Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me…😳 Oh, hey. What's up! Didn't see you there…Welcome to the TA swamp, bog, Shrek 2 edition. Everything's a mean, green, cat-fighting machine! The true TA experience is just watching Wish go more and more insane every month. Other than our Shrek-tastic new skin, the March Announcements is full of new-leaf goodies, such as the New-Leaf Gathering, Writing Prompts, March Patrols, annnd *drumroll* the TC vs. RWC Retaliation!
The Apostles is a warrior cats roleplay based in northern Wisconsin. On Lake Superior, the wild cats have made the Apostle Islands their home. It is on these islands - Rocky Island and South Twin Island - that the clan and tribe cats have lived in a peace and harmony that ebbs and flows with the tide.
But as the tides turn, so does the truce that binds them to one another; and as the water raises, a darkness follows, an evil that will end in bloodshed and violence.
This thread contains shortened biographies of important figures who have either impacted the culture or history of the island. Whether these cats have influenced specific clans, the tribe, or individual characters, their actions have altered the course of history and contributed to the current island climate, benevolent or malevolent in nature.
The content in this thread is considered canon. It is a companion piece to the Island Timeline and acts as an extension to our lore. Biographies will be added to this thread as they are written. If members have a NPC request, please reach out to a staff member, and we can collaborate on a bio.
Note: These characters also have canon descendants. If you are interested in RPing one of them, visit our Canon & Plot Adopts.
BUILD: Like most Redwoodclan warriors, Heatherstar was a tall cat, with long, graceful limbs. Her build, however, was much more lean and lithe than a redwood tom with brutish muscles.
COAT: Heatherstar carried a rich, chestnut brown coat. Her chin and underbelly were a much softer cream color, while her distinctive, umber tabby stripes spiraled across her back in a spotted pattern.
FACE: The she-cat had a sharp, triangular face with defined cheek bones. Strikingly, her ears sat closer to the top of her head, which gave the she-cat a very pointed look. Her forehead was marked with the classic tabby 'M' while her eyes were a deep, yellow-green in color.
PERSONALITY
JUDISCIOUS: Heatherstar was a rational cat, who was known for her fair and contemplative decisions. She was not a rash leader, and instead, was sensible with how she lead her clan. Her emotions rarely interceded with her actions, and she generally carried a level head on her shoulders.
HONORABLE: The she-cat strictly adhered to the warrior code and had a strong moral compass. She was compassionate in her views on outsiders and condoned violence that was not justified. She never wanted to force her warriors into a battle that risked innocent lives.
STUBBORN: Heatherstar was boar-headed in the sense that few could make her alter her beliefs, values, or even her day-to-day routines. She was a cat of habitual nature, who believed that her decisions were often the correct decisions.
RIGID: Due to her ethics and hard-working nature, the she-cat was rigid in her routines and decisions. She did not like to break her word or retreat on her promises. While this can be a beneficial trait to some, this led Redwoodclan to its downfall, as the she-cat refused to force her clan into a war she did not believe in.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Heatherkit was born to Sparrowstrike and Darksmoke, two level-headed redwood warriors who were active in their kits' lives. With two sisters, Pebblekit and Batkit, Heatherkit was born into a litter of she-cats. While her den-mates like to terrorize the clan, as kits do, Heatherkit and her sisters tended to the elders and did chores for the medicine cat to 'earn their keep.' The three sisters never minded the work because their clan-mates rewarded them with stories and a sense of accomplishment.
APPRENTICEHSHIP: At six moons old, Heatherpaw was assigned to train under an older tom named Russetfrost. He was a reserved warrior, who often said little, which drove the she-cat insane. She liked conversation and learned best in an active environment, where she could contribute to her lesson as an independent thinker, and Russetfrost offered her little of that in return. It was cold instruction with little constructive feedback.
However, when she was around nine moons old, she was able to crack the old tom's shell. They were on a hunt out in the Redwood forest with another warrior named Gorseheart when an adder struck out of the underbrush to bite Russetfrost. Instead, Heatherpaw intervened and killed the adder before it even touched the tom. Startled, the old tom started to see the young she-cat in a much different light and their relationship as mentor and apprentice grew. Her bravery also attracted the attention of Gorseheart.
WARRIOR: Named for her athleticism and fast feet, Heatherstream became a warrior at twelve moons old. Around this time, the island was in a rare era of peace, so the she-cat lived her first three islands with little bloodshed and war. Instead, Redwoodclan flourished, their summers filled with kits, and their winters free from disease.
A few moons after her warrior ceremony, Heatherstream started to become friends with the warrior who had been with her when she saved her mentor from the snake: Gorseheart. The tom was almost fifteen moons older than her, but the two of them had an undeniable chemistry. While she liked to live her life based on a strict routine and was more extroverted in nature, Gorseheart was more spontaneous and reserved. The more she was with him, the more his humorous and fun side became evident. A season later, the tom confessed his love for her, and she confided she felt the same.
The two of them did have kits until Heatherstream was around four seasons old. She felt that her duties to her clan called her first, and it was not until her sister, Pebblefoot, died at the teeth of a fox, did the she-cat felt a sudden familial desire. She asked Gorseheart for kits the dawn after her death. Her children were born two moons later: Sorrelkit, Thornkit, and Pebblekit.
DEPUTY: When Heatherstream was around five seasons old, she was elected as the next deputy of Redwoodclan. The previous deputy, Ambertail, had decided to retire to the elder's den, and due to Heatherstream's tireless work-ethic, adherence to the warrior code, and overall love for her clan, she was the obvious choice.
The leader, Mothstar, who had lead the clan for almost a decade, was an older she-cat. She had led the clan during the old Thistleclan conflict and knew the trauma of endless war. She did not want to see her innocent clan-mates suffer or die, and while Heatherstream had seen few battles in her life, she vowed to hold the same values. If she could keep her warriors out of a senseless war, then she would.
LEADER: Mothstar died one season after Heatherstream was named deputy. The old she-cat succumbed to a ruthless infection caused by a seemingly harmless rat bite. If she would have been younger, the she-cat would have been able to fight off the infection, but due to her old age, the wound claimed her final life.
After receiving her nine lives, Heatherstar quickly established herself as a leader who was uninterested in conflict, but could hold her own at the falls. She immediately bonded with the older and kinder Froststar, but had reservations for Sagestar. Despite his seemingly friendly words, there was something about the tom that made her feel uncomfortable, as if a sinister shadow followed him. Even her deputy, a senior warrior named Bluetail, told her to keep her distance from the tom. She continued to make small talk with Sagestar, but she did not trust him.
During the second season of her leadership, Lichenclan launched their first attack on Redwoodclan. Heatherstream was blindsided, and to her horror, her clan lost. Moons of peace had left her clan soft, and with an ire in her heart, the she-cat went to the next Gathering and declared an end to their decade-long truce. However, the she-cat refused to launch an attack of her own. She had made a vow to Mothstar. She would not make her clan fight a senseless war.
Around the same time, Heatherstar decided to take on an apprentice named Finchpaw. While the she-cat had trained numerous cats before, there was something about the young tom that fascinated her. He was ridiculously nervous and would constantly fall victim to fits of anxiety, but he also carried a generous heart, often bringing her gifts to apologize for his behavior. He had a love for their clan, one that she recognized in herself, and the two formed a strong bond.
As Lichenclan refused to back down, Heatherstar ached for her young apprentice and for her clan. She did not want to lose them. Sagestar continued to launch attacks on Redwoodclan, claiming that he would end his reign of horror if Heatherstar gave up the Mooncave and the territory surrounding it. She refused because she did not believe that one clan should have sole control over Starclan, and also because she did not trust him.
Redwoodclan continued to suffer, and a few moons after the first attack, Bluetail was killed. Distraught, Heatherstar decided to elect her mate, Gorseheart as her deputy, due to his status as one of her oldest and most faithful warriors. However, the she-cat feared that this meant her mate was marked like an omen, and soon, he would be next.
As the war continued, Redwoodclan lost more and more senior warriors, and when Gorseheart was killed a season later, Heatherstar entered her den, alone, and did not exit until the dawn threatened to drown the forest in red. As she watched her clan anxiously await her decision, a finch fluttered down from the trees and landed in front of her den's entrance. The bird ruffled its feathers, oblivious to the violent word that exited outside of the trees, and then it flew off.
Heatherstar elected Finchtail, her former apprentice, as her next deputy. Few redwood warrior voiced their opposition. Their warriors were dead. Leaf-bare was on the horizon. The clan then entered the winter with few resources. Finchtail, although nervous, proved to be a fruitful deputy and did what he could to allocate food. Despite their efforts, more Redwoodclan warriors succumbed to starvation. Their only solace was that Lichenclan retreated due to the extreme weather.
As she reached her ninth season on the island, Heatherstar carried little will to live. Even with her children, grand-children, and few clan-mates at her side, the she-cat ached for her dead mate; and when she was called to enter the first border skirmish of new-leaf, she knew it would be her last. With a final word with Finchtail, the she-cat threw herself ferociously at Minnowstar and fought her until the Lichenclan leader sunk her teeth into Heatherstar's throat and ended the tabby's life. The first cat she saw when she opened her eyes, the skies filled with stars, was Gorseheart.
BUILD: Gorseheart was a massive tom, even for Redwoodclan standards. His brute force came from his wide, barreled chest, and sturdy, well-muscled limbs. He was a immovable force on and off the battle field.
COAT: The massive tom had a dense, feathered coat that only extenuated his mass. It was almost wheat brown in color and carried rich russet, mackerel stripes that ran primarily over his face, legs, and tail. His back was much lighter in color and had sparser, less noticeable stripes.
FACE: While enormous in size, the tom carried a more narrow, angular face, his forehead wider than his muzzle. His ears were also a bit larger than usual, while his eyes sat brilliantly across his face, their hues a vibrant, captivating green with hints of yellow.
PERSONALITY
PATIENT: Gorseheart was a relaxed tom who rarely let his emotions control him. This allowed him to be an excellent mentor, who could easily empathize with younger cats and assist them with their faults. He was never rash with his decisions, and met most situations with a calm and measured outlook on life.
NURTURING: Goreseheart had a kind and generous heart. He loved to care for clan, whether that was for his apprentices, his mate, his children, or even his den-mates. He was known in the clan for his attentive ear and the comfortable aura he carried with him wherever he went. He could easily diffuse a violent situation and knew how calm even the most cold and malicious warriors.
RESERVED: Unlike his mate, who could sometimes be too stubbornly blunt and self-righteous, Gorseheart was almost too reserved and modest at times. He would often let his clan-mates walk over him if it was too troublesome to correct them; and while he was a kind and attentive mentor, it was somewhat too easy for his apprentices to run the show.
COMPLAISANT: When it came to the war with Lichenclan, and the affairs of his clan, Gorseheart was too amiable. There was almost an obliviousness to how he viewed the war and how it decimated his clan. Harsher active should have been taken with the sea-dwellers, but Gorseheart and Heatherstar never devised their own scheme to end the war and Minnowstar's villainous reach. It was almost much too late by the time it was even considered. He never wanted to defy his mate's stubbornness, and it was this passiveness that eventually led to the tom's untimely death in battle and Redwoodclan's horrendous defeat.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Gorsekit was the sole kit from his litter. Born massive in size, it was no surprise to the clan's medicine cat, or Gorseheart's mother, Specklestorm, that he was the only kit in his litter. Both his mother and father, Sootwhisker, were much older warriors at the time of his birth, and he was their fourth and final litter. With numerous older brothers and sisters, and several kit-mates in the nursery, Gorsekit never found himself alone. From the moment he could talk, he liked to converse with his clan-mates and learn about the clan he soon came to love and cherish. He was a well-behaved kit, who never disobeyed or dared to leave without his mother's permission. This made him well liked within the clan from almost the start.
APPRENTICESHIP: When he was six moons old, Gorsepaw was apprentice to a younger warrior named Hornet-tooth. He was rash, indecisive, over-critical, and sometimes cruel with his lessons. The older tom was dealt a bad blow in life, and took his sorrows out on his clan-mates with his bitter attitude and uncontrollable ire. He was not ready for an apprentice, but Gorsepaw reached his sixth moon at a time when there was an over-abundance of apprentices and a shortage of warriors to train them.
Gorsepaw spent the next six moons in a reserved diligence. He worked as hard as he could to make sure his mentor was never insulted or maddened. As a result, Gorsepaw developed a rather mature sense of patience and intuitiveness, since he often had to read his mentor's nonverbal cues in order to predict his mood. However, it was also mentally exhausting for the tom because he lived his apprenticeship in a reserved fear and state of paranoia, and he was not allowed to have fun like the other apprentices. When he neared his warrior ceremony, he vowed never to become as cruel of a mentor as Hornet-tooth.
WARRIOR: Despite the horrible relationship he had with his mentor, Gorseheart became a warrior at twelve moons old. He received the name 'heart' for his charisma and overall likeableness. His clan-mates respected him and saw a genuine tom beneath the reserved smile. Around this time, both of his parents retired to the elder's den, and Gorseheart made sure to visit them as often as he could.
About five moons after his warrior ceremony, Hornet-tooth died in a border skirmish he started with Thistleclan. It was reported that the tom provoked a nearby patrol, which ended with his death. Gorseheart did not know how to feel about the tom's death, and for some reason, a cloud of remorse shadowed him. While he knew it was not his responsibility, the tom always wondered if he could have saved the troubled tom somehow. Shortly after his mentor's death, Gorseheart received his first apprentice, a meek she-cat named Hollypaw. With his mentor's death on his mind, the tom made sure to be attentive to the introverted she-cat and cultivate an environment in which she could flourish.
