Mistsong

RedwoodClan

Black silver tabby she-cat with green eyes!

one - two - three - four - five - six (thanks to canna for spotting the last three for me!!)

Short silver fur with claw-marks of black mackerel stripes make up the base of Mistsong’s pelt. White patches hide swaths of her patterned fur, leaving tiny islands of color in an ocean of white on her flank.

Her tail and hind legs are primarily tabby, but the white runs up along part of her back. Mistsong’s paws are mainly white as well, with the lack of color dwindling into thin trails before being overtaken completely by silver-and-black further along her arms.

Mistsong’s head is on the rounder side. Her ears are a little big for her head, but they don’t stand out that much, though her left ear is missing its tip after a lost fight with a LichenClan apprentice during the war. A little white mark sits between her eyes, the only one of its kind in the region above her cheeks.

Olive-green eyes are the least notable thing about this warrior’s appearance, their dull coloring a calm counterpart to her flashy coat.

In size, Mistsong is slightly above average. In a crowd of RedwoodClan, she doesn’t stand out, but she is a bit bigger than most cats outside of her Clan. She is lean with the potential for powerful muscles—she just has to build them up.

+ Charismatic, empathetic, observant
- Lonely, dreamy, envious
~ Emotional, reserved

Mistsong is a deeply emotional cat who shoves her feelings down. Reserved by nurture rather than nature, she was taught not to burden others with her emotions, and she rarely gets close enough to anyone to talk about anything below the surface. At her core, Mistsong is lonely and craves strong connections, but she doesn’t trust herself to navigate such relationships.

Her emotions leak out, despite her best efforts—when she hunts and shreds that bird, leaving a scattered mess of feathers; when she takes things too far during battles, claws digging deeper than anticipated, leaving her guilty later; when she invites Clanmates to spar under the guise of training and has to restrain herself. It’s only a matter of time before there are tragic results.

That aside, Mistsong is shockingly charismatic and empathetic. She handles most social situations with grace, and she’s always open to lending an understanding ear. She disagrees with what she was taught in regards to sharing feelings, but it’s so deep-seated that Mistsong struggles with breaking that “rule” herself, though she encourages others to. Observant, she easily sees when others need help and has a good eye for subtle changes in behavior.

Mistsong’s struggles with feeling envious. Seeing others with what she wants out of life makes her feel bitter, and she’ll lash out in small ways, with sarcastic remarks, only to regret or justify it later.

This dreamy warrior longs for an intense romance and litter after litter of kits with “the one”. A big, beautiful family. She has wanted this ever since she was a kit, but she doesn’t understand what it entails—the time and energy it’ll take to achieve and maintain her dream, and that she might not get it “right” the first time—the details are lost to her.

Ripplefang and Grayclaw were joined at the tail almost from birth. They played together, sparred together, and competed throughout their apprenticeships. If you were looking for one, you’d almost certainly find both.

It was no surprise when they announced that they were mates mere days after being given their warrior names.

What did come as a shock was how long it took them to announce Ripplefang’s pregnancy—they never told anyone that it was not for lack of trying.

When the pregnancy resulted in only one live kit, they felt a bittersweet mix of emotions, but disappointment rang loudest.

Others tried to reassure them.

“The first litter is usually small.”

“Don’t worry, you have plenty of time to have more.”

“But look at sweet Mistkit! She’s perfect.”

“You’re lucky to have her.”

This did little to assuage Ripplefang and Grayclaw. They showed love for their daughter, but from a young age Mistkit could tell something was off. She didn’t feel like enough. Couldn’t fill whatever void her parents felt.

“We want you to have little brothers and sisters to play with,” they’d say, thrusting this unexplainable weight upon her shoulders while warning her against doing the same to anyone else.

Her denmates didn’t play with her much, preferring to hang out with their relatives.

She fought for her parents' attention, and over time their gazes shifted back toward each other. They tried and tried again for another litter.

Mistkit became Mistpaw and the gap widened from there. Her denmates had siblings. They’d share stories of visiting their mothers in the nursery, or of their fathers taking them all out for training together.

”What’s wrong with me?” she’d ask aloud in the night, having snuck out of camp. Maybe her ancestors knew. ”Why don’t they want me?”

She burned with envy and felt disconnected from the other apprentices. If she had siblings, at least she’d have cats to connect with.

“What about you, Mistpaw?” they’d ask, then shuffle their paws and retract it with an awkward, “Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot.”

One apprentice told her that her family was cursed by StarClan, and that’s why her parents couldn’t have any more kits. Mistpaw took off the tip of their ear for that comment. Cleaning the elders’ den for a moon afterwards was well worth it.

During the war with LichenClan, Mistpaw clung to her parents and avoided fights when possible. In battle, she often hid, only attacking if she could find an opening to gang up on a LichenClan cat.

Once, Mistpaw was caught out by a larger, stronger LichenClan apprentice; she lost the tip of her left ear that day (the irony was not lost on her; the Clanmate whose ear-tip Mistpaw had slashed off made sure she didn't hear the end of it).

A handful of times, Mistpaw talked her way out of fighting, claiming whatever she could to get the other cat to go away. She couldn't die. She had to become a warrior. Battles were risky, and she hadn't paid enough attention during training to win any one-on-ones.

When RedwoodClan and ThistleClan joined forces to end Minnowstar's life, Mistpaw volunteered to help the medicine cats. She delivered pre-made herb bundles to the healers as they worked and carried injured Clanmates to safety.

Mistsong earned her warrior name late, at fifteen moons, after nearly failing her warrior assessment.

Mistsong began hunting for a mate almost immediately, ready to start having kits. If she couldn’t forge a familial bond with her parents, she’d create her own family instead. A big one. Mistsong would finally please her parents and have the love she’d always wanted.

When she was seventeen moons old, Mistsong’s father Grayclaw died of natural causes. Ripplefang had woken up in the middle of the night; curled up beside her, his body was stiff and cold.

In the moons since her mate’s death, Ripplefang’s attention has shifted focus to her daughter, intensifying the pressure and trying to live vicariously through her.

While Mistsong tries to please her mother, and insists she’s doing everything for herself, something is bound to give.