Post by tahlia on Sept 3, 2020 0:32:23 GMT -6
birchnose
Thistleclan
bi-color seal point she-cat with blue eyes
warrior
She-cat
37 moons
Appearance
Not the smallest of her litter, and certainly not the largest, Birchnose somewhere in the middle ground. Graced with an average set of limbs, the she-cat stands at a typical height when compared to the majority of Thistleclan. Not as tall as Juniper but neither as short as Cherry, from the day of her birth the she-cat has been caught in the in-between. Despite a heavy coat of fur that often makes her look slightly larger than she is, Birch's form remains noticeably unencumbered by thick musculature and instead she is built slim and trim from nose to tail. The warrior's frame is lithe, movements graceful and flowing in a way that unintentionally denotes her prowess as a well-versed huntress.
Much like her litter-mates before and after her, dark creams and chocolate hues seem to be a running theme. Not one to disappoint, Birchnose's own coat is thick and plush without being overly long. The majority of her frame is cloaked in several hues of molten chocolates, fading to an espresso along her haunches and neck while lightening to a near pristine white at the apex of her abdomen. At the tips of her paws, ears, and face her fur darkens drastically to near pitch, edged delicately in warm chestnut tones.
Birchnose's face is perhaps her most noticeable feature, delicate and soft in the ways her lithe frame is ( in her opinion ) not. While Birch has never thought of herself as conceited, the she-cat can't help but find herself pretty. Graced with a small face and gently pointed nose, the thick fur along her cheeks has always made her look younger than she is. Her ears are a pair of medium triangles at the top of her skull, slightly wide and rounded subtly at the tips. Her nose blends into the deep pitch of her facial point, leaving the only source of color among the umber the almond shaped sapphires of her eyes.
Much like her litter-mates before and after her, dark creams and chocolate hues seem to be a running theme. Not one to disappoint, Birchnose's own coat is thick and plush without being overly long. The majority of her frame is cloaked in several hues of molten chocolates, fading to an espresso along her haunches and neck while lightening to a near pristine white at the apex of her abdomen. At the tips of her paws, ears, and face her fur darkens drastically to near pitch, edged delicately in warm chestnut tones.
Birchnose's face is perhaps her most noticeable feature, delicate and soft in the ways her lithe frame is ( in her opinion ) not. While Birch has never thought of herself as conceited, the she-cat can't help but find herself pretty. Graced with a small face and gently pointed nose, the thick fur along her cheeks has always made her look younger than she is. Her ears are a pair of medium triangles at the top of her skull, slightly wide and rounded subtly at the tips. Her nose blends into the deep pitch of her facial point, leaving the only source of color among the umber the almond shaped sapphires of her eyes.
Personality
ARCHETYPE. . . . . the caregiverpractical. loyal. nurturing. too selfless. hidden passion. romantic. mediator. naive. anxious. perfectionist. nosey. passive. resolute.
Some cats are sand, shifting and changing constantly with the push and pull of time but Birchnose is bedrock. Solid, steady, resolute in her ways. A stable upbringing - despite the mass of siblings - gave her a more than comfortable childhood which produced a thoughtful she-cat with a heart as large and unending as the horizon. Sensitive and a natural caregiver, she has always been keen on helping others, willing to shoulder the burden of her companions without hesitation if it betters their disposition.
A firm believer in second chances, Birch has never met a bad cat - only those placed in unfortunate circumstances prone to making bad decisions. She is quick to give others the benefit of the doubt, making the female entirely too trusting in any given situation much to the chagrin of her siblings. As the middle child, she spent a lot of her time flipping from Yew to Cherry to Juniper and so on and so fourth in valiant attempts to get everyone on the same page. Though over the moons she gave up, her penchant for not holding a grudge and being too kind for her own good has lead her to be an unassuming favorite among the bunch.
Eyes always alight with a thousand suns, Birchnose has faced hardships yet always come out brighter on the other side. Optimistic at best and foolhardy at worst, Birch maintains the ideal that everything happens for a reason, forever keeping her cup half full. Though she knows pain and turmoil as well as any warrior, she adamantly refuses to linger over misery and her willful blindness is perhaps her greatest downfall.
History
Daisythorn was a new mother, and Starclan had blessed the she-cat with a litter of epic proportions as the first would also turn out to be her last. Six kits, healthy beyond all measures born beneath the darkness of the shadowed pines blossomed hope for a clan barely coming out on the other side of a harsh winter.
Though her mother was overwhelmed with the sheer numbers placed before her, Minkfoot did as any good mate would, providing reassurance at every bump in the night. Yew was the first of them, then Fir, Birch, Cherry, Juniper and Spruce. And she was neither the first, nor the last, nor the only girl. Not dominant, but not a kit willing to shut her mouth and let herself be entirely overrun by the rest of them. Stuck in middle was she.
