SCARLET WINGS that carry winter storm

Tribe of Floating Stones

tufty, longhaired dilute tortoiseshell she-cat

Scarlet is not as small or as fast as would be expected of someone in her rank. With a pelt that plumes and flows across a broad back, robust legs that give her an extensive stride, she is actually quite large in contrast to many a hunter. Although she has a naturally squatly stance, she's about 12" at the withers at her full height.

Her lengthy tortoiseshell pelt is thick and tufty. It grows longer around her neck and other extremities. She has cream dappling throughout her pelt, giving it a warmer tone, and the only definitive patch of cream she has is the strip between her eyes. Her tabby markings are classic, marbling across her coat in thick, circular patterns.

Her face is soft in its shape despite the length of her muzzle and the triangular form of her head. There is not a single angle on Scarlet's face that is sharp or rugged. Each of her features is a smooth, delicate transition into the next. Only a sharp, bright yellow gaze contrasts her gentle presence.

The kits born of Cardinal Perching on Snowy Branches and Wildflower that Grows Freely would never know what it was to be held within their father's protective gaze, the rumble of his voice as he taught them right from wrong. Instead, their mother attempted to fill that void as best she could... but no one could ever fill the role he played to those he cared about.

Wildflower had not been claimed as his mate by the time he passed, for they'd only begun to rekindle what remained of the love from their youth. So, when he did not return to her that fateful day (the same day she discovered her pregnancy) and she learned the harsh reality of what became of him, the father of her kits, she fled deep into the moor. So overcome with grief was she that she could not bear to stay, regardless of the circumstances surrounding her.

When she gave birth to five large, healthy kits, Wildflower did not rejoice. She mourned for the life they would never know, that she would never know.

Her heart ached and broke after longing for that which she'd never have. And, as her kits curled up close to her during that first autumn moon, it seemed that they could feel her sadness too. They were quiet and withdrawn bundles of life; they did not mewl out fretfully into the night, they only searched for warmth and huddled so close... as if that might've been enough to keep them together in a time where shadows only grew darker and nights colder.

But when her kits began to wean and they opened their eyes to the barren world around them, something struck Wildflower from her nigh-catatonic state. She allowed herself to find purpose in motherhood, to embrace that purpose.

There would always be an underlying melancholy to Scarlet's memories of her mother, but Wildflower truly loved her kits. She cherished their lives enough to begin to fall back in love with her own. Planning soon to introduce her kits to the tribe and reveal the identity of their father to all, she did not notice the hungry, canid eyes that looked upon them from afar. Watching... Waiting...

The events that preceded Scarlet and her sister's arrival to the Tribe are a dark, bleak, blood-spattered gap in her memory. She knows what happened. She remembers stampeding paws, the terrified yowling of her mother joined by the yelps of something distinctly not-cat, a sickening stench clouding the air (which she'd later learn was the smell of blood), and the distinct absences left in the wake of such things. But she tries, still, to block out those small details which she does remember. Instead she chooses to think on the arrival of a large, silver-striped tom who came to their rescue before they were overcome by starvation or exposure.

Talon, the leader of the Stone Guards, found the two kits hiding beneath a tussock of grass later that night. It was not long after the coyotes had taken their leave. The smell must have drawn Talon out there. Concern wrinkled his brow as he uncovered the small, shivering kits with their wide, scared eyes.

They were taken home, or at least that's what he called it. There, in a nest of warmth and purring and hushed voices, the two kits were taken in by the motherly Maple and her own small brood. Their dirtied pelts were smoothed down, their fretful cries met with comfort, and all the world was how it should be.

The two kits were brought to the Teller's attention, so they could finally be given their tribal names. For Scarlet, the vision had been of a red-winged bird flying just ahead of a blizzard -- never truly engulfed by it but never outflying it either.

Growing up, Talon made sure the orphans knew where they came from. Though he had no knowledge of their father, he knew enough about their mother to at least tell them who she was, how she had served the tribe. The knowledge that Wildflower was a prey-hunter inspired Scarlet, who decided that she would try to follow in her mother's footsteps.

Locust, however, never seemed truly comfortable with Talon and Maple, not like Scarlet was. Scarlet quickly took to calling them 'mom' and 'dad'. She wanted nothing more than to be a part of their family, to fit in amongst them, but Locust was much different. Scarlet tried hard to appease everyone, but in the end she would always go bounding after her sister. Maybe it's because she knows, deep down, that Locust is the only family she has left. Maybe it's their shared trauma that drives a deeper bond between them.

When it was time for them to become to-be's and train in both areas of the tribe, Scarlet slowly began doubting her own potential. She was so sure she wouldn't be allowed to become a prey-hunter. She'd grown to be the opposite of a slender, agile huntress - but she feared life as a stone-guard too. She didn't have the heart to face the coyotes that lurked in the dark. But even hunting she struggled with. The scent of fresh blood brought back the memory of that terrible night, too.

Many cats of the tribe attempted to help her through her challenges, Locust and her adoptive parents among them. She tried a few different ways of coping, finding that breathing exercises helped her the most -- if she could remember to do them. From there, it was just about proving she could be a good addition to the prey-hunters. Scarlet, with her bulk and musculature, could not easily chase after rabbits with their enduring stamina, or leap for birds from the thinnest branches of a tree. She could, however, ambush her prey very well. With her mottled coat of gray and cream, she blends in well on the moor. Once she discovered this method of hunting, she practiced it endlessly until she was learning how to corner rabbits and surprise birds, so they didn’t have the chance to outrun her.

Apparently it was enough to impress; when the time came for her to specialize her training, she was granted her wish. She joined the prey-hunters and, though she stood out among them, she was unbothered by it. She was simply happy to be following in her mother’s pawsteps.

A happiness that hasn’t corroded since that day, not even with the passing of the old Teller, Creek. Nor because of the continued strife the tribe faces. Her point of view on tribe politics is rather disconnected and idealistic in comparison to others. She believes the Clans and the tribe could help each other if they could only see past their differences. She believes the same about the trouble that's brewed between her tribe-mates, though she doesn't know what to do for them.

Throughout her life, Scarlet has maintained an optimistic, dreamy view of what life will be like someday. She doesn’t deny that terrible tragedies have happened to the tribe, but she chooses not to focus on those things if she doesn't have to. Instead, she looks toward the future. She lives on the hope that someday life will be different, brighter.