Fire growing in blackened leaves

Tribe of Floating Stones

black ticked tabby with hazel eyes

Fire is a thin, agile she-cat, with a body fit for a prey-hunter. She is long but not lanky in any sense of the word, her body elegant and smooth in form and structure. Her long tail lacks expression, however, and despite the potential for her large ears and eyes to show her mood, they are often rigid and firm in their positioning. Fire holds herself in a way that is incredibly hard to read. This can lead to her having a mysterious way about her, or even being somewhat unnerving to those that rely on body language for conversation.

Despite her lineage of thin furred cats, Fire inherited her father's scruffy, course fur. She is a black-ticked tabby, though she is spotted with faint markings so that she might be mistaken for having a spotted pattern instead. The only location where her spotting is clear is on her cheeks, forehead, legs, and tail tip. Beyond the coloration of her tabby stripes, which is black, her pelt rests somewhere between grey and brown in most areas of her body.

Fire's eyes are hazel in color, a merging of yellow, green, and amber depending on the light. Her face is narrow and her cheekbones are prominent in her face. The she-cat's petite muzzle is dusted in white, and her nose is mostly black colored with a dusty rose core. Her ears are large and stand tall on the corners of her head, leading to a distinctive triangular face shape.

Emotions are a challenging thing for Fire to understand and name. She finds herself often struggling to connect with others, especially those that are freer with what they may be feeling. She is strict and rigid in her attitude, a way of acting that allows her to keep her distance between herself and others.

Above all, Fire values loyalty. She would defend her tribe against anything that might harm it, even if it might mean she became hurt or was killed. While Fire struggles to express her love verbally, she works hard to express love through acts of service. If she were ever to be in a situation where it was her own life or one of her tribemates, she would sacrifice herself in a heartbeat. Even more so, she is willing to do bad things if it is for what she thinks is the greater good.

While Fire struggles with interpersonal connections, she still cares very deeply about the tribe's wellbeing as a whole. She puts her all into her work, sometimes taking her duties to the extreme to her own detriment. She is quick on her feet and has a sharp mind, and makes decisions quickly and with purpose. Even when she makes grand leaps of logic, she is sure in her choices and sticks to her promises.

There is danger in not making connections with others, and it is something that Fire deals with regularly. She tends towards paranoia, often believing that others do not have the tribe's best interest in mind the way she believes she does. She seeks to root out the corruption she believes exists, whether it is real or not. Where she lacks commitment to relationships, she instead obsesses over the authority within the tribe.

Mother: Rabbit that feeds the wolves
Father: Ice that crusts the shore
Mate: Heron, Sumac
Children: Loon, Dawn
Adopted Children: Pebble, Puddle


When the teller was asked to describe the vision he had about Ice and Rabbit's daughter, the teller told of fire, but not a gentle light that flickered among the leaves. The teller spoke of a great wave of orange and white. Of flames raging along a country-side, all foliage turned dark with soot and char. And while their single kit was not the color of flame, her parents wished not to name their only daughter after the death and destruction that followed in the flame's path. No, she would be the beautiful spark and never the fuel. So, the destruction was cut from her name, a memory only for her parents and the teller to hold. Fire Growing in Blackened Leaves was the only kit in her litter, leaving her feeling dreadfully alone as she grew older.

Ice that Crusts the Shore was a gentle father, though Fire remembers little about him. Rabbit that Feeds the Wolves made sure that he was rarely involved in the raising of her kit. Fire never truly heard the details of her father's betrayal. Rabbit spoke little of it and even less of him after the first few weeks of her life. She knew her father largely through the delivery of occasional prey or prolonged glances from across the field outside her den and little more.

Rabbit was a dutiful mother, though she was a strict and serious cat by nature. Fire was sheltered, but she didn't mind. From what Rabbit often described, the outside world was big and scary, and Fire was too young to understand it as anything different. Many days were spent playing by herself in the den, her interactions with her mother rarely more than curt instructions or distant approval.


When Fire grew, she found herself more interested in exploring beyond the den. Her mother did not stand in the way of her adventuring, instead only warning her of dangers as she left. The winter was harsh, and the tribe was submerged in sickness during Fire's youth. Fire quickly recognized why her mother's view of the world was so harsh, and she quietly decided that she agreed.

It was not long before she became a to-be, and the sickness was beginning to fade as spring approached. The stifled joy of her childhood was not lost on her as she realized that she was different than many of the other to-bes her age. They wrestled and romped through the water and grasslands, crying out with glee. Most of her own games were small and quiet, fit to be played alone in a cramped den.

As she began her training, this distinction pushed her from the limelight and towards the sidelines. She was comfortable there, her mind occupied with training rather than the silly games and shenanigans of the other to-bes. She dove into her work, her preference towards the work of a prey-hunter already prevalent in her mind.