Birch never did like the spotlight, but she didn't wish to be left out either. She was content to pay close attention to each of her siblings, darting back and fourth between them because Yew insulted Cherry and her younger sister was utterly unimpressed with them all. How she wished they could all just get along. Yet still, like a ball of moss Birch bounced around from sibling to sibling, doing her best to make sure none felt the smarting blows of being overlooked by parents too tired to make sure they each got the same amount of attention.
The molly was a mediator, a nurturer among their motley crew. She humored Yew when the endearing little idiot tried out his so-called swagger in the form of suave words on the lot. Her unwavering loyalty to each sibling individually was quickly noted when the normally docile kit puffed herself up to spew venom at her siblings when they took their teasing of docile Juniper too far.
The sisters had grown close over games of save the queen, and though she was technically the older sister of the two Birch never minded Juniper's want to take care of her in the way a mother would their own kit. Often times when the hustle and bustle of six siblings became too much, the two sisters would seclude themselves to a corner of the nursery and Birch would listen to all the upset and turmoil in her sibling's life.
A giggle here and good-humored roll of the eyes there was enough for the tom to feel confident enough in his conversational abilities to move on to bigger and better crowds. Like Spruce, Birch was happy to sit back and watch, engaging in light conversation - usually jokes regarding their eldest siblings antics - when opportunity arose. And it did. A lot.
At six moons, Birchkit was no more. Now Birchpaw, everything was shiny and new. Given a mentor in the shape of a taciturn molly named Ivywhisker, Birch was increasingly worried that she would ruin the she-cat's reputation for churning out noteworthy apprentices. After all, she was just little Birch, the lukewarm to her siblings hot and cold.
It became apparent all too quickly that without her siblings to play off of, Birch wasn't entirely sure of who she was. She had always been the go-between of the six and now they had each been set upon differing paths. Sure, at night they were together in the apprentice den but with training, meaningful interactions were few and far in between. Simply put, Birch wasn't necessarily needed anymore. And if her own siblings didn't need her to smooth over the ever turbulent waters between them, what was her purpose?
The near mental breakdown that occurred at her revelation that she didn't have an aspiration - all while in the middle of a subpar hunting session - was stopped by a well-placed cuff to the head. That day, out beneath the Great Owl tree, Ivywhisker explained that she didn't have to be a smooth talker, or a great fighter, or anything but herself to be of importance. And, her mentor implored, if she wanted to be great at something all she had to do was put in the work.
Further into her apprenticeship, Birchpaw was out in the territory with her mentor when a pungent, cloying smell crossed her path. Unable to place it - for she had never smelled anything like it before - she had made it a point to ask her mentor what it could be. Ivywhisker was quick to ask questions: what exactly did it smell like? which direction was it? and then she she-cat had high-tailed it back to camp with Birch struggling to keep up.
When they got back, they were met with the sight of fighting. Warriors and apprentices alike were battling hard against an onslaught of foxes and Birchpaw didn't hesitate to dive into the action. Though she wasn't typically one for fighting - due to an underlying squeamishness - the thought of her family or friends falling before the beasts claws drove her to a level of combativeness she'd never experienced before.
From that point on, Ivywhisker made it a point to train her apprentice at least twice a day in using her nose. Birchpaw lit up under her mentor's praise, especially when the warrior told her that a sharp nose wasn't something you could learn, you had to be born with it.
Birchpaw continued her training under Ivywhisker's tutelage until she was thirteen moons old, later earning the name -nose to denote her superb skills in tracking and hunting. She never wanted to sit another vigil for a kit with their life ahead of them, taken from the world before their time because a threat wasn't noticed soon enough.
Next time, though, it wasn't a kit. Maybe if she had been there things would have been different. She might have scented the threat before it was too late. She might have been able to sound a warning. They might have been able to run, or hide, or climb a tree until the foxes were gone. And maybe, just maybe, Minkfur would still be alive. But Birchnose wasn't with her father that day. Cherryleap and Spruceshade were, and even though the two siblings were valiant fighters it made no difference. At the very least, Birch was comforted that didn't have to sit vigil for her siblings and - in the grand scheme of things - she imagined that Minkfur was happy to be reunited with Daisythorn in the starry sky.
Though she felt the loss of both of their parents just as strongly, Birchnose made it a point to be the shoulder her siblings needed. She was met with the usual scathing remarks from Cherryleap, and Spruceshade's silence was typical. But it was Yewthorn that surprised her the most. Her brother seemed to dive into her open paws, comforted by her steady company and - though he wasn't religious in the least - the idea that their parents were looking down on them from above.
