him changed from his former self. Having already suffered his greatest loss, Rowan appears unbothered and calm during any present hardship. This sort of steely stoicism can at times leave him somewhat distant from others and unsympathetic in appearances.
un·for·giv·ing: not willing to forgive or excuse faults or wrongdoings.
similar// grudging || Rowan does not easily forget things; certainly not slights or wrongs done to him. Interestingly enough, his lack of a propensity to forgive and forget extends even unto himself. At times, he is more bothered by his failings or wrongdoings than others are and can become temporarily consumed by them.
H i s t o r y
First there were four
then there were few
then only one that remained
And so that one grew
he sowed seeds of his own
and two perfect blooms withered
Father: Sands that Smolder (Deceased)
Mother: Red Flower on the Moor (Deceased)
Siblings: Unnamed x2 (Deceased), Vixen that Splashes (Deceased)
(ex)Mate: ____ (adoptable)
Children: Unnamed(?) (deceased), ___ (deceased) & ___ (deceased)
(names to be added once mother's faceclaim is decided)
First There Were Four
He was never sure these days whether it had been affection or ease that had drawn him to her… He hunted for her and protected her, and she kept his nest warm. It was a simple arrangement – made all the easier by her mute tongue. It was never love from him; it was something that they both knew.
When Red Flower on the Moor bore kits, at first there had been four… and then promptly three as Sands that Smolder made his decision upon seeing the runt of the litter struggle for breath and warmth.
Perhaps he had spared the doomed little thing some pain... but that had never been his primary concern.
By the time their eyes opened, only two of their brood remained.
She never said a word… but she didn’t look at him anymore, either.
It hardly mattered to Smolder; he had everything he needed from her... Silence and potential prodigies.
Then There Were Few
His mother was warm and soft… and for the first two moons of his life, Rowan remained pleasantly unaware of the circumstances surrounding his birth and the nature of his family. He could see it now; the worried rounding and aversion of his mother’s eyes whenever his father entered the den to deliver prey for the day. He could hear the tentative, timid little chirps his mute mother used in greeting and recognize what it was inside of it that he could never place as a kit… fear.
Fear was something that he didn’t come to feel until his father began to acknowledge him, and it was something that he didn’t understand until later in his life.
“To live, you must succeed; fail, and you will die,” he was never sure if his father was merely sharing his worldviews or if there was something more sinister to such lessons. He learned. In time, he learned exactly how replaceable he and his littermates had been to his father. It revolted him.
Then Only One That Remained
He began to compete with his father even in his youth to provide for his mother. She was despondent after her daughter’s death and clung to her remaining child with grieved, desperate talons… unable to truly express her grief aside from the muffled sobs she let loose into Rowan’s pelt each night. He hated what his father’s ambitions for him and his siblings had done to their family… it wasn’t even precisely Smolder’s fault when Vixen passed, but Rowan still blamed him. Had he not pressed them so much, had he not hung every comfort and right in life above their heads… she might have lived.
Perhaps she wouldn’t have taken such risks.
But he would never know, and he would never have a sister again.
She was gone.
And That One Grew
It wasn’t any measure of vengeance that lead to Rowan’s personal monster passing.
Instead, it was Smolder’s own stubbornness and refusal to trust in others that saw his demise. He can still recall the smells that emanated from Smolder’s pelt and crawling, seeping wounds… as toxic as the grizzly tom had been on the inside. He was wounded… foolishly, Rowan decided, Smolder refused care. He died for it—but it was a grueling process perhaps more trying of Rowan than it was of Smolder.
Rowan and Red waited for the final death rattling in his lungs… Perhaps it could have been said that they didn’t do their part to tend to him as best as they could have, but even if other’s had known of what occurred in their far nest in the northern moors… nothing was said. Many were glad for Smolder’s passing once news of the event reached the southern nesting sites…
And then they were finally free.
Rowan continued to hunt for his mother. He provided at times too much; it was then that she nuzzled him and beckoned him south. Still some distance away from the main nesting sites, Red took them to her mother’s nest. The old she-cat welcomed them home… and Rowan learned what it meant to learn in circumstances where failure was accepted—where failure could be just as honored as success.
He clung to it.
He Sowed Seeds Of His Own
He grew and the moons passed. His mother eventually died, but not before she got to drink in the scent of her grandkids.
It had initially been a simple attraction that had sparked their relationship—an acknowledgement of each other’s prowess in their duties and an undeniable chemistry that drew them together. They succumbed to one another after measurable successes… She bore three kits, and though they did everything possible to dote on the weakest of their brood—he still succumbed to sickness before he was weaned. It was a loss that they shouldered together; one that they shared in meaningful looks with each other as they came to discover that their living kits held no memory of this warmth that had tucked in beside them at their mother’s belly…
He trained his kits early—but not as his father had.
He began to teach them proper techniques and strategies well before they were officially proclaimed to-be’s. They excelled as a result; surrounded with love and encouragement and excitement for their prowess… They showed much promise; it was something that Rowan spent most of his pass-times praising.
But all things come to an end… and some things meet a harsher, less forgiving end than deserved.
And Two Perfect Blooms Withered
He should have felt them in the breeze.
He should have heard them in the waves that lapped and crashed and surged against the shoreline; he should have seen them in the rains when they poured and in the clouds when they hung low in the skies above the moorlands… but he didn’t. Their laughter was gone; the scent of their youth painfully forgotten and swallowed up by the earth and the winds and the rain. Moons without them felt like a lifetime; as though the tom he had been died sometime in the old family den—alone and desolate.
Perhaps he had. He didn’t remember any longer the ways that his face used to move when he smiled; he wasn’t sure that he could remember the sound of his own laughter… or why he had ever laughed to begin with. Had it been them? It must have always been them. He had thought that he’d hear their play—that he might catch phantom whiffs of the sweet scent of family… but he didn’t. He wasn’t haunted by the sounds of their rasps and coughs; or of that final rattling in their lungs as illness claimed them. He didn’t even hear their mother’s sobs anymore—nor his own grieved curses and cries.
But he wanted for anything other than the silence. He wished that he could hear them when the grasses shifted just right… he missed everything, from their purrs to the frustrated hisses and spits as they botched hunt after hunt with clumsy dashes and pounces and felt the sting of empty paws and bellies. They were gone, and so was she—a broken phantom that drifted off with the nighttime… she’d simply padded away without a word.
Rowan that Burns remained. He grew large and fat off his kills, unshared with any other… and he grew cold with the winds that filled his empty den. He tried to hear them, but he never did.
When he lost the desire to hunt, he grew lean and trim once again… and then he rose to his paws and left the fallen log his family had claimed. He traveled south across the moors and followed the tracks left by his Tribemates. He returned to them; a changed and quiet shadow of his former self. He dug a new den for himself—a small and cramped little thing that the winds couldn’t fill… and then he made himself hunt once more.