When he almost twenty-four moons, the tom accompanied an older warrior Russetfrost, who was known for his cold-shoulder and few words, and his apprentice, Heatherpaw. Gorseheart had little interaction with the she-cat due to their difference in moons. However, the she-cat soon stole his attention with her sudden bravery when an adder leapt from the bushes to attack her mentor. Without a beat, the she-cat dealt the snake a viscous blow and saved her mentor from a horrid trip to the medicine cat's den and potential death. While Gorseheart did not seek out Heatherpaw immediately, he found that he admired her confidence and love for their clan.
A few weeks after incident with the snake, Gorseheart proudly watched as his first apprentice received her warrior name as Hollystep. It was a triumphant moment for the tom, and it was then that he knew he had found his niche. He loved to work with apprentices and asked Mothstar if he could immediately train his next. He then received his second apprentice, a tom named, Owlpaw, who reminded him of his former mentor, Hornet-tooth. The small tom was bitter and cold, tormented by the death of his parents. However, unlike Hornet-tooth, Gorseheart vowed to show him love and understanding, which slowly allowed the tom to become less hostile and kinder to his den-mates.
When he was around twenty-seven moons old, Heatherstream received her warrior name and moved into his den. A bit meeker in nature, Gorseheart did not approach the she-cat until a few moons after when they were both tasked to battle train their apprentices. Heatherstream was a new mentor, and did not know how to best guide her apprentice, an obedient she-cat named Palepaw. Offering to help, Gorseheart and Heatherstream took their apprentices to the bear stones to train.
It was there Gorseheart noticed that his apprentice, Owlpaw, had an obvious crush on Heatherstream's apprentice, Palepaw. Amused, Gorseheart commented on this to Heatherstream, who found the entire situation hilarious. A friendship budded between the two of them, Heatherstream much more brazen and stubborn in nature, while Gorseheart was more reserved and relaxed. However, the more time he spent with the she-cat, the more she coaxed a fun, spontaneous side out of him, and he soon realized all he wanted to do was make her smile.
A season later, Gorseheart took Heatherstream on a stroll toward the southern cliffs, and while he was incredibly nervous, he worked up the courage to confess his love to her, and to his utter relief, she felt the same. The two of them did not have kits until two season later after the death of Heatherstream's sister, Pebblefoot. Melancholic, the she-cat returned to their nest after the dawn of her sister's death and asked him for kits. Gorseheart only licked the top of her head in silence. It was an unspoken agreement. He had wanted children for moons, and since their first conversation as warriors, he would do whatever he could to dry her tears and mend her shattered heart.
Their kits were born two moons later: Sorrelkit, Thornkit, and Pebblefoot, two she-cats and a tom. Gorseheart was an excellent father, often more doting than his mate. He wanted to make sure his children were raised in a nest with kindness and love, the same his late mother and father showed him as a kit. He would tell them stories, take them for small treks in the forest, and teach them about the clan he and Heatherstream loved.
A season after the birth of his children, Heatherstream was chosen as the next deputy of Redwoodclan. Gorseheart was elated. He could not be more thrilled for his mate. Since the first time in the forest, so many moons ago, he had admired her bravery, her tireless work-ethic, and her love for the clan. For the first season of her deputy-ship, Gorseheart served as her confidant. Whenever the she-cat doubted herself, he was there to confirm her decisions and admonish her insecurities.
Near the end of the season, Mothstar returned to Starclan, and Heatherstream became the new leader of Redwoodclan. At first, Heatherstar asked Gorseheart if he would like to be her deputy, but the tom refused. He did not want to have that sort of responsibility, and instead, he recommended an old friend, a tom named Bluetail. Heatherstar agreed, and Bluetail was elected as her first, faithful second-in-command.
For the first season of her leadership, peace continued across the island, and Gorseheart started to train his fourth apprentice, a small tom named Mallowpaw. Like Hollystep, the tom was meek and had little self-confidence. However, with Gorseheart's guidance and nurturing heart, he slowly came out of his shell and developed as an excellent hunter. It was around the end of his apprenticeship when Lichenclan attacked. The assault was completely unprovoked, and to Gorseheart's horror, his apprentice was severely wounded in the attack. The medicine cat did his best to try and save the small tom, but the injury was fatal. Mallowpaw was dead by dawn. Disheartened, Gorseheart refused to take on another trainee, too traumatized by his loss, and the remorse that he could have done more to save him.
Heatherstar went to the next Gathering enraged. She declared an end to their decade-long truce with Lichenclan, but she refused to launch her own attack. She told Gorseheart that she believed it was the lowliest act their clan could do, and too melancholic to disagree, he only nodded his concession. A part of him wanted to take out his ire on the sea-dwellers, but he knew his mate would never do it, so he remained silent. He loved her too much and feared that if Redwoodclan became more hostile with the other clans, he would lose her and his children to the war.
Lichenclan continued to attack their clan, moon after moon, and Gorseheart watched as his clan-mates died around him. His heart ached for both his clan and his mate, and as another moon waxed and waned, Bluetail was killed in battle. With tears in her eyes, Heatherstar asked Gorseheart to become her next deputy, and with a heavy heart, he agreed. He knew his mate needed him, so he decided to take the oath, as much as he didn't want to.
DEPUTY: Gorseheart was a calm and collected deputy. He was very attentive to the needs of his clan and quickly developed a routine that was fair to his warriors. His den-mates felt comfortable sharing their concerns with him, and this fostered a better connection between Heatherstar and her clan-mates who wanted to formulate an attack on Lichenclan in retribution. She still refused to start a battle with the other clan. However, Gorseheart was able to convince her that their clan had to train harder. So as a result, Redwoodclan started to enact more battle lessons between their warriors and their efforts in the war at least became better.
Six moons later, Gorseheart became aware of a young tom named Tigerpaw. His old mentor, Frostshine, had recently fallen ill and died as a result of her disease. Without a mentor, the tom was passed around from warrior to warrior, which only aided in his lack of motivation and undeveloped skills. Interested in the tom, Gorseheart came out of his own 'mentor retirement' to train him. With a little patience and gentle guidance, Gorseheart found real ambition within him, and the two fell into a natural partnership. Even as the war continued around them, Gorseheart reveled in what he could draw out of apprentice, and when he was named Tigerpool, he never felt more honored to have steered him there.
Despite this moment of contentment for the older tom, the war continued, and as more and more senior warriors died, and his bones ached with wear, Gorseheart feared he would be next. The dawn before his final battle, the tom watched his mate rest with a shimmer in his stare. It was as if he knew he was not far from this world. With a tender lick over her crown, he bent down, whispered I will see you soon, my love, and left for battle, his son at his side. A band had seen the Lichenclan warriors near the border, a screech in their throats, and without a beat, Gorseheart threw himself into battle. Even as he fought, the tom kept his moves noble, and it was not until near the end of the battle when a Lichenclan tom scoured his fangs into his throat. Gorseheart tried to withstand the horrendous wound, but even he could not avoid the final call, so with his last breath, he crawled back to Redwoodclan soil and died on the land he loved.
BUILD: Marsh-heart embodied the Redwood clan stature in all ways but practice. Tall, large, and muscular, the tom carried around unlocked potential. Broad shoulders accompanied a large and plush belly. Even Marsh-heart’s paws were thick. His form was soft, from his time in the medicine cat den, where all his edges were rounded and rolls accompanied his chest and stomach. With a low center of gravity Marsh-heart was grounded, not clumsy, and excelled at climbing trees and digging.
COAT: Plumy and dark, Marsh-heart’s coat was long. It was dense with a serene, cloud-like softness. The medicine cat was a black tom but had undertones of ruddy browns and other warm neutrals. The warmth was particularly found around his torso, mane, and haunches. A more obsidian black concentrated around his face.
FACE: A broad, round face was draped in feathering cheeks. They pulled against his jaws and joined the broader context of Marsh-heart’s mane. Against his black face, which shone highlights of blue in the abysmal dark of its center, wide yellow-green eyes peered. They were heavily saturated in tone. This backdrop was particularly stark against Marsh-heart’s pupils, small even at their full dilation. The tom’s nose was black with a rounded, but jutting bridge. Ears were parallel to the ruddy undertones of his color; Their shapes were large and angular but feathered into his neck gracefully. Marsh-heart’s whiskers were a thin, delicate white, like that of a spider’s web, sloping downward with varying size. At the middle were their greatest length, a type of symmetry that made an appealing cascade.
PERSONALITY
GENTLE: It was no surprise when Marsh-heart was chosen as a medicine cat apprentice. His boundless patience was transparent in the deep and patient drawl of his tone. The medicine cat’s motions were delicate and tender, supporting his patients and walking them through each task with consistent communication and reassurance. Marsh-heart dedicated a lot of time and energy assuring he did not hurt a patient unless absolutely necessary.
DEDICATED: Marsh-heart was an overachiever. He did not waste any time. Each gap of silence was filled with duties whether it be collecting herbs, checking in on previous patients, or both at the same time. The tom had a way of balancing his accomplishments with his personal relationships. There was no line between friends and work. Marsh-heart liked it this way and lived every moment with his greater purpose in mind.
INDECISIVE: Choosing any course of action was difficult for Marsh-heart. Especially if it involved hurting a patient or moments of pressure. The clan was met with constant bloodshed and in this time, Marsh-heart struggled to make critical decisions. Considering the greater good for the most lives was outside of his scope of understanding. Marsh-heart wanted to treat each patient tenderly and provide them with perfected care. This idea was often idealistic given the circumstance. With intense pressure, Marsh-heart would freeze and struggle with how to move forward. He was too aware of the gap in how he wanted to treat, and how he could.
OVER-EMOTIONAL: The battles weighed heavily on the tom. Each failure, mistake, or misjudgment took a toll. Whether it be as simple as an infected scratch, or the loss of the deputy Gorse-heart, Marsh-heart took blame for everything. He quickly became overwhelmed and burned out by the swallowing, helpless feeling of inevitable mistakes and loss. When his methods were critiqued when angry, hurting clan-mates lashed out at him, Marsh-heart took their accusations personally. Over time the overwhelming emotion manifested in the need for an escape. Marsh-heart was so invested in love and friendship it often swayed his decisions when he was indecisive.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Marshkit and Orchidkit were born to the warriors Raintail and Pinepool. Their relationship was less out of love, and more so mutual respect and understanding. The pair was distant and awkward in personality and their relationships. Even still, their kits were cared for. But between Raintail and Pinepool there was a lack of warmth and affection. Devout warriors to the code, their distant and unmeaningly neglectful parenting styles had different effects on their children. While Orchidkit developed equally content with cordial exchanges and distant interactions, Marshkit continuously yearned for affection. He channeled this desire by nurturing the other kits, playing “medicine cat”. This use of imagination helped feed Marshkits bonding. It was in his kithood he developed a deep, familiar bond to his clan and every cat. When they were first born, Orchidkit was the runt while Marshkit was overwhelmingly triple in size. The clan aspired that Marshkit would train to become a strong warrior but quickly realized he had passions elsewhere. Marsh-kit was picked to become a medicine cat apprentice before receiving his apprentice name. His fate was chosen
APPRENTICESHIP: The medicine cat’s, Leafwhisker, previous apprentice, Squirrelpaw, had been killed during a Lichen clan ambush just moons shy of her medicine cat name. Leafwhisker was 140 moons old when she took Marshpaw on as her apprentice. In Leafwhisker’s youth she was an energetic spitfire, but over time she had grown to be a well-humored and patient she-cat. There was a plethora of knowledge for Marshpaw because of his mentor’s experience. Marsh-heart was happy to spend his training around Leafwhisker and loved the she-cat dearly. During his training he was passionate and studious. Marshpaw learned a lot and excelled because of his dedication. When he was 16 moons however, she passed from old age in her sleep. Marshpaw was escalated to a medicine cat despite not feeling like he deserved his name.
MEDICINE CAT: Marsh-heart served his clan well as a medicine cat but without the support of Leafwhisker his spirit quickly started to buckle. The tom was weighed down by every injury he couldn't save and every soul he lost. Though there were not many, the ones he thought he failed haunted him. It was at the deepest lows of his depression that Marsh-heart met Feathernose. She was a beautiful, flirty warrior who had taken a liking to the tom. The first time she offered to collect herbs, Marsh-heart knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Marsh-heart quickly took solace in their relationship. Feeding the neglectful void he felt from his parents, and the blame from his mistakes, Marsh-heart found Feathernose as an escape. However, he could not break the code. One night when he was meeting with Feathernose outside of camp he ran into his sister Orchidshade. He immediately confessed to his sister the situation but little did he know, she was on the way to tell him about a peculiar dream she had. The stars aligned and it was clear, Orchidshade would take his place as medicine cat.
WARRIOR: Orchidshade trained Marsh-heart to be a warrior as Marsh-heart trained Orchidshade to become a medicine cat. Both of them had a lot of catching up to do and it was a very intense experience. However, Marsh-heart was grateful because he knew all the hard work and dedication would secure the life he had always dreamed of. Feathernose became pregnant and together they had two beautiful kits, Sleek-kit and Silk-kit. During his intensive training, Marsh-heart had caught white cough. It was reoccurring, but seemingly harmless. When leaf-bare struck his condition worsened. The infection had came back, ten fold as strong and resistant to their available cures. Marsh-heart died three moons after his kits were born.
uvu
coded by ulla
WARRIORS
FOXFIRE
LONG-HAIRED RED AND WHITE MACKEREL TABBY TOM WITH ORANGE EYES
BUILD: By Redwoodclan standards, Foxfire was not a massive tom. However, compared to the cats of Thistleclan or Lichenclan, he hovered above them on graceful limbs. Within his own clan, he was of medium stature, his body lean from moons of wandering about. But his musculature was often understated, hidden beneath his feathered coat. The tom was foolishly handsome, known to captivate with his irresistible looks.