As she aged, there were some individuals that she grew closer to. While she was never good at emotionally connecting to others, she did see the value in friendships and acquaintances. Despite their clashing personalities, she occasionally spent time with South as a to-be. She still spent a significant amount of time alone, but the pair did become casual friends as time went on. The cat whom became closest to her, however, was Heron. He was also a playful, fun-loving tom. While Fire would typically avoid such a cat, the tom stuck to her like glue. He began to grow on her after time passed, even if she did not always understand him. She found that she respected him greatly, and as the pair began to grow into fledglings, she found comfort by his side often.

Meanwhile, she dedicated herself to her training. She found that those with temperaments not far from her own were the best prey-hunters to join in their duties. She found Burrow a particularly good teacher in the best ways to fish, even though her lithe, thin body rarely compared to his powerful blows. Sumac was also an influential teacher, and she felt drawn to his natural leadership and the manner in which he held himself. She found him an inspiration; one who she wanted to emulate as she aged.


Late in her moons as a fledgling, Heron confessed his feelings. Fire did not know how to react. Instinct kicked in, and she retreated. She had always been made uncomfortable with topics of emotion, and the idea of confronting his attachment to her was daunting and dangerous. She was not sure if she felt the same way. But ultimately, after moons of trying, she gave Heron a worthwhile response. The pair were fully grown prey-hunters when she accepted his advances. She admitted her confusing feelings towards him. How she had great respect for him, and did care about him significantly. And while she could not say if it was love she felt, Heron gave her the room to explore her feelings and their relationship without judgement.

When Fire learned she was with kits, a pit in her stomach formed. Not only had she declined to state if she was Heron's mate only moments before she was announced pregnant, it was clear that winter would be one that was as dangerous as those before it. Heron stood by her side through it all. Despite her hesitation at the news, the tom was ecstatic. She had known that he found deep pride in his heritage, and the prospect of passing his knowledge and line into a new generation was his greatest dream. Fire tried to match his passion. She declared herself his mate much to his joy. She liked seeing him happy. It filled her with a gentle warmth, something that she could finally place as love.

As a great storm destroyed the sandbar, the pair were forced to rebuild their own den as it had also been destroyed. It was just in time that they completed it, as Fire gave birth to one healthy kitten not long after. Creek spoke of a bird on the water in a still night. Heron worded his name, while Fire simply nodded. Her attention was elsewhere. She felt the familiar warmth within her, something she knew only as love. It grew and grew until she knew she could not live without it. Even worse, however, was the fear that the cold would return.

She clung to her kits desperately at times, but found herself often fearful that she held on too tightly. Convinced that she had done wrong, she pushed herself away over and over, only to be brought back with Heron's soothing words. He also loved their kits dearly, filling their days with joy and playtime and stories. It was something that Fire felt incredibly unaccustomed to. So instead of participating in the play, she cared for her kits in the only way she knew how. She would keep them safe and raise them with strong morals. She would lay down rules to help them grow, and work to make them the best cats they could be. And as the kits began to favor their father, she grew resentful. If Heron shared in the discipline, perhaps the kits would love their parents equally. She kept quiet, not wanting to ruin what her kits and their father had.

That was until Heron fell ill. Fire worked desperately to keep her kits from his side, to keep them from escaping her warm, safe den as her mother had done for her. But they pushed against her rules, enough that she felt helpless except to raise her voice and explain details that kittens were too young to comprehend. Meanwhile, the queen watched as Creek sat and did nothing. He said that the herbs did not work, that others needed them more, that Heron was too ill. That the herbs from RedwoodClan had run dry. All she heard was excuse after excuse. She could not understand how Heron could die when the herb to heal him was right there, in Creek's paws. She wished desperately to know how the herbs worked so that she may heal Heron herself. She wanted desperately to reveal Creek for the liar he was. Either he was cruel in letting her mate wither and die, or he was incompetent as a healer. He had required help from those across the water to bring the herbs, leading others intending to do harm to the tribe across the sandbar. And when he had the herbs, he could not use them. For if he could make them work, surely Heron would have lived.

She stood over her lifeless mate's form; her head canted high in the fresh spring air. Loon mourned, but her mind was once again elsewhere. She looked not on her dead mate, but on his killer. The teller looked on, observing as the tribe mourned the losses of their loved ones. She said nothing of her distrust, allowing the rest of her tribe to be healed by his pleasant lies. But she stood still and strong, unmoving as she refused to recognize the deaths involved in the sickness to be anything but the fault of the teller himself.


Her bitterness grew in secret as the moons passed by. Loon left her clutches, and she felt helpless to stop him. She let him leave and become his own. Without Heron to draw her back to their sides, she felt it impossible to connect with them in the way she had when they were small. They did not listen to her like they used to, especially her son. Loon was a carefree spirit, a reflection of his father. Fire could not see him the same way as when Heron was alive, for now the mirror of her fallen mate only filled her with undue frustration and spite.

