Thornfall

redwoodclan

large, long-haired tabby tom with green eyes

As a redwood tom, Thornfall is considered as traditional as the redwood tree themselves. He carries a massive build constructed on powerful limbs, ideal for climbing trees with relative ease and delivering stunning blows in battle. His brute strength alone is evident in his barreled chest, wide shoulders and feet, and colossal frame. As tall as his other clan-mates, Thornfall does not stick out like a sore tail. However, in the presence of a smaller conifer cat or lithe sea dweller, his size is formidable one to reckon with. As his namesake indicates, the tom is at ease among the limbs of a tree and has been known for his aerial attacks, as much as his mother detested such moves, due to their unfairness in battle.

Like most redwood cats, his coat is rather dense in nature, which only overemphasizes his massive stature. Some estimate that his fur is about two to three inches in length. His head is adorned with an attractive mane of fur, the tendrils long and wispy from his crown and chest. His stomach, hocks, and tail are also decorated with feathery locks of hair that extend from his skin in a noble fashion. Like his mother and father, Thornfall was born with a rich, chestnut colored fur, his coat warmer in hue around his face, shoulders, and back, while the rest of his fur is cooler toned closer to his toes. His muzzle and flecks of fur on his chest are a creamier, white color, which contrasts delicately with his dark, umber, classic tabby stripes. Like most tabbies, his back and tail adorn the darkest fur across his entire frame.

In the middle of his crown rests the classic, tabby ‘M’, while the rest of his face is covered in softer, more delicate, faded stripes. His eyes are a pale, fern-colored green, which are outlined with the same cream he carries across his muzzle. Thornfall’s maws are as wide and as massive as the rest of him, giving him a much esteemed and noted look. He almost looks lion-like with such a wide, noteable face. Both his ears tufts and whiskers stretch from his face in an unmistakable, alabaster white.

XoY BB Dd AA mcmc tata spsp bmbm ww ii ll CC

Independent - While his sisters were closer to one another as kits, Thornfall liked to do tasks, duties, or even play on his own. This does not mean that he was aloof, or preferred solitude, but merely he liked the satisfaction of figuring out new situations or circumstances on his own accord. He is at home with his own beliefs and thoughts and has never depended on another cat to influence his choices. He is a decisive tom who does not waste time with fickleness or doubt. He trusts his own intuition and is never one to follow a crowd because it is an attractive or favored belief.

Clever - As a doer versus a follower, Thornfall has sharpened his skills as a thinker over time. He is quick to understand, learn, and enact new ideas or concepts. This does not mean, however, that he can easily employ a new battle move or belief system within himself. This only means that he has mastered how to ‘learn’ based on his own strengths and weaknesses and can understand how his mind functions. This cleverness is evident in the battlefield, since over time, he has learned what moves are and are not effective on certain clans and cats. His cleverness has also earned him a position in his clan as a respected warrior due his rational, but blunt, contributions to clan discourse.

Brave - Thornfall has never turned tail and fled in the face of battle. He has always thrown himself into the throes of teeth and claws without a moment of hesitation, which is one of the reasons he is not fond of their current leader. He believes that as a warrior, it is a cat’s duty to their clan, and to the code, to protect it at all costs, even if it risks their own life. While he understands, to an extent, his mother’s desire to abstain their clan from the war, he also believes his mother’s inaction and lack of conviction led to the ultimate downfall of their clan. Real redwood warriors do not exhibit cowardice in the face of a threat; real redwood warriors are fearless, valiant, and bold -- traits Thornfall tries to demonstrate in himself and his children.

Opinionated - With such a disdain for Finchstar, and Redwoodclan’s current political and social climate, Thornfall has become rather assertive and domineering considering his beliefs. At first, he tried to respect his mother’s decision and give Finchtail the benefit of the doubt, but once Lichenclan re-enacted the war, the tom became rather adamant and stubborn about the direction of their clan. He wishes that Redwoodclan would enact their own attacks on the sea dwellers, which he is incredibly outspoken about. He does not care who he offends or belittles with his beliefs, because to him, he is being honest to himself and their current situation.