COAT: Named for his vibrant coat, Foxfire carried a bright red pelt, the ginger color only broken up by large patches of white. Most of his underside was the same, alabaster color, while his back, shoulders, face, and tail were predominantly red. His coat was well-groomed and feathered in texture, not exactly long but definitely not short.
FACE: Foxfire's face was by far his most notable feature. A red mask adorned his face, while a shock of white cut across his maws, stretching from his cheeks to the bridge of his nose. Beneath the white, the center of his muzzle returned to its striking red color, creating quite a contrast. His eyes were a warm, comforting orange, almost lost in the sea of red. His expression was always kind, if not pensive.
PERSONALITY
CHARISMATIC: A social tom at heart, Foxfire never shied from a conversation. In fact, he often initiated most conversations with little concern of who was on the other side. He approached shy apprentices, angry elders, and bored warriors all the same. Foxfire loved the mental stimulation, a voracious mind beneath his babbling tongue. His conversational knack garnered him charm, most cats surprisingly at ease beside him. He was stupidly charismatic, and a romantic at heart, known across all borders for his devilishly good looks and personality to match.
PROFOUND: Beneath his charm, existed an individual with an unconventional outlook on the island. Unlike most cats in his clan, Foxfire detested the idea of borders and separate clans. To him, relationships could transcend a border. He saw no differences between him and the Lichenclan warriors on the shore. When he was alone, Foxfire would often venture to the cliffs to think about clan life and the insights that waited for him beyond the shore. This quality may have come off as pretentious if he had ever expressed his views to his clan-mates, but Foxfire idly kept this to himself, never bothering to share is unique outlook with his clan-mates.
HEDONISTIC: Perhaps his interest in a borderless world, coincided with his hedonistic nature. Foxfire was never one to withhold from the many pleasures of life. He was self-indulgent to a fault, often choosing to satisfy his own needs rather than his own mate or children. This same pursuit of pleasure is what led him to ultimately cheat on his mate and disregard the warrior code, knowing he valued his own freedom more than the confines of clan life.
IRRESPONSIBLE: Ultimately, Foxfire was an immature warrior unfit to be a father. While he tried to dote on his mate and children, his desire to fulfill his own needs outweighed their need to have a dependable guardian. He was inconsiderate and ignorant of those around him, only interested in what laid out of reach. This also made him a careless, lazy warrior who never volunteered for the battlefield or to lead a patrol.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Born to Rednose and Swanfoot, Foxkit entered the world alongside his brothers Bearkit and Wolfkit. His father Swanfoot was a renowned Redwoodclan warrior, fighting courageously in numerous Lichenclan battles and emerging largely unscathed. His mate, Rednose, was an equally doting force in the nursery, often at every queen’s side, encouraging them to do their best as mothers. It was with this tenacity they raised their son, praying for strong Redwoodclan warrior in return.
While both Bearkit and Wolfkit readily followed in their parent’s paw-steps, Foxkit was different. Instead of play-fighting, the tom followed around his older clan-mates, always asking questions about the world outside of camp. He was talkative from birth, finding a knack for conversation. However, this knack for conversation often led him sticking his nose into places it wasn’t allowed, which earned him an extra moon of kithood.
It was his first real memory of hating rules.
APPRENTICESHIP: Assigned to a younger, more absent-minded mentor at seven moons old, Foxpaw only became more consumed by his wanderlust. He would abuse his mentor’s forgetfulness and use it to his own advantage by lying about his training progress, his whereabouts, and “random assignments” other warriors had given him. Instead, he would wander the redwood forest aimlessly, always looking for something new to explore. Often, this led him to the borders, eyes alert for cats within other clans.
It was then he started to question the borders, wondering why they existed in the first place. The invisible lines drawn in the dirt felt restrictive, as if his clan-mates wanted to keep him close-minded and ignorant.
It was around this time the tom became acquainted with Sycamorepaw, a dark tortoiseshell she-cat with a bite. Unlike the rest of the apprentices in his clan, the fiery she-cat wanted nothing to do with him. Whenever Foxpaw tried to flirt with her, she’d roll her eyes, an insult always beneath her breath. Some would find this off-putting, but Foxpaw was intrigued. She was just another thing that was off-limits to him, never revealing more than a bared-toothed sneer.
They danced this back and forth until one night, a moon before she earned her warrior name, Sycamorepaw relented, angrily confessing she liked him too. Foxpaw had won, but this would not bode well for either of them, as he would soon lose interest. Sycamorepaw was no longer a mystery, and they broke up not soon after, much to the she-cat’s chagrin.
When Foxpaw was almost seventeen moons, the tom finally received his final assessment. The ginger and white tom did not pass with flying colors nor was he particularly impressive, but he did well enough, managing to pin his mentor after a grueling hour of battle practice. The move earned him his warrior ceremony, and he was named Foxfire for his relentless, wandering spirit, much like a flame, ravenous for everything it touches.
WARRIOR: Shortly after his warrior ceremony, Foxfire got back together with Sycamoretail. His interest in the she-cat returned to him the moment she was no longer his. Foxfire learned that she, much like the other things in his life, was much more intriguing when they were dangled before him, just out of reach.
It was around this time he was sent to his first Gathering, a new warrior of nearly nineteen moons. Having been such an unruly apprentice, the tom was never asked to accompany his clan. Upon entering the falls, the tom immediately took to the crowd, merrily making small-talk with whoever would listen. He moved between cats, quickly growing bored, until he stumbled upon Molefur.
The small, unassuming tom was hunched near the outskirts of the crowd, alone. He only raised a round, mesmerized face as Foxfire happily chatted along besides him, a smile on his face. He didn’t know it then, but something stirred within him that night. Perhaps, it was because Molefur listened, quietly sharing bits and pieces of Lichenclan life. Or perhaps it was because even then, long before he’d realize it, he was in love.
Foxfire didn’t think about Molefur much after that, far too busy with his on and off again relationship with Sycamoretail. One moment, they’d be grooming each other outside of the warrior’s den, completely in harmony. The next, Sycamoretail would be picking fights with him, always accusing Foxfire of having “wandering eyes,” which wasn’t inaccurate.
He did have wandering eyes.
When he was twenty-four moons, he met Molefur again, patiently waiting for him atop the southern cliffs. Surprised, Foxfire met him with a curious gaze, immediately recognizing him from the Gathering. They spent the entire night talking to one another, learning about each other’s clans, and when Foxfire went to leave, Molefur reached out a tentative paw and asked him to come again. Startled, Foxfire obliged, suddenly understanding the tom’s intent. Molefur wasn’t interested in Redwoodclan secrets.
He was interested in him.
Foxfire didn’t realize he was interested in toms. But the moment he gave in was the moment he realized it didn't matter. His attraction to others could not be tied to what they were, but who they were. He then decided to meet Molefur again later that week, which then turned into moons, and eventually a love affair that crossed seasons.
But old habits die hard.
Back at home, he continued to see Sycamoretail, giving into his own selfish pleasures. It was entirely hedonistic for the ginger and white tom. He did not love Sycamoretail, only pleasing her because it pleased him, albeit in a very different way.
Molefur never knew, nor did he know about their children.
At thirty-four moons, Foxfire welcomed three kits into the redwood forest, two toms and a she-cat. They were named Marigoldkit, Dandelionkit, and Woodkit. Foxfire tried to be the doting father, he really did. But it was hard. He never liked being tied down, and the nursery was suffocating. There Syacmoretail eyed him like prey. And his kits? His kits looked at him like he was a stranger, especially Woodkit, who clung to his mother's coat like a burr.
At first Dandelionkit revered him, wanting to grow up to be just like his father, but that soon faded. Only Marigoldkit showed him any lasting interest, always following him around when she could, a question on her lips. So he’d sit her down, away from her mother, and tell her stories about the other clans, the world outside of the redwood forest.
One night when he was with Molefur, Sycamoretail caught him on the way back home, a snarl pressed against her face. Without a word, the she-cat clawed him aggressively across the face. They were over for good, and he was never allowed to see his children again, threatening to turn him into treason if he ever tried.
His time as a useful warrior deteriorated then. No longer did the tom even try to accompany patrols or even hunt. Instead, he spent his days aimlessly wandering the territory and taking long naps on the southern cliffs. The charisma of his youth was fading, and those who once found him charming, now treated him like a leper.
Molefur was the only part of his life that made it worth living.
When his children were young warriors, Marigoldleap sought him out, desperate to rekindle their relationship. She didn’t care what her mother said about him. She wanted to know the truth. So Foxfire quietly confessed about his relationship with Molfeur, too old to care about the consequences.
Surprisingly, Marigoldleap took it well, quietly listening, and when he was done, she pressed her nose to his cheek and wept, feeling his pain. She promised to keep his secret, only requesting that he be careful.
Foxfire continued to meet with Molefur in his final moons, even as his beloved started to unravel, rife with paranoia. In one last ditch effort, the ginger and white tom tried to convince his lover to join him in Redwoodclan, but Molfeufur was erratic, inconsolable. Nothing could soothe his anxieties until it was far too late.
Beneath the moonshine, Molefur confessed that he was fearful for their very lives, convinced someone was hot on their trail. Foxfire tried to persuade him otherwise, but Molefur wouldn’t listen. He only gave him lover one last nuzzle before bounding away, never to be seen again.
Foxfire waited for him each night, fearing for the worst. It wasn't until news broke at the next Gathering did he learn about his lover’s unfortunate death. With nothing to lose, the ginger and white tom calmly walked out to the southern cliffs alone one morning, meowed a quiet prayer for his daughter, and leapt, allowing the waves to swallow him whole.
BUILD: A small and compactly built she-cat, Ginger barely reached the towering heights of her giant RedwoodClan den-mates. However, what she lacked in height, she made up for in strength. Despite being untrained as a warrior, Ginger carried lithe and defined muscles due to her seasons of scavenging on the farm.
COAT: She fit right in among the other calicos and gingers of RedwoodClan. Vibrant reds, blacks, and white decorated her flank. Only white blanketed her chest, underbelly, and paws, and upon her swatches of red, notable mackerel stripes wrapped around her body.
FACE: Ginger had a round and inquisitive face. It made her appear younger than her seasons, and gave her a kitten-like demeanor. The right side of her face was swathed in a rich charcoal, while the left side of her face was a shocking red. Captivating green eyes brought a spark of life to her youthful face.
PERSONALITY
CURIOUS: Although Ginger didn’t object to her mother’s sheltering, she was always curious about the world. What was once just a small scope of their understanding had hints and inklings of a land much greater. Ginger always had an internal yearning to understand the inner-workings of their life. Fearful of her mother’s warnings, Ginger used her imagination to explore the world. As Ginger aged and honed her independence, she could artfully discern when to be inquisitive.
RESILIENT: Naturally, to accomplish all that Ginger had required resilience. Despite a kithood crowded with dysfunction, Ginger only knew steps forward. When faced with newfound challenges, like discovering the barn cat’s leader, a manipulative and controlling misogynist, or falling pregnant in all it’s forbidden, Ginger never pitied herself. Ginger always accomplished what she needed to provide for herself and family.
WISTFUL: Ginger does not regret the events of her life, but there were always times she dreamed of different circumstances. What would life have been without Leo? Did Shadow love her? And, a thought which plagued her even far into her clan days, where was Tiger? All these questions and scenarios played through Ginger's mind, imaginative of a world that the more she discovered, the more she wished she could change.
EVASIVE: Throughout life Ginger was mindful to avoid conflict and tension. Even when she was wronged, living under Leo’s reign or chased from the borders of ThistleClan, Ginger did not raise a paw. An agreeable nature can be an advantage in a world so wrought with conflict, but there were also opportunities that if Ginger had held her ground, she could have paved a better life for herself.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: It was her mother's sixth litter, and as several others, only two kits survived the night. Despite the welcoming spring air and the bounty of mice, the acreage was cruel to the cats who governed its barn.
Ginger's earliest memories consist of the hayloft, the sweet stench of cow manure, and him. Under her mother's stern tongue, she and her brother, Tiger, were never to leave the hayloft, lest they run into him.
They regarded their mother, and remained quiet kittens of the shadows. So they wrestled softly and spoke to each other of a far away land, where they could run from the amber-laden hay and the bleating cows, and play as loudly and fiercely as they liked — as wild cats.
It was not until they were weaned did they begin to ease out of the hayloft, only carefully and quietly, and move around parts of the barn and the farmland outside of it. But they were not allowed to explore the north side of the barn. Their mother forbade it, claiming they would meet him soon enough. It was better, in her opinion, for them to enjoy their kittenhood while they still had it — before it was taken away from them.
So they spent their few remaining moons learning how to mouse and how to stay clear of the two-legs who lived in the farm house. They were not to be trusted, even if they put out kibble and fresh water for them.
Their mother was always clear: take the food and run.
ADOLESCENCE: Ginger did not learn who he was until after her sixth moon. On a dare, Tiger urged her to spy on him. Feeling adventurous, Ginger took the dare, but only if he agreed to go with her.
They gathered up their courage and ventured to the north side of the barn. It was where the two-legs stored their strange contraptions, and shadows gathered in great sweeping claws. They padded quietly, sneaking around the calf pens and tractors until they saw him, curled up in a sunbeam on top of a wooden counter.
As if sensing them, the huge tabby roused into a lazy stretch and yawned. Ginger took a few paw-steps back, her throat dry and her whiskers quivering. Tiger retreated with her and whispered.
"Maybe we shou—"
"Going somewhere," he purred, glancing at them from atop the counter. A wide grin stretched over his maws. "I thought I smelled kittens."
The great tom cat pushed himself to his paws, taking his time to stretch, before casually leaping down to investigate. He slowly circled them. Tiger began trembling, but Ginger somehow roused the courage to face him, chin lifted and eyes defiant.