It wasn't until the end of leaf-bare, when the frost had barely begun to withdraw that Birchnose received her first apprentice, Nettlepaw. The tom had come from a broken family, eager to take his hurt out on anyone who came too close. He was bitter, downtrodden, with a quickness to anger that made her head spin at the worst of times. Yet Birch maintained that if he turned that anger to something positive, he had the makings of a brilliant warrior.
Nettlepaw was hard work, though. At first he wanted nothing to do with her, pining her with a cold gaze and simply going through the motions. He didn't seem like he wanted to be part of clan life, yet he had no where - and no one - else to turn to but the cats of the piney woods. It took time, and a wrenched paw - but Birchnose eventually broke through to the tom by breaking his fall from the Great Owl tree. It seemed the place was a homing beacon for mental breakdowns.
With a wrenched fore-paw, Birchnose was slated to be out of commission for at least two moons which meant leaving the remainder of Nettlepaw's training up to someone else. Yet when he was told of the change in mentorship, the temperamental tom-cat was quick to refuse. It didn't matter to him if he remained an apprentice for a few extra moons, he had nothing to prove to anyone but his mentor.
Though he didn't receive his warrior name until he was fifteen moons, Birchnose had never been prouder than the moment Nettlepaw was hailed at Nettlestorm before the whole of Thistleclan. The she-cat found that the set-back had worked out in her favor as well since she had missed the window for gaining a second apprentice. Though she was proud and maintained a friendship with him, Nettlestorm had been more than she could handle and she was happy to avoid stress where she could.
With no apprentice to train, Birchnose found herself spending more time around camp. A majority of her free time was wrapped up in the nursery watching the queens with their kits, bringing back the largest and juiciest pieces of prey she could track down for them. Though she was more than happy to do so, the she-cat couldn't help but feel jealous. She found herself pining for that deluge of happiness, the sparkle in a queens eye that only her mate and kits seemed to bring about.
And yet, after baring witness to Yewthorn's tom-cat ways she couldn't help but cringe at the idea of love and matrimony at the same time. What if she wound up heartbroken like her brother's conquests? Birchnose didn't understand why Yew couldn't choose to commit or simply stay away and though she loves him dearly despite his faults - of which there seem to be many as of late - there was no way she could take the pain. It was simply better to never love, than face the possibility of it being unrequited.
Though her mother was overwhelmed with the sheer numbers placed before her, Minkfoot did as any good mate would, providing reassurance at every bump in the night. Yew was the first of them, then Fir, Birch, Cherry, Juniper and Spruce. And she was neither the first, nor the last, nor the only girl. Not dominant, but not a kit willing to shut her mouth and let herself be entirely overrun by the rest of them. Stuck in middle was she.
Birch never did like the spotlight, but she didn't wish to be left out either. She was content to pay close attention to each of her siblings, darting back and fourth between them because Yew insulted Cherry and her younger sister was utterly unimpressed with them all. How she wished they could all just get along. Yet still, like a ball of moss Birch bounced around from sibling to sibling, doing her best to make sure none felt the smarting blows of being overlooked by parents too tired to make sure they each got the same amount of attention.
The molly was a mediator, a nurturer among their motley crew. She humored Yew when the endearing little idiot tried out his so-called swagger in the form of suave words on the lot. Her unwavering loyalty to each sibling individually was quickly noted when the normally docile kit puffed herself up to spew venom at her siblings when they took their teasing of docile Juniper too far.
The sisters had grown close over games of save the queen, and though she was technically the older sister of the two Birch never minded Juniper's want to take care of her in the way a mother would their own kit. Often times when the hustle and bustle of six siblings became too much, the two sisters would seclude themselves to a corner of the nursery and Birch would listen to all the upset and turmoil in her sibling's life.
A giggle here and good-humored roll of the eyes there was enough for the tom to feel confident enough in his conversational abilities to move on to bigger and better crowds. Like Spruce, Birch was happy to sit back and watch, engaging in light conversation - usually jokes regarding their eldest siblings antics - when opportunity arose. And it did. A lot.
At six moons, Birchkit was no more. Now Birchpaw, everything was shiny and new. Given a mentor in the shape of a taciturn molly named Ivywhisker, Birch was increasingly worried that she would ruin the she-cat's reputation for churning out noteworthy apprentices. After all, she was just little Birch, the lukewarm to her siblings hot and cold.