Overprotective - While Thornfall had the freedom to explore himself and his clan as a kit, he did not allow his children to have the same liberties, which makes him a bit of a hypocrite in nature. Thornfall does not like to be told what to do, but does not falter in telling his children how to ‘correctly’ live their life and has made several decisions for them. This is due to his own fear about their safety, which has only heightened since their mother’s death and the seemingly increasing battles with Lichenclan. His worst fear is to lose one of his children in battle, so he often obsesses about their whereabouts, their relations with their clan-mates, and their skill in battle. While this comes out of an intense love for his kits, he does not realize how his actions are bad for their own mental health.

Cynical - Thornfall was never an optimistic cat, his early life marred by battle and loss, but he wasn’t necessarily overly pessimistic either. This sense of cynicism, mistrust, and doubt came later in life after the death of his mate. Unable to save her, the tom became caustic in nature, almost scornful on occasion. He has a massive distrust for both Finchstar and Redfox and is unable to see them as leaders who have Redwoodclan’s best interest at heart. This has bled into how he views his other clan-mates as well, making him somewhat of a grouch or an unpleasant cat to be around. He has little faith left in his clan or den-mates and believes that Lichenclan will win in the end. He wants to believe that his clan can overcome their follies and beat the sea dwellers once and for all, but it is hard when his life has seen so much death.

Born in the balmy heat of summer, Thornfall and his sisters were welcomed into the forest at a rare time of peace. Lichenclan had not reinstated the war, resources were abundant, and the nursery was full of kits, a promise of renewed life and strength for the redwood dwelling warriors. Both Heatherstream and Gorseheart were attentive parents, their love for their children as powerful as their love for Redwoodclan. Eyes wide, Thornkit would sit and listen as his father told him old stories about the archaic forest, the lions that used to roam the island before the Great Waters. While his sisters, Pebblekit and Sorrelkit, listened between their mischievous moss-ball matches and skirmishes, it was Thornkit who embodied the old lore, vowing to become as heroic and valiant as the first Redwood warriors.

As he became older, Thornkit slowly left the crook of his mother’s stomach, noticing that the she-cat preferred to be out of the nursery when she could, and started to explore the camp on his own. This was not because he detested the company of his more rambunctious and eccentric sisters, but because he liked to learn about the forest on his own terms. He never liked to toss a moss-ball around because it seemed childish or to disturb the medicine cat because he knew the old tom worked hard. It was un-warrior-like, not true to the Redwoodclan traditions and stories. A real Redwoodclan warrior would never dart into the medicine cat’s den and steal their herbs, an antic he admonished his sisters for with a hiss. That said -- the tom still cared for his sisters and watched over them, knowing he would protect them with his life.

It was this sentiment that he got into his first fight with another den-mate. An older kit named Foxkit was harassing his sister, Pebblekit, for being a weirdo. No matter what his sister did, the other she-cat would not leave her alone, so Thornkit took it into his own paws. One morning, when Foxkit was distracted, Thornkit pounced on her back and forcefully bit her ear, drawing blood. The older she-kit whined like a total toad-head, and soon tattled on him, refusing to mention how she started it by being an asbolute mouse-brain. Heatherstream chastised her son, but not without a lesson, one he still remembered as a warrior.

“We don’t pick unfair fights, Thornkit,” his mother meowed, her eyes slanted into a serious narrow. “She started it first!” The small tom pouted, his tail drooping at the thought of getting in trouble for something so stupid. “That doesn’t matter,” Heatherstream meowed, giving her son a disapproving nod. “Even if she deserved it, Redwoodclan warriors are not cruel.” The older she-cat moved closer to her son, her tail lightly flicking his side. “The warrior code asks that we treat each other with honor, even if they are our enemies.” Her nose canted toward the heavens, as if the stars of Starclan were above them. She seemed contemplative of something for awhile before her stare returned to Thornkit. “Words are more powerful than claws, remember that.”