He chuckled.
"It's a shame you look just like him," he purred, glancing at Tiger. "Though, I'm sure your whore of mother will plead otherwise."
His eyes turned onto Ginger. "And look at you," he laughed. "Aren't you a pretty little thing, my pet? I suppose you could—"
"Leo." Ginger turned over her shoulder. Nape bristling, their mother stood behind them, teeth bared. Leo only laughed. "Why Lady," he purred, stepping around them to greet their mother. "Isn't this a nice surprise." He stopped when only a mouse-length separated them. "When were you going to tell me about them?"
She lashed her tail. "They're none of your business."
"Everything in my barn is my business."
They held each other's gazes before Leo shrugged and dismissed them. Their mother didn't waste any time. Quickly she ushered them away and back into the safety of the hayloft.
That night, their mother told them everything. As barn cats, they were subjected to the head tom's laws. She-cats were expected to hunt for him and bear his kits, while toms were expected to leave — unless they dared to challenge him in a fight for his position as leader.
On the night of their first season, Tiger would be forced to leave, unless he wanted to risk fighting Leo, while Ginger would have to join Lady and the other she-cats. She would be expected to hunt and serve him. There was nothing they could do. Every other barn was the same, and in their mother's words: Leo was at least tolerable.
There was no stopping it.
ADULTHOOD: As soon as they turned twelve moons old, Tiger left. Painfully, he pleaded for Ginger to join him and run away, but she only shook her head. Their mother told her that he would hunt her down if she tried. A tom cat's roaming stretched as far as his territory, and Leo's was endless.
As Tiger left the farmland, Ginger retreated back into the barn where Leo waited. Perched on his counter, they gathered around him, Ginger, her mother, and a pawful of other she-cats. They were expected to go out and hunt for him on rotating patrols.
Paired with another she-cat named Lottie, they left to go and hunt the fields. "You poor thing," she murmured as they crept through the budding crops. "I remember when I was your age." Lottie shook her head. Ginger glanced at her and whispered. "Ho—how did you get through it?" Lottie returned the look. "Get through wha—Oh." She blinked. "He won't be expecting that from you," Lottie assured her, slipping into a crouch.
She signaled to a bird ahead. "Not until your second season." She slunk forward. "Leo's a glutton," Lottie muttered. "But he's not a fool."
Ginger spent most of the moons hunting alone or with the other she-cats. Most of her days were spent wondering about her brother, and the rest were spent dreaming of a way out.
As autumn returned to the barn, Leo began cornering Ginger the closer she got to her second season, if only to prove his power over her. He'd belittle and demean her, and Ginger would endure it, counting down the seconds until she was able to slip away. This continued into the winter, and as spring crowed at the fields, Ginger knew time was running out.
And perhaps the heavens took pity on her because a moon later, she met Shadow, a wandering rogue. Charming and handsome, they immediately took to one another and agreed to continue meeting in secret, despite her mother's warning and Leo's looming presence.
Their courtship persisted until they spent the night together, only parting when the dawn slipped over the sky. While padding home, Ginger knew it was wrong. That Leo would kill him if he found out, so she quickly vowed to never see him again.
A few weeks later, Ginger knew she was pregnant, and it terrified her. Suddenly, she was her mother, and Leo was going to hunt Shadow down and kill him. She tried to remind herself that it was all fake and empty-threats, but perhaps there was a reason why she never met her father.
She did her best to keep away — from Shadow and Leo both. Her only plan was to give birth and then run away.
To buy herself time, she searched the premises, looking for a place to hide. A distant two-leg shed caught her eye. Heavily pregnant, Ginger took refuge in the shed. Inside, a strange two-leg monster sat upon a metal structure. It was long and narrow, and hollow inside. To a two-leg, it was called a boat. To Ginger, it was her salvation.
Its deep and cavernous belly gave way to soft plush seats and darkness. Perfect to give birth in. Did Leo even know about this place? As far as she knew, he never left the damn countertop. Ginger slowly and painstakingly turned the boat into a birthing nest, carefully collecting supplies. Only a week remained until she gave birth, but then the unthinkable happened.
She woke one morning to the entire floor rumbling and roaring. Startled, Ginger poked out of the boat and saw her entire world moving at a dangerous speed. Her eyes widened. The boat was attached to another two-leg monster, and her entire life, the barn, Leo — all of it was gone.
She leapt back into the helm, trembling in darkness. Was she going to die? Was this it? Ginger remained hidden, even as the beast slowed and changed direction, moving into reverse. It slid into a lake, its body rocking gently with the waves. A strange murky scent washed over her.
Then the two-legs clambered into it, and roared the boat to life. One sat down directly in front of her, crowding Ginger further against the wall. She stared at the two-leg's strangely covered paws, trying to think of an escape, but the rumbling motor, whir of water, and high-pitched two-leg laughter was too disorientating.
They flew along the coast of Lake Superior, only coming to a slow stop as the boat cruised into a dock; and when the two-leg got up and moved, Ginger didn't waste any time. She burst from the boat's helm, startling the two-legs as she jumped from the boat and onto the shore. They shouted after her, but she just ran, refusing to look back, even as her lungs screamed and her legs threatened to give out.
The shoreline quickly dissolved into a densely covered forest. Crowded pines pressed around her. Their heavy boughs dug needles into her back, and an unsettling stench came upon her. Her running slowed as her mouth parted. Cat. She loosed a breath. And a lot of them. She thought of Leo and his horde.
Did she wander onto another tom's territory?
"Halt," came a voice through the trees. Her nape leapt into a bristle. "Who goes there?"
A group of three, tightly muscled cats broke through the underbrush. The cat at the head of the patrol took a powerful step forward, teeth glinting. "You're trespassing on ThistleClan territory," he hissed.
ThistleClan?
Ginger understood a threat when she saw one, but she was lost, pregnant, and alone. She was hardly a threat to them. Her own chin lifted, despite the way her paws trembled. "Please," she meowed. "I'm lost, and I don't know where I—"
"She's a kitty-pet," one of the other cat's snarled.
A what?
"No, I—" Ginger tried, but they stepped toward her in unison, pelt's bristling. "We don't take too kindly to kitty-pets around here," the third one growled. "Do we Crowfang?" The leader of the patrol smiled devilishly. "No," he breathed. "I don't suppose we do."
They leapt without warning. Ginger tried to dodge them, but she was too weak and exhausted. A sharp cry escaped her maws as one of them sunk their teeth into her leg, trying to drag her back. Desperately, Ginger kicked out her hind-leg and connected with his nose. With a yelp, he released her, and then she ran.
Blindly, she tore through the forest until a large creek rumbled before her. She glanced breathlessly over her shoulder. The other three were still in pursuit. Ginger quickly slid down the embankment and into the frigid water. It tugged hungrily at her pelt, yet she trudged on, desperate to get away.
The other three pushed through the undergrowth, and for a brief terrifying second, she thought they'd jump in right after her. But they stayed above the embankment. "That's right!" One of them shouted after her. "Run to RedwoodClan!" The other snickered. "They live for fox-dung like you!"
RedwoodClan?
Ginger was too tired to think, let alone comprehend another threat. Soaked to the bone, she dragged herself up onto the embankment and collapsed. Above, the canopy shifted. No longer pines, but tall, towering trees spread across the sky. It was strangely comforting.
Pain shot through her abdomen.
The kits. They were coming. Fear flashed over her eyes. She couldn't give birth here, not when she was so close to her attackers. Gritting her teeth, Ginger pushed herself to her paws and shouldered into the brush. The overwhelming scent of cat, of this RedwoodClan, crowded around her, filling her nostrils. She only prayed they were more forgiving than the last Clan she encountered.
Under a nest of bramble, she gave birth to three kits. While licking them clean, a voice broke through the undergrowth. "Hello?" It came curiously. "Is someone—Oh." A large and elegant looking she-cat poked through the brush, startled to find Ginger and her children. "Oh my."
Ginger raised a tired snarl, but it fell limply from her face. "I don't bring any harm, please," she murmured. "I just—I'm lost and I don't know where I am. Can you please help us?" The she-cat's eyes softened, and she nodded. "Of course," she whispered. Generously, the she-cat helped her carry her kits to the RedwoodClan camp.
When they entered it, Ginger's heart stopped. Were they—Were they wild cats? It was just like Tiger's dream. Graciously the RedwoodClan cats welcomed her and her kits into their camp. They made her a nest in the nursery and tended to her wounds. The medicine cat helped her milk come in, and even the leader, Sandstar, an aging but friendly tom, stopped by to greet her.
So Ginger told them her story, feeling right at home with the strangers, and they gasped and bristled as she meowed about Leo and the two-leg boat. They couldn't quite believe she came from somewhere so far away; and when she mentioned ThistleClan, Sandstar's entire body went rigid with rage.
"Attacking a pregnant queen," he muttered. "Foxstar….that filthy old bastard."
He promised to take care of it, despite her pleading with him not to. It wasn't worth the trouble.
While some warriors regarded her wearily, and perhaps saw her as a waste of resources, most of her den-mates were generally accepting and curious of her kitty-pet blood. They explained to her that it meant she was a two-leg's pet, and her face twisted, angry at the accusation. "I'm nobody's pet," she responded darkly, thinking not of two-legs but of Leo, and they never mentioned it again.
As her weariness faded away, they began asking her if she was going to stay or leave when her kits were weaned. Ginger thought about it, though there was truly no other option. Unless she somehow got onto another two-leg contraption, she was trapped. The entire island was surrounded by water — and a part of her never wanted to go home anyways. Back to Leo? Back to that life?
This was freedom.
Even Shadow's charming smile couldn't tempt her.
So she gave her kits Clan names, and slowly acclimated to their life. A moon after joining the Clan, Sandstar brought his warriors to a Gathering, and made a bold, scathing statement against ThistleClan. He condemned them for turning away a pregnant queen, comparing them to wild dogs. Foxstar, ThistleClan's short-tempered leader, snarled in return, accusing Sandstar of turning the island into a refuge, and soon they'd be crawling with all kinds of miscreants.
Clouds covered the moon.
The next morning, ThistleClan launched an attack on their territory in retaliation. RedwoodClan met them before the camp, and a bloody battle ensued. Three lives were lost by its end, and ThistleClan was forced to retreat — but not without a final warning. "For as long as you shelter that kitty-pet, we'll attack."
They stuck to their word, launching several attacks on the Clan over the next few moons.
Ginger watched with growing horror, realizing the war was her fault. Her new home was under assault because of her. Her children were threatened because of her.
"Sandstar, please," she said to him, one night in his den. Two more RedwoodClan warriors had died during a battle skirmish. "I'm not worth it—let me leave," she begged. "Just—just let my kits stay." Her eyes searched his kind face. "They'll live a great life without me here." Sandstar brushed his paws across hers. "No, you are one of us now, one my own." Her brows buckled. "And RedwoodClan will never give up on one of their own."
The bloody skirmishes continued, and as her kits reached their third moon, Ginger accepted what she had to do. If Sandstar wouldn't let her leave, then she'd go to them, and put an end to this war herself. She had to try.
So at the sound of battle, she raced after the war party and joined their forces, even as they tried to get her to return to camp. Ginger refused to leave, so they let her come with. And as they met ThistleClan in the trenches, yowls tearing into the sky, she leapt onto a ledge and cried.
"Please!" She cried out. "End this now!"
Every eye turned upon her.
"This war, this fight," she continued. "It has to stop, for the future of our children and our Clans." Ginger swallowed. "I will leave," she promised. "I will go to the outlands and live the life of a rogue—"
A ThistleClan warrior lunged, sinking his teeth into her neck. Ginger gasped and collapsed to the ground. Yowls broke out and the fighting continued as a RedwoodClan warrior slammed into him, knocking him away. But it was too late, Ginger was dying.
Gasping for air, her last moments were spent gazing up at the canopy. A great sense of peace came over her. She did not think of the barn, of Leo, or even of Shadow and his grin. Only of her children and the great life they'd get to live without her, and with her last breath, she thought of Tiger, her sweet, gentle brother.
And when the skies parted to take her home, he was not there to greet her, and she nearly wept with relief.
He was alive.
ThistleClan kept their promise and surrendered the next day.
BUILD: With large paws, giant ears, and a muscled bulk, all proportional to his short size, Graystar was built like a RedwoodClan cat in miniature, shrunk to ThistleClan height. Carrying himself with a sense of confidence and purpose, his lack of stature melted away, making him seem like a cat three times his size.
COAT: Thick, luxurious smoky fur jutted out erratically from Graystar on all sides. His clanmates often said that Graystar never left the tornado he so boldly charged into to save his leader, leaving his pelt in an eternal state of wind-whipped frazzle.
FACE: Nestled in the clouds of his plumy mane, Graystar’s dark face often considered the world with a smirk and raised brows above his golden yellow eyes. His fur was shorter there, black as pitch in contrast to his gray coat. His broad, chiseled muzzle seemed serious, but the feathered wisps framing it lent a comical twist to his otherwise intimidating appearance.
PERSONALITY
PLAYFUL: Above all else, Graystar was most known for his fun-loving nature and passion for good sport. The Peter Pan of ThistleClan, he gamified everything until his final breath, laughing on his deathbed, “What is this next round all about?” His humor was irksome at times, but lent a positive vibe to his more pessimistically inclined clan, and was well-warranted given the success of his reign.
BRAVE: Few things scared Graystar and he faced them head on, without hesitation. A noble warrior and good friend, he was unafraid to speak his mind and, when all else failed, used his paws.
CLEVER: While he was a strong fighter, Graystar was also known to be cunning. He did not always fight fair, seeking weaknesses not only in physical form, but in his opponent’s mental state, as well. Witty comebacks, sharp quips, and quick jabs were his speciality just as much as his battle moves.