Since her kits left her nest for good, she has returned to her prey-hunter duties with fervor. She works tirelessly, desperate to regain the respect that she worries she has lost. The warmth that she felt so long ago was gone, leaving a hollow hole where it once was. She tries to fill it with work, but to no avail. The only thing that fits is distrust and paranoia that the teller is not who he says he is, or that he hides the truth behind his station. She tries to ignore it, but silently keeps track of felines that might feel the same way in the back of her mind.

When the fog descended on the island, Fire's views only became more prominent in her daily life. She watched as prey-hunters died to coyotes and starvation alike. She was desperate to learn proper combat, and began to teach herself the best way she could. She struggled to recall the little stone-guard training she had absorbed. After encountering a predator, herself, she knew that once again the tribe's traditions had failed her. She lost her prey and her pride, forced to run from the giant creature where she may have been able to fight if she had been prepared properly.

Now that Fog has taken control, the sickening feeling within her is only growing worse. She desperately hopes he succeeds where Creek failed. But deep down, she can't ignore that the fog plaguing the island was a curse and never a blessing. Words of revolution lie unspoken on her lips as she waits for the inevitable failures to follow in Fog's footsteps. She seeks those that feel the same and watches solemnly from the sidelines, hoping that she might be able to save the tribe before it is too late.


Not long after Fog's return to the island, Fire is sent on a patrol with Sumac, and a stoneguard named Apple to search for prey. Apple is killed by a coyote right in front of her. Not a moon later, Fire is sent on a hunting patrol with her son and another stoneguard. Both Loon and the stoneguard are killed by hungry coyotes, leaving Fire the sole survivor. In the days that follow, she is visited by Sumac. He convinces her to join his cause in freeing the tribe from Fog.

Sumac continues to gain traction in the tribe, and many join him in pushing for Fog's removal. Meanwhile, Fog and the stoneguards forge a plan to kill the coyotes which results in a catastrophic failure. It is only when a wildfire destroys the tribestone and leaves Fog missing that Sumac finally rises to be teller.

Sumac's role is immediately questioned by many who ask for Fog's body revealed. It is only Fire who knows the truth, that Fog still lives far beyond the tribestone. In Sumac's newfound position, he decides it best to secure his legacy by having an heir. Fire promises to help him create one.

Eventually, the tribe settles into a new normal of Sumac as teller until Sumac announces that preyhunters may only return with prey and that stoneguards are not to share in eating from the prey pile. Many are upset by the announcement and the changing of the old ways. Fire tries to aid Sumac, and helps to punish and report those that defy him.


When Sumac delivers the first kittens of his time as Teller, the kit-mother dies while giving birth. Hemlock, the father proclaims Sumac as her killer and is forcibly brought to the prison island Sumac had created for all dissenters. Without parents, Sumac decides the kittens will be raised by himself and Fire, bringing back painful memories for the she-cat. Even so, Fire agrees to raise them.

Fire does not raise the kits with any love. She feeds them, shelters them, and bathes them, but little more. When they leave her nest, she is nervous and relieved in equal measure, hoping that despite her distance, she had proven to Sumac that she could do as he requested of her.

Fog eventually returned, and Sumac paid the ultimate price for his lies. The ancestors had made their intentions known by denying the russet tom his lives, and now, they took even that one from him in the form of Sunrise's teeth. The only way to conceptualize and rationalize it was fate - a fate that Fire was forced to watch play out, knowing that despite all of her efforts, she had been helpless to prevent it.

It was not long after that she learned she was pregnant with Sumac's heir, another fateful work of the endless so that the tom might never feed his child the lies that his father fed him. Panicked, Fire had no one to turn to. Her tribe thought her a traitor for being Sumac's confidant and continuing his line, and Sunrise had not spoken to her in moons.

On the night of the solstice, she traveled alone to the river of vows to promise a better life for her child - to raise them in a way that did not result in the misery she had carried with her all her life, a misery that had haunted Loon just as much as herself. Everything she touched burned, but not this one thing, not this one last chance to give the tribe something wholely good.

Sunrise found her that night, and they agreed to raise the child together, both wanting to abolish the harm Sumac had done and allow for the forging of a brighter dawn.

Fire struggled to reconnect, but at Sunrise's prodding, she worked slowly and surely to make connections and reacquaint herself with her tribemates. She gave birth to Dawn not long after. Fog described a vision of a Sumac tree, alone on the moor, alight. It burned away in the night, and when it was just ash and darkness, the sun rose in a sea of pinks and purples. Dawn that warms the moor, he was called from then on.


Fire only hoped that she could continue to undue even a fraction of the harm she had done, or at least, to heal a bit of the hurt she carried always within herself.