ara

outsider

longhaired dilute tortoiseshell molly with white

Most of Ara's pelt is a soft bluish-gray, complimented by mottled cream patches that adhere to no single pattern along her flanks. White mitted markings of varying degrees line each of her well-rounded, tufted paws. Even more white etches out a blaze over her muzzle that extends into a neat strip of white along her throat.

Almond-shaped eyes incline evenly on the rugged surface of Ara's triangular face. They're hazel in color and wise in appearance, despite her youth. Her ears are tall and sharp in form, guarded by soft and wispy fur. Fur that's generous in length and thickness, keeping her well-insulated in the cold winters of the islands.

Ara is not diminutive in size and stature. As far as averages go, she's a large, well-muscled cat with sturdy bones. She still has some filling out to do, but she's reached full height at approximately 11.5" at the withers.

Growing up in the tunnels, Ara's youth wasn't easy to navigate. Her wants and desires were, time and time again, put off by her family's need for secrecy. Their safety came before all else. Because of this, Ara takes advantage of what little adventure she can stumble upon. Whether she makes that decision consciously or not, is another thing entirely. She has such a strong desire to break free and spread her wings that she will impulsively chase after even a fraction of that feeling.

The one thing that will always keep her in check is her selflessness. She often sets aside her own personal feelings so that she can adhere to the needs of others, especially when in reference to the greater good. Ara was born with an overarching desire to help those in need, and this instinct was later only fueled by her father.

She has a strong moral compass, which often dictates that she must never act on selfish whims. Yet this constant striving for altruistic goals often puts her last on her own list - if she is on the list at all, which has its own consequences and inner turmoils. So mood swings seen as capricious and arbitrary are actually rooted in such frustrations. She doesn't understand how to process certain areas of her life, or what there is she can do about it without feeling ashamed.

Paternal Great-Grandmother: Asterfur (npc) | cause of death: unknown
Paternal Great-Grandfather: Salmonstep (npc) | cause of death: executed

Paternal Grandfather: Cranewatcher (npc bio) | cause of death: drowned in the tunnels
Paternal Grandmother: Rookflower (npc) | cause of death: old age
Great-Uncle: Stone- (npc) | cause of death: died in battle

Father: Vega (bio)
Mother: Berryfur (npc) | cause of death: greencough

Brother: Altair (bio) (littermate)
Half-Siblings: unknown

---

A past rife with spilled blood, daunting shadows, and vast horizons; the future always just out of reach. Pansykit couldn't help that the heritage she carried in her veins was made up of rebellion and hope. Hope; the worst sin of them all.

She didn't have a say in the matter when her mother sought out the company of a mysterious tom on the border. Only Vega did not walk the line between Clans, but something much more dangerous. Pansykit would come to find out the truth surrounding her birth later in her kithood, when her family made the journey into the depths of the unknown. Passing into the tunnels for the first time, she had no idea the destiny that awaited her and her brother, Gingerkit, there.

Berryfur, who was dying of greencough and knew it, used the last of her energy to guide her kits through the underbelly of LichenClan's territory. It was her last wish for them to be with their father. So Pansykit watched with her new family at her side, as her mother soon passed on. It was Rookflower who drew the young kit unto her, murmuring comforting words of a place called StarClan.

And in the moons that followed, the young molly shed whatever life she would've had. Pansykit became the lost LichenClan kit, mourned by warriors and queens throughout the sea caves. In those echoes, Ara was born. She grew up in the dark of the tunnels, far below warmongering maws; a ghostly reflection in pools of rainwater, graced only by the light of claw moons and the vast, midnight ether.

There, where her eyes grew wide as she took in the array of twinkling stars; they were once warriors whose lives burned brightly, and she knew her mother was watching from among them. There, where her grandmother taught her so much about herbs and where to find them, how to apply them.

And there, in the vaulted tunnels, where her and Altair would listen to the stories Cranewatcher told them of LichenClan. The peaceful ascent and maddening descent of it all. Stories of their lost kin, who had laid down their lives for a just and rightful cause. He promised them that they would live to see a better future for their Clan, LichenClan.

Ara ate it all up. To behold the sun in the sky without fear or shame, to never have to come back to the tunnels again, to race into the dawn beside her fellow clan-mate; she yearned for the day.

Yet, not all were saved by hope and faith and goodwill. The nature of fate is not to be controlled, but influenced. While sometimes there are moments of strong clarity, other times... it comes crashing down on you with all the force of a flood.

Before her passing, Rookflower was able to pass on Egretfeather's warning. It came just in time. Cranewatcher ushered his family higher in the tunnels, toward safety, toward life. Ara had never meant to be the burden of her family, to hold them back in times of need or peril. She'd always thought of herself as a pillar of strength, not unlike the speleothem that held up the caves. But life has a way of humbling the strong. Ara lost her footing on the loose stones. Fear froze her in place as she cried, thinking her life would soon be truly lost.

It was Cranewatcher who came back for her, pulling her away from the torrents and pushing her into the grasp of her father. "The rebellion!" He'd shouted, before the waters took him in Ara's place.

And it dawned on her; she was not the beam that held the roof from caving in on her family, she was the rain that crashed down around their paws. It was her fault that her grandfather died. The future would be ever-bleaker for his absence, and in it Ara despaired. She couldn't remain in the cavern as the same water that smelled of her dead kin dripped all around them. She fled to the outskirts of the island, where the dawn had begun to chip away at the stars. They blinked sadly down at her, and she wailed mournfully to them. In her guilt, she made a tearful promise that would define her every action thereafter; "I won't let anyone else die, Cranewatcher. Not for me, not because of me, not in spite of me!"

Despite the suffrage of her family, or perhaps because of it, she was going to make sure it all meant something. She was going to become a warrior her family could be proud of, that Cranewatcher could be proud of. She has dedicated her life to the cause of the rebellion, staying vigilant to the path the stars lay out for her. But as time and wars have waged on with little to show for her grandfather's dreams, she can feel her spirit rile.