IMMATURE: Graystar never truly grew up, forever living as the courageous warrior of his youth. Because of this, he maintained some of the less desirable traits of teenagehood: jealousy, pettiness, and the inability to see nuances. To him, situations were often black and white, with a childhood view of good and evil.
WRECKLESS: At times, Graystar’s passion for games went too far. The tom played not only for the thrill, but to win, even at great cost. His competitive streak caused injuries and even cost lost lives.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Graykit and his sister Stonekit could not have been more different. The tom was a goofy, fun-loving spitfire, while the she-cat was a stoic, collected soldier. With two respected warriors for parents, the siblings were expected to join ThistleClan’s growing numbers as the clan strove to make a name for themselves after decades of tourism crushed their notoriety on the island. Joining them in the nursery were their two she-cat friends, Glimmerkit and Budkit, one moon older from separate litters. While most of ThistleClan’s youngsters grew in their nest absorbing stories of war, Graykit was prone to daydream, imagining a dawn where he would rise victorious over all his peers in a world of his own invention.
APPRENTICESHIP: Training regimens began early and were taken seriously, even before their sixth moon. All four friends were drafted into their apprenticeships at five moons, a push that Fogstar felt necessary to bring ThistleClan back to powder. Graypaw pushed against the drudgery of their studies, making every drill a game and taking every opportunity to assign imaginary points to their chores and practices. This infuriated Stonepaw, whose whip-cracking mentor demanded no-nonsense training.
Meanwhile, Glimmerpaw joined the fun as a fierce battle buddy, and Budpaw began to develop her hunting skills. The two friends cheered from the sidelines whenever Graypaw and Stonepaw clashed. Enamored by their support, Graypaw found himself unexpectedly crushing on both of his friends, while Stonepaw only became more disgusted by his distractions and excuses.
On the afternoon of Graypaw’s eighth moon, at the height of green-leaf, a waterspout plunged into the lake, climbing onto the island as a wicked tornado. ThistleClan’s camp was ravaged by fallen trees and hurtling branches. Wild debris impaled two cats. The massive winds carried multiple warriors into the air. In the chaos, a massive pine crashed through the Fogstar’s den as the leader tried to exit its depths. Graypaw, showing no fear, charged through the flying wreckage to push Fogstar clear.
Fortunately, the tornado produces no deaths, though a few warriors are forced to retire due to their injuries. The clan celebrates their luck and Graypaw’s bravery, declaring him a hero.
WARRIOR: Graytornado became a warrior at the age of ten moons, awarded his rank early for his battle prowess and his courageous actions. Glimmergaze and Budblossom followed not long after. Stonepaw would become Stonewhisker as the last of their group two moons later.
As they grew, Graytornado found himself enthralled by Glimmergaze’s fighting skills as she passed on her techniques to her mentee, Bluepaw, who learned so diligently that she managed to best Fogstar in a brief practice skirmish. Equally, Budblossom became a fine hunter, bringing home a porcupine as her grandest catch, an unheard of prize.
At this time in the clan’s history, most warriors were known to make partnerships not out of love, but out of duty to the clan, to produce the strongest warriors. Stonewhisker, infuriated that her brother was leading the two she-cats on, insisted that he choose between them. Not to be outdone, Graytornado declared a contest between the two cats: a mix of prey catching and combat. But Glimmergaze and Budblossom had other ideas, staging a tie, while announcing their intentions too: the two-she cats also had feelings for each other, in addition to the tom.
Without missing a beat, Graytornado proposed that all three could become mates together -- not a power couple, but a power triple. Thus began one of the most notable polyamorous partnerships on the island. The trio became known collectively as the Warblers, for the birds were known to court many mates. Mixed emotions followed from the rest of the clan, though far too many thought favorably of Graytornado to oppose his decision.
DEPUTY: When Fogstar’s deputy passed from a snake bite, the choice for his successor was quite clear. Even though Graytornado was only twenty moons at the time of his appointment, he seized the opportunity with zeal. He was filled with new ideas for the clan. Fogstar, eager to bolster camaraderie and competition in the clan, adopted his suggestions with haste.
First among the changes: a seasonal tournament, held when the first thistle plant bloomed in new-leaf. This challenge would serve to provide a ranked hierarchy among warriors in the clan, with the leader and deputy acting as judges. The first winner of this tournament, to no one’s surprise, was Stonewhisker, who used the opportunity to propose a duel for deputyship. She argued that a naive cat like her brother could not possibly lead the clan. What’s more, the tom did not participate in the tournament, and therefore did not know his own placing.
Unflinching, Graytornado accepted her challenge. While she was ultimately defeated, Graytornado decreed that her motion remain. Any cat in the clan could settle a dispute with a duel, including those who opposed ThistleClan’s current leadership. A deputy or leader could be usurped with a fair fight. Only those who believed in StarClan, however, would receive additional lives.
LEADER: When Fogstar passed of old age, Graystar took power. As the head of ThistleClan, he now had the influence to bring his gamification to another level, island-wide. Fogstar had made several attempts to claim territory from RedwoodClan during his time, but to no avail. ThistleClan’s numbers were too few and their claws too dull after suffering under tourism.
Early in his leadership, Graystar embraced this failure of his predecessor as a challenge. While Fogstar was strict and militant, focused on tradition and a serious attitude towards battle, Graystar increased his training through more fun competitions, skirmishes, and rankings. A hunt was no longer a hunt: cats were encouraged to discover new ways to ambush prey, outwit their opponents, and seek inspiration outside of their species: from the ambling intimidation of a porcupine to imitating the calls of foxes. For many seasons, the Low Pine’s bark bore the marks of cats who stood highest in the hierarchy for their strength and cunning.
As ThistleClan’s confidence grew, so did their numbers. Graystar’s mates, Glimmergaze and Budblossom, bore many kits in his name, to the point where outsider blood was encouraged to add diversity to their genetics. Seeing their success, cats who were once loners and rogues were welcomed into the clan after proving themselves in the annual tournaments. This controversial tactic drove some to leave for the Northern Cliffs, so insistent on the purity of the Clan’s lineage that they would not contribute to its growth at all.
The controversy would grow even more when his first deputy, Addertail, succumbed to infection from a grisly wound. In his place, Graystar promoted Glimmergaze. Such nepotism was not typical in ThistleClan, and her position was challenged almost immediately by a duel from a hardened senior warrior, Foxtooth. Duels were fought with claws unsheathed, no holds barred. Glimmergaze would not surrender until she lost an eye, much to Graystar’s shame. However, he was a tom of his word, so Foxtooth became deputy instead and would hold his rank until his death at the paws of the very predators for which he was named.
Familial dramatics aside, ThistleClan soon grew to become a formidable force. With a new army of skilled fighters at his flank, Graystar organized battalions of cats to fight at the Sandy Creek. Overwhelmed, RedwoodClan bowed under their might, granting ThistleClan the right to fish at the border for the first time in Clan history.
Their victory, while hard fought, was short lived. Not long after the battle at the creek, a new enemy began to invade ThistleClan. The cats of the island were not the only species to benefit from the decline of Two-leg tourism: foxes, too, found their populations booming, and the clan’s territory was soon overrun. After Foxtooth’s mauling, Graystar selected Frostbreath, relying on the tom’s calm nature to ease the clan’s worries as they altered their training regimes to face this new threat. Unfortunately, the red-tailed monsters far outnumbered the clan, even with their increased warrior count, and the foxes’ reign of terror would trickle into Froststar’s subsequent leadership.
Graystar lived for an unheard of number of seasons, past two hundred moons. Refusing to retire, the great tom only stepped down after charging into a battle he couldn't win at his old age. Fighting against three foxes, Graystar was gravely injured and sustained a wound that would end his leadership. Forced to retreat to the elder's den, Graystar begrudgingly allowed Frostbreath to take his place as leader, though he was a constant shadow in his leader's den, advising his former deputy how to lead the Clan.
In his final moons, Graystar's love for games never died, and the tournaments continued each year until his death. Surrounded by his many descendants, the aged tom passed, musing about the next game he'd face in StarClan. As moons passed in ThistleClan, the concept of duels and fighting tournaments were later dismissed by Froststar, but many in the Clan have since called for the reintroduction of both traditions.
BUILD: Small but muscular, Froststar's build fitted well into ThistleClan. He was of average height but was capable of squeezing into small spaces.
COAT: The tom's smooth coat was surprisingly thick for a short-haired cat. A delicate cream color, it was accented by darker seal point stripes on his legs, tail, and face.
FACE: Froststar's most notable feature was his pair of sea blue eyes. He had a wide forehead and narrow muzzle, giving his head an inverted pear shape. Large ears perched atop his head, usually swiveled forward at attention. Ironically, the shape of his face spoke to his mannerisms too -- he had big brains, but was not one to boast, using few carefully selected words and preferring to listen more than he speaks.
PERSONALITY
INTELLIGENT: Ever since he was a kit, Froststar was known for his humble intellect. Both clever and wise, he is a thinker through and through, never making decisions without taking time to consider the consequences.
COLLECTED: An emotionally reserved cat, Froststar is cool and calm. His gentle nature has been known to ease tension and resolve conflict before any blood was shed.
PACIFIST: Not one for fighting, this pale tabby prefers to use his tongue over his claws. However, this trait proves detrimental when faced with enemies who do not follow logic, especially those of the more wild variety, like aggressive foxes.
WORKAHOLIC: Froststar's dedication to his clan, while honorable and well-praised for ThistleClan's success during his leadership, was taken to extreme measures, especially during his senior years. A hard worker, he was known to place his clan first, and himself and his family second.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Frostkit was born to a pair of fierce ThistleClan warriors, Badgerclaw and Pinesong. His meek demeanor was often outshone by his more dominant brother, Brisk-kit, who made everything a competition. Their parents were strong believers in the purity of the ThistleClan lineage and despised outsiders.
APPRENTICESHIP: During his first Gathering, Frostpaw became fast friends with a LichenClan apprentice, a shy tom named Lakepaw. Each moon until their apprenticeship, they would gather beneath the waterfall to exchange stories about their clans. Meanwhile, Frostpaw's training continued under a blunt and unforgiving mentor, Smoketail, who often pitted him against his brother Briskpaw in an attempt to coax out Frostpaw's fighting spirit. These battles came to a head when the brothers were eleven moons old. Frustrated with Frostpaw's noncombatant attitude, Smoketail ordered the apprentices to fight with claws unsheathed. In response, Frostpaw did extend his talons, but instead of striking his opponent, he used a series of cunning dodges and feints to exhaust his brother before Briskpaw could land a single blow. After that day, the two siblings developed a greater understanding for one another.
WARRIOR: Frostpaw became known as Frostbreath for his soft-spoken nature. His brother was dubbed Briskfoot. During his time as a warrior, his friendship with Lakepaw, now Lakemask, blossomed into a romantic interest. Knowing that his family and most of the clan would not approve of an outsider for his mate, Frostbreath kept their relationship a secret. Nevertheless, the two dreamed of having a family together, and enlisted the help of one of the older queens and Frostbreath's closest friend, Firebriar -- the only other ThistleClan cat to know of their bond. Even Briskfoot was kept in the dark.
With the cruel and calculating Sagestar leading LichenClan, however, Frostbreath and Lakemask's meetings became increasingly dangerous, and Lakemask was soon discovered. Enraged by his disloyalty, Sagestar quietly had Lakemask killed on his way to the ThistleClan border. His murder, a drowning, occurred in the midst of a season of heavy rainfall and appeared to be an accident. Before his death, Lakemask pleaded with Frostbreath to continue their plans to raise a family.
DEPUTY: Shortly after Lakemask's Frostbreath was promoted to deputy. The rest of the clan was oblivious to his recent plight. Still mourning for his mate and refusing to show his pain lest it cause unrest within the clan, he threw himself into his work in an attempt to dull the pain. As a result, his three children -- Drizzlekit, Copperkit, and Deerkit -- spend much of their early childhoods knowing little of their fathers. They grew up believing that Frostbreath and Firebriar were mates -- a plan which only forced Frostbreath deeper into depression. Nonetheless, he hid his emotions well, and ThistleClan grows exponentially as the Island shuttered the two-leg tourism business.
LEADER: As a leader, Froststar began to repair his relationships with his children, now graduated into warriorhood as Drizzledance, Copperclaw, and Deerleap. With a heavy heart, he revealed his love of Lakemask, explaining how the two had met at their first Gathering and all their secret meetings over the moons. Drizzledance and Copperclaw accepted this new truth, but Deerleap felt betrayed, and excommunicated himself from the family.
Under Froststar, ThistleClan enjoyed many seasons of success. For over a dozen years, Froststar ensured the safety and strength of his clan, using his charisma to quiet fights without bloodshed and his wits to outsmart predators. Not known for his ambition, Froststar's focus remained internal, avoiding conflict with LichenClan and RedwoodClan, despite ThistleClan's growing numbers and need for more hunting territory. However, some members of the clan felt that his pacifism would lead to ThistleClan's ruin. It is during this time that the foxes that plagued ThistleClan's previous leader, Greystar, return to their territory, whittling down ThistleClan's numbers in a series of ambush attacks. When his oldest deputy, Hawkwing, succumbed to green-cough, Froststar appointed a young warrior, Thievingstreak, as his successor, entrusting her with the elimination of the foxes, hopeful that her tenacious spirit would renew the faith in Froststar's decisions.
As Froststar grew older, his guilt for his long-kept secret continued to eat away at him. Deerleap's severance from the family caused him even more pain, and in his final moons as leader, he pushed himself as hard as he could in an attempt to re-earn his lost son's -- and the Clan's -- trust. His refusal to rest and seek treatment during a particularly fierce bout of greencough eventually lead to his death.