At six moons old, Thornkit was apprenticed to an older tom named Dust-tooth, a senior warrior who had lived through the old Thistleclan battles over the sandy creek. Enthralled, Thornpaw desperately tried to prove himself as the perfect pupil, always showing up to lessons on time, sometimes even earlier than the old tom himself. He never wanted to show his weaknesses, which led to grueling nights practicing his battle moves in the redwood forest long after his mentor had retired for the evening and the rest of the island was asleep. This strictness with himself soon bled into his lessons, and his mentor, noticing the tiredness in his limbs, the sluggishness in his stride, made him a deal he could not resist.

“You can’t keep showing up to lessons like this,” Dust-tooth meowed, a light curl to his lip. Thornpaw shifted on his feet, the weight of the fatigue heavy in his eyes. “I know,” he trailed, his claws slowly unsheathing into the earth. “I just,” his brows furrowed. “I want to be the best warrior the clan has ever seen.” His stare raised to meet his mentors, an earnestness behind his stare. The old tom’s face softened as his ear flicked cautiously to the side, as if he was suddenly aware of their surroundings. “Warriors also need their rest,” he meowed before moving in closer to the tom, his voice uncharacteristically low, almost inaudible over the forest hum.

Thornpaw blinked, startled by his mentor’s sudden closeness. “Uh,” he murmured as he took a step back, but the older tom suddenly bowled him over in a mischievous pounce, his paws firmly on his chest. Gasping, Thornpaw shielded his eyes in the scuffle, but a second hit never came. Slowly, he removed his paws and watched as Dust-tooth leaned in closer to his muzzle, his breath hot against his face. “If you can promise me that you’ll finally catch some sleep, I can teach you what it really means to be a Redwoodclan warrior.” Thornpaw’s brows threaded curiously. A real Redwoodclan warrior? “Ok,” he breathed. “I promise.”

The next dawn, Dust-tooth led him out to the Redwood Graveyard where the cliffs overlooked the sea. Silence stretched between them before the tom turned to him, a serious cloud across his face. “When Mothstar was a young leader, Redwoodclan was different. We fought using the trees,” his eyes darted to the canopies above. “To our advantage, the land that we call home. But,” he meowed as his stare returned. “In the wrong paws? The moves were dangerous, too reckless to use without care." The old tom's voice grew distant. "Too many Redwoodclan warrior lives were lost due to a clumsy misstep or a miscalculated leap." He paused before continuing. "Some would even say they were too cruel to use against our enemies." Dust-tooth snorted. "So they were dropped from training, and mentors, much like myself, were asked to stick to the ground."

Thornpaw’s heart thudded in his chest, an exhilaration that he had never felt before. Why had his father next talked about this before? His stories never mentioned Redwoodclan warriors fighting among the trees, leaping from canopy to canopy like squirrels. “But,” Dust-tooth growled, pulling the tom from his thoughts. “These battle moves are Rewoodclan, just as the trees are to this forest, the lake is to the shore. It is who we are, innate to us like blood.” He moved a few strides closer until he stood over the tom. “My mentor taught me these fighting techniques, just as I will teach them to you.” Thornpaw’s eyes widened, his mouth parting with surprise as he remembered the words of his mother: Redwoodclan cats are not cruel. Still, this didn’t feel cruel? “W-will I get in trouble?” Dust-tooth smiled. “Not if it’s a secret.”

Dust-tooth started to immediately train Thornpaw in these methods, and as the moons flourished, the young tom found himself at ease among the boughs of a redwood tree, his powerful limbs made to scale the trunks without trouble. He trained like this, in secret, for the rest of his apprenticeship, forming an unbreakable bond with the older tom. It was around this time when his mother was appointed as the new deputy of Redwoodclan, a feat Thornpaw had watched with a shimmer in his stare. His mother would lead Redwoodclan, his.