It became apparent all too quickly that without her siblings to play off of, Birch wasn't entirely sure of who she was. She had always been the go-between of the six and now they had each been set upon differing paths. Sure, at night they were together in the apprentice den but with training, meaningful interactions were few and far in between. Simply put, Birch wasn't necessarily needed anymore. And if her own siblings didn't need her to smooth over the ever turbulent waters between them, what was her purpose?
The near mental breakdown that occurred at her revelation that she didn't have an aspiration - all while in the middle of a subpar hunting session - was stopped by a well-placed cuff to the head. That day, out beneath the Great Owl tree, Ivywhisker explained that she didn't have to be a smooth talker, or a great fighter, or anything but herself to be of importance. And, her mentor implored, if she wanted to be great at something all she had to do was put in the work.
Further into her apprenticeship, Birchpaw was out in the territory with her mentor when a pungent, cloying smell crossed her path. Unable to place it - for she had never smelled anything like it before - she had made it a point to ask her mentor what it could be. Ivywhisker was quick to ask questions: what exactly did it smell like? which direction was it? and then she she-cat had high-tailed it back to camp with Birch struggling to keep up.
When they got back, they were met with the sight of fighting. Warriors and apprentices alike were battling hard against an onslaught of foxes and Birchpaw didn't hesitate to dive into the action. Though she wasn't typically one for fighting - due to an underlying squeamishness - the thought of her family or friends falling before the beasts claws drove her to a level of combativeness she'd never experienced before.
From that point on, Ivywhisker made it a point to train her apprentice at least twice a day in using her nose. Birchpaw lit up under her mentor's praise, especially when the warrior told her that a sharp nose wasn't something you could learn, you had to be born with it.
Birchpaw continued her training under Ivywhisker's tutelage until she was thirteen moons old, later earning the name -nose to denote her superb skills in tracking and hunting. She never wanted to sit another vigil for a kit with their life ahead of them, taken from the world before their time because a threat wasn't noticed soon enough.
Next time, though, it wasn't a kit. Maybe if she had been there things would have been different. She might have scented the threat before it was too late. She might have been able to sound a warning. They might have been able to run, or hide, or climb a tree until the foxes were gone. And maybe, just maybe, Minkfur would still be alive. But Birchnose wasn't with her father that day. Cherryleap and Spruceshade were, and even though the two siblings were valiant fighters it made no difference. At the very least, Birch was comforted that didn't have to sit vigil for her siblings and - in the grand scheme of things - she imagined that Minkfur was happy to be reunited with Daisythorn in the starry sky.
Though she felt the loss of both of their parents just as strongly, Birchnose made it a point to be the shoulder her siblings needed. She was met with the usual scathing remarks from Cherryleap, and Spruceshade's silence was typical. But it was Yewthorn that surprised her the most. Her brother seemed to dive into her open paws, comforted by her steady company and - though he wasn't religious in the least - the idea that their parents were looking down on them from above.
Nettlepaw was hard work, though. At first he wanted nothing to do with her, pining her with a cold gaze and simply going through the motions. He didn't seem like he wanted to be part of clan life, yet he had no where - and no one - else to turn to but the cats of the piney woods. It took time, and a wrenched paw - but Birchnose eventually broke through to the tom by breaking his fall from the Great Owl tree. It seemed the place was a homing beacon for mental breakdowns.
With a wrenched fore-paw, Birchnose was slated to be out of commission for at least two moons which meant leaving the remainder of Nettlepaw's training up to someone else. Yet when he was told of the change in mentorship, the temperamental tom-cat was quick to refuse. It didn't matter to him if he remained an apprentice for a few extra moons, he had nothing to prove to anyone but his mentor.
Though he didn't receive his warrior name until he was fifteen moons, Birchnose had never been prouder than the moment Nettlepaw was hailed at Nettlestorm before the whole of Thistleclan. The she-cat found that the set-back had worked out in her favor as well since she had missed the window for gaining a second apprentice. Though she was proud and maintained a friendship with him, Nettlestorm had been more than she could handle and she was happy to avoid stress where she could.
With no apprentice to train, Birchnose found herself spending more time around camp. A majority of her free time was wrapped up in the nursery watching the queens with their kits, bringing back the largest and juiciest pieces of prey she could track down for them. Though she was more than happy to do so, the she-cat couldn't help but feel jealous. She found herself pining for that deluge of happiness, the sparkle in a queens eye that only her mate and kits seemed to bring about.
And yet, after baring witness to Yewthorn's tom-cat ways she couldn't help but cringe at the idea of love and matrimony at the same time. What if she wound up heartbroken like her brother's conquests? Birchnose didn't understand why Yew couldn't choose to commit or simply stay away and though she loves him dearly despite his faults - of which there seem to be many as of late - there was no way she could take the pain. It was simply better to never love, than face the possibility of it being unrequited.