Build: Large and stocky, Yarrowfrost was a formidable she-cat, built more for RedwoodClan than the likes of the lean pine cats. While no glutton, she was round and well-fed, known for frequent snacking when she wasn't caring for her patients.
Coat: Dusty blue fur striped with light and dark greys covered her large body. Layers of voluminous fluff make up her thick coat, which gleamed with cleanliness and professionalism.
Face: With a broad face and large eyes, Yarrowfrost's features were warm and welcoming. Her muzzle was a soft white gradient that faded into the smoky color of her jowls. Long whiskers hung down beneath her nose in sleepy trails.
Patient: Yarrowfrost's gentle ways of healing blessed ThistleClan for seasons. It was said that nothing could ruffle her feathers, and she faced each challenge with calm tolerance. Not even the rowdiest of kits or the most sharp-tongued elder could phase her. The she-cat's words dripped with kindness and empathy like sweet honey, though she usually preferred to listen than speak.
Charitable: A bit Her compassion extended even to outside of ThistleClan. Even rogues received her treatment, despite objections from her clanmates. Much like Froststar, who led during most of her time as a medicine cat, she believed that all cats deserved to be treated kindly, regardless of where they came from.
Stubborn: Not one to back down, Yarrowfrost's determination could be more of a detriment than a benefit at times. Her refusal to give up or lose hope on terminal patients, while inspirational, sometimes led to unnecessary emotional suffering on the part of her patients' loved ones.
HISTORY
Kithood: Born to Alderfur and Mallowstripe in the 2004 season, Yarrowkit and her brother Clovekit emerged from the womb to a ThistleClan sharpened for battle. Even as a kit, the she-cat was no stranger to the injuries that would frequent the camp, and she was exposed at an early age to the consequences of ThistleClan's rise to power and struggle against two-leg tourism on the island. This fierceness empowered her headstrong brother to aim to become the best warrior the Clan had ever seen. Yarrowkit, on the other paw, took more influence from their parents, who were unorthodox followers of StarClan. She listened intently to stories of their ancestors and gained respect for warriors of days past.
Apprenticeship: At the time of Yarrowpaw's apprenticeship, Greystar lead the clan in fierce border skirmishes in a quest to earn more territory. Her brother took to battle training with fierce determination, turning away from their parents teachings and pleas for peace. Having no love for fighting, Yarrowpaw struggled in her own training. It wasn't until her brother was gravely injured in a battle against LichenClan for the sandy creek that she found her true calling -- healing. It was said by elders in the clan that Yarrowpaw followed her brother into the medicine cat den and never left.
Medicine Cat Apprenticeship: Inspired by Yarrowpaw's compassion and desire to help the injured, ThistleClan's medicine cat, Pigeonfoot, took her under his wing as her apprentice. Pigeonfoot was a crabby old tom, but he knew a prodigy when he saw one. Yarrowpaw's tenderness with patience and incredible memorization skills earned her a trip to the Mooncave when she was only seven moons old. StarClan accepted her with open arms, conferring to her their confidence and emboldening her faith. Unfortunately, despite Pigeonfoot's care and teaching, her brother succumbed to infection and passed away when she was eight moons old. This was a great blow to her morale, and for a time she blamed herself for Clovepaw's death, but her resolve was restored two moons later, when she stayed behind from a Half-moon meeting to save a struggling queen from a difficult kitting while Pigeonfoot was away. She remained a medicine cat apprentice until she was thirty moons old, when her mentor was finally laid to rest from old age.
Medicine Cat: When Froststar rose to power, Yarrowpaw, now Yarrowfrost, found comfort in his shared belief in StarClan. The two led with an unusual gentleness that ThistleClan had not known for many seasons. A healer of the body as well as the mind, many cats came to her not only for medical advice, but for emotional comfort as well. In her later years, she formed a strong bond with a loner, Aster, telling her stories of the clans and teaching her a few remedies when the medicine cat traveled to the abandoned two-leg nests in search of herbs.
At the end of the 2018 season, Yarrowfrost took on an apprentice, Ratwhisker, doing her best to impart the nervous tom with the knowledge she had gained over the moons, though her time as his mentor was mournfully brief. She passed away from old age at the beginning of the 2019 season, leaving a young and inexperienced Ratwhisker as her successor.
BUILD: Bittersong is much more intimidating looking than pretty. The opposite of small and petite, her limbs pack a bulk that is unmistakably muscle, as well as a heavy coat that only increases her size.
COAT: This thick pelt practically serves as armor, the unkempt matted pawfuls decorating her entire body perfect as a barrier for her skin. Speaking of her coat, it is painted in a generic tabby brown, the only defining feature in her coloration being the flaming orange streaks blending into the diluted hues. Her tail is long and sweeping, also following the traditional black dip on the tip.
FACE: These vivid ginger touches compliment her eyes well, matching with the warmth of the golden yellow tint. Her sockets are set on the wide frame of her face, complete with a rounded, not quite flat muzzle. Her frame is completed with big fluffy ears, the tufts being dipped in a iet black.
PERSONALITY
DEVOTED: Bittersong's loyalties are always an enigma. But one thing is certain. If Bittersong finds an attachment worth her devotion, her entire life will revolve around her dedication. Her religion caters around her fascinations, and Bittersong is more than willing to sacrifice all her energy for something she feels passionate about.
PASSIONATE: Going off the previous statement, one of Bittersong's dominant traits would definitely be her passion. In everything she does, she involves her all into it, both mental and physical. She also has a bad habit of making everything too personal, putting too much heart and emotion into everything she says and does and always expecting the same of others. Her lack of perspective definitely gives her trouble in where or how to direct all this mental energy, which can lead to a lot of assumptions and miscommunications.
QUIET: Bittersong had a small comfort zone and tended to stay in it. One of her best ways of doing so was by staying quiet. This meant not interrupting, and not speaking unless spoken to. One might have thought this would make her a good listener, but she preferred to stay out of most cats’ business (except for Reedwhisker). When she does speak, it tends to reside in short sentences or statements, never evolving into full stories or conversation.
OBSESSIVE: A lot of misdirected passion tends to pool into one of her worst traits. Bittersong had a tendency to fixate on things, and holding onto a good thing while she had it was a motto Bittersong lived by almost too viciously. It isn't rare for her mind to pummel into endless voids of one thought cycle, one subject of obsession usually the center of these mental patterns. Bittersong is even known to stay up late into the night, sleepless over an obsessive thought or idea.
NEEDY: Highly dependent and seeking validation at every turn, Bittersong lacked confidence. She sought approval constantly from her friends and had trouble performing tasks independently. This was especially troubling due to her lack of social charm or expertise, and couple this with her inability to hold a conversation and you have a cat that is desperately alone. This despair created a fear with every connection she would make, her failed ties in the past keeping her from refreshing her mindset with new folks.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Bitterkit came into the world with a sour face, and Bittersong left it just the same. The former was because she had accidentally licked an herb meant for her ailing mother. The latter was because of the toxic way she lived her life. Born into Thistleclan, she was the only kit of her litter. Largely left to her own devices due to her mother's illness and her careless father's absence in the nursery, she spent most of her time with her best friend, a she-kit named Reedkit.
The two spent hours playing together and were attached at the hip, perhaps an early sign of the obsession soon to come. Even from a young age, Bitterkit was wracked with gruesome bouts of jealousy, often feeling intense episodes of rage if Reedkit even dared to play with another kit that wasn't her. She would throw quiet, pitiful tear-stained tantrums, alone in the nursery until sleep claimed her. This only got worse with age, her jealousy and obsessiveness becoming more sinister as she secretly plotted to keep Reedkit all to herself.
APPRENTICESHIP: Despite the occasional fit, they grew even closer as apprentices, since their mentors, Badgerstripe and Weaselstrike, were brothers and also good friends. The four embarked on many patrols together, bringing back bountiful harvests of prey, for this was the height of Froststar’s reign, a time when the two-leg tourists no longer plagued the island. As an apprentice, Bitterpaw was shy and reserved, and so made few friends outside of their small group.
This only caused her to cling to Reedpaw even more, the young torbie painfully aware that her friend was popular amongst the other apprentices, especially the toms. To keep her to herself, Bitterpaw would orchestrate schemes to push other apprentices away, which ranged from weird rumors about Reedpaw to outright, quiet bullying behind the scenes to whoever tried to befriend her. Reedpaw never seemed to notice, always happy to spend time with her friend Bitterpaw.
WARRIOR: Moons after their graduation, Bitterpaw, now Bittersong, named for her love of avian music, discovered that she had feelings for Reedpaw, now Reedwhisker. She would spend hours fantasizing about their future life together as mothers, Bittersong offering to carry the kits for her most beloved, knowing that her future children would love her unconditionally. But due to her shy and quite nature, Bittersong struggled to put these feelings into words.
Not knowing who to talk to, she approached their former mentors for advice. The two were amused by this news, which they had suspected all along, and encouraged her to speak her mind. However, when Bittersong weaved through the forest that night to find her childhood crush swooning over a different cat, a tom named Oaksnap, her heart wept. She thought she was able to push them all away. None of it made sense. Reedwhisker was supposed to be hers, only hers. Their future was supposed to be filled with kits and endless love. So why did she love someone else?
Soon she began to loathe all the cats whom she used to love, trusting no one.
Over time, this hatred morphed into an even sicker obsession. She tried everything to get Reedwhisker’s attention, setting up fake accidents in hopes of being "saved" by her beloved princess or begging Froststar to pair them together on more patrols. All she wanted was for her friend, her true love, to acknowledge her, but she was never able to confess this to her. Instead her strange antics only pushed Reedwhisker further away, just as it used to push away other kits in the nursery.
Her fantasies soon turned into malicious acts of treason where she would murder Oaksnap over and over again. Sometimes she'd drown him. Other times she would slit his throat. While a part of Bittersong knew this was wrong, another part convinced herself that she was saving Reedwhisker from a cruel and horrible fate.
This continued until one day she finally had her chance.
Sent on a patrol with Reedwhisker and Oaksnap, Bittersong silently followed, dreaming about sinking her own teeth into Oaksnap's neck. It was then that the tom offered to take the lead with Bittersong and pulled ahead, in hopes that he might be able to speak with her alone and create some safe boundaries after noticing her strange behavior since he and Reedwhisker had become mates. Bittersong did not trust him, her paranoia at its peak. This was not her plan. It felt as if he was drawing her out into the woods alone to kill her when it was supposed to be the other way around. She was supposed to kill him and then finally confess her love to her one true friend.
The two were suddenly ambushed by a wily vixen, and Oaksnap was gravely injured after Bittersong lurched to avoid the attack. Reedwhisker, dozens of fox lengths away, was too far to help in time. Crying profusely, she begged Bittersong to save him from the fox. But in response, Bittersong only smiled. It wasn't her plan, but it would do. Finally, she could tell Reedwhisker how she really felt.
But Reedwhisker could only watch in horror as her mate was shredded viciously in front of her as her childhood friend stood by menacingly, as if she enjoyed her clan-mate's death. As vixen dug furiously into the now dead tom, Reedwhisker raced into help, violently pushing Bittersong away. "Tratior!" She screeched, blinded by her fury. Alarmed, Bittersong stood dumbfounded as her love launched herself onto the fox, biting and hissing.
Then suddenly, Froststar and a small patrol appeared, having witnessed the entire attack from a distance, not able to reach them in time. Quickly, they fought off the fox as Bittersong remained still, completely in shock. She could hardly register her leader's words as he banished her on the spot, commanding her to leave the territory forever. It was only after another clan-mate lunged and hissed at her did she turn tail and run, her heart shattered beyond belief.
Why wasn't Reedwhisker happy? Didn't she know I saved her? Didn't she know my love?
BANISHMENT: Bittersong fled to the outlands, broken and alone. Much to her surprise though, the rogue territory was not as barren and empty as she thought. Other cats, much like herself, lurked in the shadows, cats who were outcasts in their own nests, banished from their families, just like her. She soon learned their language well, bent on amassing her own army to ruin the clan that stole the life she always deserved.
But it was a pitiful ambition. Quickly, the she-cat learned that the rogues of the north weren't as keen on making deals, at least not in the name of revenge. They wanted something more, like land or power, something she couldn't give them by herself. So she wandered aimlessly, often returning to watch Thistleclan from the shadows, particularly Reedwhisker, as she dreamed of slitting Froststar's throat herself.
To her disgust, the she-cat took on another mate, a tom she had detested in their youth, and soon her belly was fat with kits. It was if Bittersong no longer existed, their friendship dissolved like dust. Jealous beyond relief, Biitersong quickly hoarded her own band of mates, a harem of three toms who blindly followed her every ask and demand in exchange for more carnal desires. For once, Bittersong had something they wanted, and in return, she hoped for kits of her own.
But they never came.
As the seasons turned, Bittersong became more and more removed, more deranged in her ambitions. She wanted children of her own. She wanted the life that Reedwhisker lived, stolen out from under her. It was all so unfair until it suddenly clicked. She didn't have to have her own children. If she had learned anything from her constant treks across Thistleclan land, it was that they had far too many mouths to feed, too many wasted, indoctrinated souls who needed to be saved from their cruel regime.
She didn't have to have her own kits because she could simply steal one instead, her new obsession.
With the help of her three toms, Bittersong started to strategize and scheme her grand heist. She'd stay up until the wee hours of the morning, babbling incoherently to herself as she imagined her life with countless, stolen kits. She would raise them as her own, teach them to hate Thistleclan, and soon she'd have her own clan, a clan who finally, truly loved her. It was the love she deserved, the love Reedwhisker never gave her.Because why would a kit ever reject it's own mother?