A moon before his warrior ceremony, Thornpaw decided to leave camp on his own in the middle of the night. Unbeknownst to him, his father, who had been on sentry duty, saw him leave. Curious, Gorseheart tracked the young tom, following him out to the southern cliffs. It was here that he watched his son climb up into a redwood tree and practice the ancient battle moves. Startled, the tom watched in a bated silence until his son descended, an hour later, to confront him.

“Was this Dust-tooth’s doing,” Gorseheart rasped, surprising the young tom in the shadows. Eyes wide, Thornpaw whipped around to face his father, a slight bristle over his neck. “Wh-what do you mean?” He meowed, trying to cover the truth with an awkward shift of his feet. “I was --” His father shook his head. “I saw you,” his nose lifted toward the trees. “In the branches.” Thornpaw looked away, a nervous twitch in his whiskers. A silence fizzled in the air between them. “I-I’m not going to hurt someone,” Thornpaw meowed at last, his brows furrowed. Gorseheart released a snort. “No, that’s not it,” his voice trailed into the shadowed forest. Not even the woodland made a sound.

After a few moments, the tom released a slow breath. “Just don’t tell your mother. She wouldn’t like this.” Thornpaw raised his eyes, surprised by his father’s answer. “You’re not mad?” Gorseheart’s stare softened. “No, no.” He laughed a little, amused at the suggestion. “I don’t even understand it myself sometimes. It doesn't make us cruel to want to protect our home, those that we love.” Shaking his head, Gorseheart laid a tail on his son’s shoulder, motioning back towards camp with his nose. “You should be in your nest. It’s late.” Thornpaw sighed. “I know.” His dad’s eyes shone in the darkness. “Besides, I hear Mothstar wants to name three new warriors soon.”

He was named Thornfall after his ability to hunt within the trees. It was ironic really, to be named after the secret he was supposed to hide. But, the tom accepted his name with grace, a small dip of the head. His sisters received their names as well, Pebblefoot and Sorreltail, and the three of them watched the sunset rise together in three adjacent, redwood trees, their chins canted toward the stars. Conflicted, Thornfall tried to think about what his father said, his mother’s wishes, his lessons from his mentor, and when he returned to the earth, Thornfall vowed to never use those moves in battle, at least not until it was needed, when he felt it in his blood.

Three moons later, Thornfall met the love of his life, a dark calico she-cat named Emberheart. He had trained alongside the she-cat as an apprentice, but he had been so focused on his own training that he hardly interacted with her, remembered her even.

But, she remembered him.

More forward than any cat he had ever met, Emberheart came onto him with a chuckle, a faint blush across her cheeks. She had carried a crush on him for moons, and finally, after a dare from one of her friends, she worked up the courage to ask him on a hunt. Confused, Thornfall didn’t even know how to respond. He wasn’t necessarily introverted, or awkward even, but he had never considered himself as someone romantic, let alone attractive to another cat.

But, the moment he followed her out into the woods, he was smitten.

“The deputy’s son,” she teased, an amused shimmer in her stare. Thornfall followed her with a snort, his tail flicking awkwardly between the foliage. “If that’s what you want to call it.” Emberheart glanced over her shoulder, her brows raised. “Well, is that not true? You are her son.” Thornfall hastened his tread, moving so they walked in tandem beneath the stars. “Yeah, but I don’t even think of her like that.” His brows furrowed. “I still see her as I did when I was a kit. She’s my mother.” He shook his head, suddenly embarrassed of his confession. “Sorry, I know that doesn't make sense.” Emberheart leaned in close, her nose inches from his cheek. “No, I think that’s sweet.” She licked him before backing away, his tail beckoning him further into the trees. “I think you’re really sweet.”

A mere moon later, his mother became the new leader of Redwoodclan. Mothstar was old when she had appointed Heatherstream as her deputy, so it was only a matter of time. Heatherstar’s leadership was met with attentive eyes, Thornfall included. He knew how his den-mates talked about her, about the weakness that she allowed within their clan. He heard the whispers between maws, the hostile looks. But, he didn’t want to believe it. What was so wrong with wanting to maintain peace? To uphold a vow? Besides, his mother was the most judicious, hard-working cat he had ever known. It made sense that she was their leader because who else?

