Storm by which flowers bloom

Tribe of Floating Stones

slender tabby she-cat with amber eyes

Storm hasn't quite had time to grow into her frame and finds herself standing lanky and awkward. Paws just a bit too big to look quite right, skinny legs and body that haven't finished putting on weight, and a lengthy tail that seems to get in the way more often than not. She stands taller than most her age but doesn't quite tower over the crowd.

While her body might set her apart from the average cat, her pelt is decidedly average. Short, soft fur sports a marbled tabby pattern. Dark brown stripes steak her frame, thicker along body and thinning out along her face legs, and tail, all over a muted base somewhere between gray and brown. She would have been picture perfect standing alongside her family, not a hair out of place to tell her any different.

Storm's face is just as long and sharp as the rest of her body. Where other cats might have rounded fluffy cheeks, Storm's almost appear sunken and stretched. Large, widely spaced eyes are book ended by sharp cheekbones that lead down to a small, pinched muzzle. Her eyes are muted much like her coat - a muddied amber that only truly show their shine when they catch the light just right. Ears just a bit too big for her head constantly flick from side to side. Long white whiskers make an effort to widen out her features but don't hit the mark.

Loyalty was a staple lesson for anyone in Storm's family. Early on, she was taught how important it was to work together - how essential it was for survival. Now, more than ever, when Storm finds someone worth their while, she sticks to them like glue and you'd be hard-pressed to break that bond.

As time went on it became apparent that she was quite patient in nature. Patient with her training, patient with others. When it took a little longer for her to get something right, Storm By Which Flowers Bloom wasn't to quick to agitate or give up. Instead, she pushed on with an eagerness to learn. With others, when having to explain something or work together on a task, Storm does her best to be understanding of mistakes - choosing not to berate others for wrongdoings - and hopes that others will do the same for her.

Despite her best efforts to put up a friendly face around others, Storm remains quite solitary. Even when it would benefit her to have some company - hunting, training, for the purposes of safety or just to fill the quiet moments - Storm sticks to herself and pulls away from the group whenever possible. This means whenever she needs help, she refuses. When she sprains paw hunting and it would be better to send someone for help, Storm sticks it out and presses on, to her own detriment. Having others around leaves her open to vulnerability, she says. A stone-cold wall to connection that she parades as a self-sufficient, do-it-yourself attitude.

Since the death of her family, Storm has become quite melancholy. Through the day and the night, a weight hangs heavy over her head and her heart. More often than not, it is simply that. A weight. A gnawing in the background. Sometimes, though, the feeling grows. It starts to drag her down and Storm becomes sluggish. It may last a day, a week, a moon. The longer it lasts, the more Storm begins to slack in her duties and draw away from the world. On the worst days, Storm squirrels herself away in her den and refuses to come out, scarcely able to drag herself out of the nest.

Storm By Which Flowers Bloom was not born into a large family by any means, but one full of love, warmth, and comfort all the same. Storm found no shortage of attention wherever she went. As the only kit in her litter, Storm's mother made an attempt to keep her reigned in on a short leash but unfortunately for her, the kit had a tendency to take more after her uncle's adventurous ways; somehow always managing to slip away in search of something or someone new.

Storm began her training as a to-be full of life and excited to be the next of her family's long line of prey-hunters. However, sickness caught up to her quickly and left her plans in shambles only a moon into her training. She watched as those around her began to succumb - at first, it was just the clearing of throats trying to get rid of an itch. Before long, her grandparents and great aunts drew labored, rattly breaths while Storm remained untouched. Her uncle and mother rushed about, trying desperately to do what they could and she tried to help but was quickly ushered away.

Most of these days were shrouded in haze. Terrible, heart-wracking anxiety plagued her body as she could only hope for her family to get better. A short hunting trip took her uncle away - hunting - and when he got back, Storm found herself leaving too. Her mother was sick now. They were the only healthy ones left to make a trip to Sick Rock. Brief goodbyes, fleeting 'I love you's, and they were off. By the time they returned with they help they needed, it was too late.

Storm tip-toes now. Unsure of where to go from here or what to do, she pursues her training with a half-hearted enthusiasm. When she looks at her uncle, she longs to try and foster the warmth of the familial connection she remembers from kithood but that yearning is soon shrouded in a heavy, angst-riddled fog that sends her in the other direction. A guilt hangs over her head - why it's there or how to get rid of it still eludes her.

With warmer moons and the coming of Greenleaf, Storm hoped that should be able to brighten up alongside the new days but found no luck. A patrol to the clan island brought mixed emotions for many and Storm was no exception. It was an opportunity for many things - good and bad. Hearing her uncle's name called set her heart racing. Half of her wanted to beg the Teller to let her go along while the other half was glad at the prospect of not having to tiptoe around each other.

Reluctant to make things awkward, Storm did not bid her uncle farewell - a choice she would come to regret in the time before his return. As it always seems to, everything tumbled into chaos with his departure. The passing of Creek sent Storm reeling. The fog and coyotes too, she couldn't help but wonder if they were being punished. Perhaps they weren't meant to meet with the clans and this was their warning?

The patrol's return did little to ease her worries but she was grateful for her uncle's return. With prey still scarce and coyotes still abundant, Storm wonders if Fog is truly who is meant to lead the tribe. However, wanting to trust their head prey-hunter at least, Storm reluctantly accepts Fog's leadership for now.