Deranged, the she-cat started to attack Thistleclan on her own, sometimes with the help of one or two of her toms. It was sporadic, never truly planned. Her mind was far from gone, slipping entirely from to full insanity. She only thought about her nameless, faceless children, the kits she would save from the clan she hated most. But all of her attempts were futile, the injuries far too grand. The nursery was impenetrable, the warriors too strong. So she had to rest for months at a time, retreating to lick her wounds and fantasize in her own obsessive thoughts.
It was seasons into her mindless attacks, when she suddenly, for the first time in her late life, fell pregnant with a litter of kits. She was dumbfounded, shocked by the news, but accepted it with grace. Finally, it was what she deserved. The stars had finally answered her prayers. After a painful, debilitating labor, Bittersong gave birth to one, puny kit, a she-cat named Lily.
Her daughter, for a short time, became her new obsession, her only world. From the moment she was born, Bittersong filled her ears with deranged hate, teaching her to loathe Thistleclan with a fury. Thistleclan was the enemy, the reason they were forced to live in the outlands, always hungry and cold. As she grew, Bittersong brought her daughter out on dangerous treks, deep within Thistleclan territory. They tried to steal kits together, attack random patrols, and ran wild through the foliage, leaving confusing scent trails for them to follow.
They lived like this for a season, Lily blindly indulging her mother's obsessions only to please her, but Bittersong's body was growing old, and her mind was not only completely crazed, but absent too. For moons, she'd sit between mumbling and outright screeching strings of incoherent dialogue that hardly made sense. Lily patiently waited, staying by her mother's side, even when one by one the members of her harem passed away, leaving them to fend for themselves.
She was her mother's sole protector, the keeper of her past. No one else but her knew what Thistleclan had done. No one else knew about the atrocities they inflicted upon their clan-mates. So Lily took care of her, silently vowing to uphold her mother's deranged vision, even if she didn't carry the exact same hate. Lily stayed by her mother's side until she passed on a cold, winter's day, her dying words strangely coherent.
BUILD: The tom was not as massive as a Redwoodclan warrior. However, he was larger than the average Lichenclan cat. He had a wide, barrel chest, and a shorter, compact torso. Beneath his dense coat were well-trained muscles.
COAT: Heronstar's musculature was mostly hidden beneath his thick, heavy coat. His fur was a rich blue color, while his back, limbs, and tail are decorated with darker, mackerel stripes. His muzzle, chest, and stomach were doused in distinctive, alabaster silver.
FACE: He carried a circular, wide face with a defined muzzle. Hersonstar's most distinctive feature was his long, recognizable ear tufts, the fur a captivating white. His eyes, outlined in the same white, were a bright, leaf-green.
PERSONALITY
CHARISMATIC: Heronstar was not charismatic in the sense that he was a schmooze, but rather, in the sense that he was likeable. He was an active listener, conversationalist, and attentive to the needs of clan-mates since he was so susceptible to their emotions. This lead to him to become an excellent orator since he knew what his audience wanted to hear.
DILIGENT: What made Heronstar so likeable was his diligence. The tom was ridiculously hard-working, often waking before dawn to hunt for his clan. He was known as a well-liked contributor, which earned him an abundance of respect. He was also meticulous mentor, who trained his apprentices with the utmost care and attentiveness.
INDECISIVE: Raised as a servant to Starclan, Heronstar wrestled to devise his own beliefs and ideas. The tom was easily susceptible to the words around him, which lead to a lot of conflict in his life because he was so indecisive about what was the correct decision. The world was either black or white, and that dichotomy confused him greatly. He consistently went back and forth between whatever was meowed into his ear, which allowed him to be easily manipulated by others.
NARROW-MINDED: Heronstar struggled to view the complexities of the world. Cats were either servants of Starclan or heathens. There was no in-between because he could not understand what would drive a cat to commit sin. This made him rather close-minded, and in his later seasons, rather intolerant towards those who threatened his sanctimonious clan.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Born to the docile Lavenderheart and Bramblewing, Heronkit and his sole brother, Reedkit, were raised as traditional Lichenclan pacifists. They believed that war and violence were unjustifiable, and as warriors of Lichenclan, true enlightenment came from a strict devotion to Starclan. Heronkit's kithood was filled with treks to the sacred Mooncave and stories about his ancestors, which he revered as the source of truth.
APPRENTICESHIP: When he reached his sixth moon, Heronpaw was assigned to a mentor who deviated from the usual Lichenclan warrior. Her name was Kestreltail, and she inherently believed that violence was necessary in times of injustice. When the she-cat was nine moons old, her mother, and closest friend, was murdered by a rogue. Devastated, the she-cat turned to her clan-mates for emotional support, but her devout clan-mates did not have the answers she wanted. She was only told to visit the Mooncave, and in time, Starclan would heal her soul.
Frustrated, Kestreltail grew distant from her pacifist roots and devotion to Starclan. This translated to how she trained her apprentices. At the time, most Lichenclan apprentices only learned the battle moves necessary to defend their land against predators and rarely learned offensive moves since violence was a sin. However, Heronpaw trained under a strict regime, which included various banned, attack-orientated moves. This was done in secret, and while he did not adopt his mentor's outlandish views about violence, he did start to think about cats outside of Lichenclan and their barbaric behavior. If violence was a sin, then how come other cats committed it?
WARRIOR: While his mentor showed him the bulk of her battle moves in secret, her lessons soon translated to his ability in the hunt. He became notorious in his clan for his swiftness across the shore and his fast reflexes, which earned him the name Heronfoot. He entered his warrior-hood with his brother, Reedstorm, who had become one of his most trusted comrades.
When Heronstar reached his second season on the island, he fell in love with a timid she-cat named Honeyflower. The two warriors soon became close, so much so, that the tom even confessed his conflicted views about Lichenclan's stance on violence. The she-cat did not abhor him for his outlandish take, and instead confided to him as well. While not a violent cat herself, the she-cat did lose her brother to a fox attack and always wondered if their warriors had been better trained, would her brother have been saved? The two soon welcomed three litters into the world before Heronfoot was elected as deputy of Lichenclan.
DEPUTY: When he was around five seasons old, Heronfoot was chosen as the next deputy of Lichenclan due to how well-liked he was across the clan, at this time he had mentored several warriors, and his contribution as a hunter. As a much older she-cat, Miststar was traditional in her Lichenclan beliefs. She did not condone violence and believed all answers were in the stars.
However, Heronfoot was convinced he could persuade the she-cat to think otherwise. While he did not want to launch an attack on the other clans, or incite violence for that matter, the tom still believed that Lichenclan warriors should be trained in battle in order to preserve their clan. His efforts were soon noticed by the young medicine cat apprentice, an odd tom named Coyotecall.
LEADER: A season after he was appointed deputy, Miststar died due to natural causes. Around the same time, the elderly medicine cat, Saltwhisker, returned to Starclan as well, and Coyotecall became the sole medicine cat of Lichenclan. During his short time as deputy, Heronfoot was unable to change his leader's stance on violence, and it was not until he earned his name as Heronstar, did the tom enact a new era within Lichenclan.
At first, he was met with opposition. Older warriors who were tied to the Lichenclan traditions considered him a sinful monster. However, Heronstar was a renowned orator, who could convince a warrior that a fox was a hare if he wanted to. This charisma soon worked in his favor as his clan started to alter its tide. Those who had lost kin in unfortunate run-ins with predators started to second his idea, and then younger cats, those had not fully been raised in Lichenclan traditions, started to support him as well. With the final nod from his brother, Reedstorm, who had been anointed as his first and only deputy, Heronstar started a new, strict regime that trained warriors how to fight in battle.
Concurrently, Heronstar started to meet regularly with the clan's medicine cat, Coyotecall, due to his indecisive nature. He found that he often needed the medicine cat's opinion in order to make a decision. The medicine cat, who was odd, used this to his advantage. Coyotecall carried a nervous air about him and meowed with little confidence. However, when it came to matters about Starclan, the tom spoke with an ominous confidence. He told Heronstar that this was the correct route for Lichenclan, and if he did not continue to train his warriors as such, then it would be the end of their clan. Heronstar believed this with little doubt.
As the seasons turned, Coyotecall continued to meow in Heronstar's ear, filling his head with ideas about the other clans. At first, he told the tom that Lichenclan was chosen by Starclan to cleanse the Island from sin, then he told Heronstar that the other clans were filled with vile heathens, who deserved to be killed in order to cleanse the island from sin.
Conflicted, Heronstar was not sure if he could believe the medicine cat's outlandish claims until a border skirmish unfolded near the sandy creek. It started as an accident. A Lichenclan apprentice crossed the border trying to catch a stubborn fish, but then it quickly unfolded into a blood-bath due to Thistleclan's frustration with the two-leg invasion. They were tired of being taken advantage of, so their anger was ruthlessly taken out on the Lichenclan patrol. Heronstar's mate, Honeyflower, was unfortunately killed in the battle due to a horrendous neck wound she sustained from protecting the apprentice from a fatal attack.
Heronstar was never the same after that battle. He immediately started to meet with Coyotecall on a daily basis and affirmed his earlier claims. The other clans were filled with heathens. Only death could save them from their sin. It was then that Coyotecall introduced his most sinister idea: Lichenclan should take the Mooncave. The land was on the shore, and as chosen servants to Starclan, it was their responsibility to uphold their sacred words. Without even a second of consideration, Heronstar conceded.
With his most trusted comrades at his side, and his faithful deputy, Reedstorm, Heronstar devised an attack on the other two clans, which would occur at the full-moon. At the heat of the gathering, the tom declared war on both clans and bloodshed ensued. This horrendous war continued for a few moons, but Lichenclan was impenetrable due to their elaborate cave system. Heronstar even went as far to bar the other medicine cats from the Mooncave.
In the last moon of his life, Coyotecall worked with Heronstar to enact new laws in Lichenclan that would ensure their clan's dominance over the island. It was declared that only male descendants of Heronstar could lead their clan. Coyotecall told his clan-mates that Starclan has blessed Heronstar's blood line in a sacred, ancient ritual at the Mooncave, and this ritual would ensure that the island would continued to be cleansed under his rule. It was also declared that she-cats' were to train primarily as caretakers, since Heronstar believed that his mate would not have died if she had remained in the main cave with the elders and kits. While this was not met with open hostility, a silent unrest flourished within the clan.
As the war continued to infect the island, a sudden flood brought the bloodshed to its end. Locked in battle, the three leaders from each clan were lost in the wicked waves, and Reedstar became the new leader of Lichenclan and anointed Heronstar's eldest son, Shadeclaw, as his first 'Heron' deputy. While the rest of the island saw this as a clear sign of Starclan's disapproval, Coyotecall convinced his watchful clan-mates that it was merely a sacrifice from Heronstar, a sacrifice he made to cleanse the island from sin. With his death, the other clan's sinful leaders were also killed and the island was saved.
Besides, he had meowed, a shimmer in his stare, if Starclan wanted to end the Heron line, then why did Reedstar and his children survive? Most of Lichenclan consumed his every word, and an era of bloodshed, violence, and servitude continued.
uvu
coded by ulla
SAGESTAR
LONG-HAIRED BLUE CLASSIC TABBY TOM WITH GREEN EYES
BUILD: Sagestar was an average sized warrior, for a Lichenclan tom, and boasted a well-muscled, compact torso, designed for swift and decisive moves in battle.
COAT: His coat was dense, a smoke-colored mirage of silvers, grays, and whites, much like the caves he dwells in.
FACE: He had a wide, circular face with a defined, lion-like muzzle, which made him a distinctive figure within his clan. Like his namesake, the tom carried a shocking, light green gaze.
PERSONALITY
CALCULATIVE: The tom was always thinking about his next move, whether this was in battle or in his own clan. He was a wise cat, who has learned over the moons. He knew how to use his words to his benefit and how to use his wit to advance Lichenclan.
DEVOUT: Since the moment he was born, Sagestar had devoted his life to Starclan, and thus Lichenclan. Under his rule, Lichenclan continued to enforce kit baptisms, warrior confessions, and sacrificial offerings to Starclan.
COLD: As an elected leader, the distinctive tom became more and more cold and calloused. He was indifferent towards his clan-mates, and as he made advances on Redwoodclan, he found that he did not care if his clan-mates died.
CRUEL: While the tom was not born cruel, he became cruel with time. As the Mooncave continued to exist as a neutral land, Sagestar became consumed with blood lust, torture, and death at the caw of his warriors. He did not care who he killed in order to have control.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Born to Crimsonstar and Silverwing, Sagekit came into the world with two, measly sisters. He was the third litter born to the leader; and as a male descendant of Heronstar, he knew he was destined to follow in his father's paw-steps. When he was around three moons old, one of his sisters died from a seasonal influx of green-cough. As the tom grew with each moon, it was also noted that he had an uncanny resemblance to the great Heronstar himself, which made the tom a bit egocentric in nature. By the time he reached his sixth moon, only he and his sister, Thymekit reached their apprenticeship.
APPRENTICESHIP: It was no secret that the tom, as a descendant of Heronstar, received special treatment. He was chosen to train under his great-uncle, and clan deputy, Nettlefur. While the clan was currently in a truce with Redwoodclan, due to their treaty over the Birch Forest, Sagepaw started to think about how he could break that truce when he controlled the clan. He wanted to take the Mooncave back as Heronstar wanted.
WARRIOR: Bestowed with the name Sagestrike, the blue tom was named for his decisive skill in battle, each move calculative and effective. As a young warrior, the tom considered himself an important figure in the clan, due to his lineage, and used this as leverage to control those around him. However, this did not work in his favor as he started to romantically pursue a respected she-cat known as Egretfeather, who was about a season or two older than him. She saw his confidence as arrogance and told him as such. Stunned that another cat would disregard his heritage, the tom grew to greatly dislike the she-cat, despite his initial attraction. To his dismay, the she-cat decided to take on another mate and had a litter of kits. His hatred for the she-cat only grew.