Lichenclan attacked almost a season later. The moon was low in the sky, the shadows barely even obscuring the sun when the sea dwellers infiltrated their camp. Thornfall had been raking his tongue over his mate’s shoulder before the camp exploded into a fury of teeth and claws, the forest a cacophony of screams. Leaping into battle, Thornfall fought alongside Emberheart, and soon, his father, but it was futile. Lichenclan won. Wounded and bloodied, the clan rallied around Heatherstar in the shadows, demanding that she take a stand, reinstate the nobleness Redwoodclan once claimed, but she refused. She did not want to break her vow, to spit in the face of her old leader, her friend.

So, it continued, the attacks on their clan, until Bluetail, their deputy, was killed in a border skirmish. Heart-broken and lost, Heatherstar elected her mate, Thornfall’s father, as her second-in-command. Thornfall watched as Gorseheart gracefully accepted the position, his head bowed beneath the shining moon, and then he made peace with the fact that his father was going to die, a lot of them were going to die. Turning to his mate, Thornfall only shook his head, unable to find the words to soothe the fear on her face. It was inevitable.

“I can’t,” Gorseheart murmured, his voice muzzled beneath the dense foliage. “You know it would work,” Thornfall hissed, his head leaning towards his father. “Or at least we’d have a chance.” He leapt then, his massive body moving so that his father could not take another step. He narrowed his eyes. “We need to train them like we used to. We need to return to the trees.” Gorseheart sighed, his eyes flicking toward the camp. “Your mother won’t allow it. You know she won’t.” Thornfall hissed, frustrated with his answer, as much as he anticipated it. “I understand she took a vow, but.” His father fixed him a heavy stare, his eyes down trodden and hurt.

“Thornfall,” he started, his voice suddenly older than he had ever heard it. “She’s only doing what she thinks is best for her clan.” Thornfall released an exasperated snort, turning on his heels. “Yeah, well, so am I.”

His father died not soon after, killed in a battle skirmish. The patrol claimed he had taken his last hit on the Lichenclan side of the border, but he refused to die on their land, so he hauled his own wounded body across the treeline until he could take his final breath beneath the redwoods, a true Redwoodclan warrior. Thornfall returned the condolences with a nod, his eyes hot with tears. Why didn’t he listen? He wondered in the moment and for moons after. He spent the night at his father’s side, next to his sisters and his mate.

Even his mother refused to leave her den, ignoring the traditional naming ceremony for the deputy. She didn’t leave her nest until dawn, taking one last, painful look at his father, before she bounded onto the High-rock and elected Finchtail in his place. Startled, Thornfall watched in a bated silence as the nervous tom accepted the position, an anxious tremble beneath his coat.

“Are you insane?” He breathed, his sister, Sorreltail nodding besides him, while Pebblefoot observed from the outside of the den, her maws twisted into a contemplative grimace. Heatherstar cast him an exhausted look, her gaze tired. “I know it doesn’t seem rational,” she meowed at last, a rasp to her voice. “But, tell me one cat in this clan who wouldn’t do as well as he would.” Sorreltail answered first, a laugh in her meow. “How can you even say that with a straight face? Mother, he’s a coward, a fool.”

Thornfall nodded, his own meow not far behind. “Look, I’m sure it’s hard without father.” Heatherstar’s eyes flashed. “This has nothing to do with your father.” Thornfall twisted his muzzle into a thin line, a frustration hiss in his mouth. “This is what Starclan wants. This is for Redwoodclan.” his mother meowed at last, her gaze dimming in the shadows of her den, her fight finally gone.

Her death was not far behind. As each dawn spilled across the land and each sunset blanketed them in darkness, his mother grew weaker without the presence of his father. The light in her eyes diminished, her gratefulness faltered, and when she was summoned to her last battle, she left as if she knew she’d never return.

She was buried next to Gorseheart, a small mound of dirt between the redwoods. Thornfall nestled his maws into his mate’s shoulder, unable to hold back the tears. He hated his mother for what she did to their clan, the vow she never broke, Gorseheart’s death, but Starclan, he would miss her, the cat he admired most. It was with this shattered heart that he returned home with a desire he had never felt before. He wanted to have kits, a life to heal the dead. So, a moon later, Emberheart found herself heavy with his children, and for the first time in a while, Thornfall was excited for the future.

But, it wouldn’t last.

Lichenclan attacked, and this time, his sister, Sorreltail died, her claws locked in a heated battle with a rotten, Lichenclan tom. He had no mercy, no remorse. He shredded her throat and let her bleed to death on the shore. He and Pebblefoot mourned her death in the shadows of the redwoods, their heads bent together while they cried, aching for the sister who would never return. While he had not been close to Pebblefoot before, Sorreltail’s death bonded them through trauma, their shared aches and hurt. Pebblefoot vowed then to be there for him, to have a presence in his kit’s lives; and when Cloverkit and Tansykit were born, she was there to receive them, her heart as full as his.

Thornfall tried to be an attentive father, to share the stories his father told, to be as judicious and fair as his mother, but it was hard. He wrestled with discipline, sometimes being too hard when he should be soft and too soft when he should be hard. But, where he lacked, Emberheart flourished, and both of their children became apprentices at six moons old, the resilience of their Redwoodclan blood evident in their ambitious dreams and desires.

A moon later, Lichenclan decimated their camp, a mere evening after the Gathering. Thornfall wasn’t even fully awake yet, his mind still reeling from the stranger who had just left their camp. He didn’t even know what to think about this so-called-tribe? Let alone did he have the time to prepare himself for battle, his coat bristling as the brutes attacked their home. Startled, the tom quickly licked his mate’s forehead, wishing her well, before he dove out of camp, wrestling with a Lichenclan foe. It wasn’t until the sea dwellers retreated did he know it would be their last touch, their last moment.

Emberheart was dead.

He didn’t even know who did it. He only knew then that Redwoodclan couldn’t be the same. The vow had to be broken. It didn’t matter how his mother felt or what the code said. He wanted to retaliate. He wanted all of Lichenclan dead. For the firs time in his life, he truly resented his mother, hated her for her feeble heart. He finally understood the whispers in his clan, the den-mates of his who wanted Finchstar's era to end.

The moons following his mate’s death Thornfall fell into a deep depression. He hardly ever left his nest, his coat disheveled and matted. Food was impossible to choke down. Even worse, his kits, his children felt abandoned, as if they had lost both of their parents in one horrible event. Cloverpaw closed into herself and became distant, words alienated on her tongue, while Tansypaw reacted with violence, a rebellious streak in his blood. He wanted nothing to do with Thornfall, furious that he would do this to them, to himself. He was humiliated, embarrassed of his father, and Thornfall couldn’t blame him. He was embarrassed of himself.

It was Pebblefoot who finally nursed him back onto his feet, rehabilitated him back into the clan. She soothed the ire out of him, talked him back down from his threats. Lichenclan had to be dealt with, she acknowledged. But, not like that, not like them. Thornfall listened, begrudgingly at first, but the more his sister meowed, the more it reminded him of his mother, and the conflict in his heart kindled like a flame. He understood both sides now, the desire to draw blood, to kill to feel alive, and the desire he had carried as a kit, to become the embodiment of his clan, his mother, his father. Redwoodclan was noble, that much he knew.

As his children become warriors and Lichenclan continues to attack, unrest flourishes within the clan. Some warriors want to attack, to end Lichenclan once and for all, to taste the blood of the brutes who took their own, decimated their families. Others want to defend his mother, the warrior code she followed without waiver, without doubt. To them, Redwoodclan is far nobler, better than the sea dwellers, to ever retaliate with such horrific intent. But, Thornfall knows that the answer is somewhere in between, a delicate balance of what was banned and what exists within them now: a Redwoodclan that has yet to be discovered.