When he was around four seasons old, Ergretfeather saved three apprentices from drowning in the icy, cold winter waters of the lake. This heroic act coincided with the death of Sagestrike's great uncle and former mentor, Nettlefur. As one of the most prospective, male descendants of Heronstar, Sagestrike expected to be named the next deputy of Lichenclan. However, some of his clan-mates advocated for Egrefeather's promotion instead. Ignoring their wishes, Crimsonstar appointed his youngest child, Sagestrike, as the new deputy of Lichenclan because of his confidence, battle prowess, and resemblance to Heronstar, even though a few of his older sons were still alive. This ignited a divide within the clan, with warriors threatening to incite violence, but this civil unrest soon ended when Egretfeather's body was mysteriously found dead near the Mooncave. Her supporters disbanded and grew silent, suddenly fearful of their new reign.
DEPUTY: As the newly named deputy, Sagestar continued to grow more and more arrogant. He was consistently in his father's ear, trying to coerce him to end the truce with Redwoodclan and take back the Mooncave. However, his father remained staunch on his decision and did not make a threat on the sacred land. He would stick to his word. This tension continued well into their elected union.
Around his fifth season, Sagestar took on a mate. The she-cat was a cold, meticulous warrior who agreed to pass on the Heron line out of duty to her clan. It was not a match made in love. Instead, the she-cat considered it an act of servitude to Lichenclan and Starclan. Her name was Lilyfrost. Their first litter together was a disappointment, two measly kits, both she-cats. Before the kits reached their first moon, one of the kits died due to a debilitating birth defect. Their remaining kit, Whitekit, became an apprentice at six moons, but her parents were not interested in her. Two seasons later, Lilyfrost birthed their second litter. This time, the she-cat blessed Lichenclan with three toms and a she-cat.
LEADER: When Sagestrike reached his eighth season, his father and leader, Crimsonstar returned to Starclan. His death was ruled to natural causes due to his age. Sagestrike then traveled to the Mooncave to receive his nine lives, and when he returned, he appointed an older tom, one of his older brothers from a previous litter, Otterthroat, as his first deputy. The tom was meek compared to other Heron descendants, but he was wise. Sagestar also felt that his own sons, Smokemask, Molefur, and Skunktail, required more training before they could rule his clan.
While he wanted to extend his reach onto the Mooncave, Otterthroat advised him to wait. He still respected their truce with the redwood dwellers, and did not want to make a move their clan could not win. Instead, he instructed Sagestar to focus on their training and strategic planning. Words were more powerful than force, an idiom Sagestar used as an advantage, one that was largely sinister in nature.
The blue tom used his silver tongue to develop a respected acquaintanceship with Redwoodclan's new leader, Heatherstar, and a mere season later, the tom launched his first, unsuspected attack to take back the Mooncave. Blindsided, Redwoodclan lost the battle, and the next gathering, Heatherstar angrily announced the end of their decade long truce. She, however, refused to launch attacks on Lichenclan in return, declining to stoop to their level.
Sagestar continued to attack the clan, growing indifferent to the dwindling numbers in both of their territories. His blood lust was stronger than his compassion. He grew cold and calloused, his confidence now a sinister hate. Even when Otterthroat died in battle, the tom remained brutally detached. His eldest son, Smokemask, was the next appointed deputy of Lichenclan.
Sagestar continued to attack Redwoodclan, refusing to accept any of Heatherstar's peace offerings or truces. His son, Smokemask, supported his bloodthirsty reign, instilling this belief into his own children, and continued to advocate for it, even in his own death. His younger, and only surviving sibling, Molefur was the next appointed deputy. He did not rule for long. At the start of the next season, his body was found, mysteriously drowned in the lake.
To Sagestar's dismay, all of his male descendants were dead. His only living heir was his granddaughter, Minnowsleap; and while she showed promise in battle, she was undesirable as a she-cat. With no other options, the old, blue tom elected his only living heir. Their union as deputy and leader was filled with an uncomfortable tension, and in order to avoid his violent outbursts, Minnowleap said little and kept her head down. Her strategic prowess, however, came out in battle, and the old tom grew to begrudgingly tolerate his granddaughter.
As one of the oldest, and most hated, cats on the island, Sagestar died at 192 moons old, his final life at the claws of a Redwoodclan warrior. The tom did not die instantaneously in battle. Instead, his body was brought back to camp, and he died in the medicine cat's den. On his deathbed, he fixed his granddaughter a cold, horrid stare and demanded that she have kits before she died, before she ruined all that he, and their ancestors worked for. He then took his last, callous breath, and returned to the stars.
BUILD: Unlike his Lichenclan ancestors, Molefur was not a lithe cat in the slightest. Instead, the tom carried a stout frame and a thick coat, making him appear stubbier than most of his clan-mates. Molefur's short stature only added to his overall round physique. His musculature was also under-developed as he detested battle and tried to avoid it as much as he could.
COAT: With the Heron blood in his veins, Molefur boasted the familial blue coat, his muzzle, chest, and underbelly a soft, cream in color. Rich, darker blue stripes adorned his pelt, creating a mackerel pattern. While more feathered in appearance as an adolescent, Molefur's coat thickened as he aged, which made the tom appear heavy-set. However, his coat was not long like his ancestors, but rather, it was short.
FACE: As the rest of his frame, the blue tom carried a rounded face with mole-like features due to his small, yellow eyes and muzzle. Unlike his brothers, the tom did not have the ancestral ear tufts or wide, lion-like maws. Instead, the tom was much more delicate, features he inherited from his mother.
PERSONALITY
MODEST: Molefur never wanted the blood in his veins. Born of Heron descent, the tom was destined to lead Lichenclan since his birth. However, Molefur detested his fate, wanting nothing more than an unobtrusive and completely unassuming, quiet life. He was humble in nature, never boasting of his ancestry, skills, or talent. He preferred to let his brothers rake in the attention as he slipped into the shadows, utterly unnoticed.
AMICABLE: To coincide with his desire to be utterly unassuming, the tom learned to be as amicable as possible. He was kind, almost to a fault, a facet that was uncommon among his ancestors. He would do whatever was asked of him, even if he did not want to do it. While Molefur learned to demonstrate this side of him at all times to avoid confrontation, he was, in all senses of the word, a kind and selfless cat, often extending a paw to assist those in need. Unfortunately, this was not a trait well received by his brothers or his father.
SUBSERVIENT: Due to his kind and modest nature, Molefur was subservient, almost to a fault. He never dared to ruffle any feathers and weathered abuse with a turned cheek. He refused to defend his own beliefs and let the other toms in his family order him around. He did his father's bidding from his moment he was born until the final days of his life as deputy. He was a push-over, a cat who would perform detestable deeds and horrendous acts if only to avoid confrontation and the condemnation he feared.
COWARD: From the moment he was born, Molefur feared battle. He often dreamed of becoming a medicine cat, not because he was interested in herbs or because he wanted to form a closer bond with Starclan, but because it freed him of his future as male, Heron descendant, a cat destined for endless wars and death. This cowardice also bled into other facets of his life. He feared confrontation, he feared conversation, and he feared the inevitable: his destiny as a leader of Lichenclan. He was even too afraid to defend his own beliefs or the ones he loved, and this fearlessness, ultimately lead to his own demise.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Molefur was the second litter born to Sagestrike and Lilyfrost, and unlike their first litter, this one was rife with toms, a sure blessing for the Heron line. Born alongside his brothers, Smokekit and Skunk-kit, and his sister, Dewkit, Molekit quickly learned his position in the clan. Like his brothers, he was destined to lead Lichenclan. However, unlike his brothers, he did not want to. In fact, he cursed the Heron blood in his veins, only ever wanting to live a quiet, unassuming life without such a coveted title.
This would never be his fate.
From birth, Molekit was much more meek than his brothers, a gentle soul who would much rather become a medicine cat than a skilled warrior, if only because it protected him from the throes of battle. His father, a callous cat and the clan’s deputy at the time, quickly picked up on this trait, berating his son for his soft temperament. Molekit was also consistently pitted against his brothers, who played roughly, the heron blood evident in their veins. The two of them often tortured him with cruel tests of strength and brutality, even going so far as to hold him under water to “test” his endurance in the lake.
His sister, Dewkit, provided him some comfort in their earlier moons, her destiny quite different than his. But under the tutelage of her parents, she quickly began to distance herself from Molefur as well, believing his meek nature to be a sign of weakness, a stain on the heron blood. Molefur also started to resent her, becoming envious of her fate. As a she-cat, she would never be able to lead the clan. Her role was to merely become a mother and birth more heron-related kits, a fate he wished was his own.
APPRENTICESHIP: As an apprentice, his father tried to encourage Molepaw to be more like his brothers, and assigned him a mentor who was relentless in his training. The old warrior, a tom named Bluethorn, forced Molepaw to train, claws unsheathed from dusk to dawn, until he returned home exhausted and bloodied. But no amount of cruelty or bloodshed could alter the tom’s beliefs: he did not want to become leader. Instead, he learned to become amicable, how to become the ideal Heron heir. He kept his mouth shut, his claws unsheathed, and he did whatever his mentor, his father, or his leader told him, and this was enough to get by.
He was never in the spotlight, like his brothers, but he was finally out of the crossfire. Besides, he had learned that as long as his brothers and his uncles were still alive, then he would never have to become leader. He too, like his sister, could merely pass on the heron line and let his children lead the clan, while he continued his quiet, unassuming life, the life he always wanted.
Fate had other plans.
WARRIOR: Shortly after he earned his warrior name, Molefur met a Redwoodclan warrior at a Gathering, a charismatic tom named Foxfire. While most Lichenclan and Redwoodclan warriors kept their distance from one another, Foxfire took one look at the huddled, unobtrusive Molefur sitting alone near the outskirts of the crowd, and plopped down beside him, a smile on his face. Molefur didn’t say much, the other tom much more talkative and friendly than him, but he thought about Foxfire for the rest of the night, long after they had departed.
He thought about him for the next moon and the moon after, and soon, he quickly realized he had a problem. He was in love with a tom from another clan. He was in love with a Redwoodclan warrior.
Ashamed, Molefur bottled his feelings and shoved them down as much as he could. It was stupid really, he had convinced himself. He had only known the tom for one night. It wasn’t love. It was a mouse-brained crush. To ignore his feelings, he threw himself into his warrior duties, even going as far as humoring his father’s “chosen match” for him, a she-cat named Mallowfur. Knowing that Molefur was too soft to lead the clan, Sagestrike arranged a “pairing” between the two young warriors, hoping that he would at least be able to bring more heron blood to the clan.
Molefur actually liked Mallowfur, but only as a friend, learning he was simply not attracted to she-cats. Still, he tried to like her. Oh, he tried.
Mallowfur was sweet, affectionate, often bringing him fresh-kill in the morning and grooming him at night, but even as much as he tried, Molefur only thought of Foxfire. His heart was not in it. Oblivious to it all, Mallowfur continued to court the tom, dreaming about the kits they would soon raise, while unbeknownst to her, Molefur started to sneak out to the Redwoodclan border at night, hoping to catch sight of the red-coated tom. It took him a few moons, but he eventually crossed paths with Foxfire, a fated meeting which would ignite a love affair Lichenclan would never assume.
Sparks flew, and despite the dangers, the two toms continued to meet with one another for the rest of the season, often spending nights in the redwood graveyard together beneath the stars. When Foxfire learned about what it was like to be in Lichenclan, especially as a Heron descendant, he tried to convince Molefur to leave his clan and join him in Redwoodclan, but the tom was hesitant, afraid even. He was convinced that if he left Lichenclan, then there would be a bounty on his head. Not once did he think his father would understand.
No, he would want him dead. Molefur was sure of it. So instead, he continued to be with Mallowfur back on the shore, pretending to be the perfect Heron heir, while secretly he continued to be Foxfire’s lover in the forest. This double life was fine for him, even if it wasn’t ideal.
However, this double life could not last forever.
With Crimsonstar’s death, his father became the new leader of Lichenclan, and his uncle, Otterthroat was elected as his next deputy. Terrified that he would be chosen, no matter how unlikely, Molefur watched the ceremony in bated breath. It was not until his uncle’s name was called, did the tom release a sigh of relief. He was safe for now.
But under the rule of his father, life in Lichenclan dramatically changed. Crimsonstar, despite his Heron blood, had negotiated an era of peace with their Redwoodclan neighbors, a treaty Sagestar wished to amend. He wanted to reinstate the war with Redwoodclan. It was time to claim the Mooncave as their own. Otterthroat did what he could to placate the older tom, but it was too long before Lichenclan attacked, Redwoodclan shattering the decade long truce. War had returned to the shore, and with it, Molefur had to be even more careful than before.
To make matters worse, Mallowfur began to grow restless, unable to watch her friends bear litter after litter while she never had kits of her own. Molefur was starting to run out of excuses, and feared he would have to relent if he wanted to continue to meet Foxfire in secret. Fortunately, as the war started to worsen, Mallowfur reluctantly chose to wait once more, believing that it was unsafe to bring kits into such a violent world. This belief was only strengthened when Molefur’s brother, Skunktail died in battle, the first casualty of many.
Otterthroat was next, and his sister, never having kits of her own, died soon after when she was forced to fight in a battle hardly trained. Again, Molefur watched in the shadows as his only living brother, Smokemask, was appointed the next deputy of Lichenclan. Once more, he was safe, but as the war continued to rage on, he feared his brother would fall victim next.
DEPUTY: A little more than a season later, he was right. Smokemask soon died in battle, leaving his name as the only sole contender. Before he died, Smokemask had left three children in the clan, two she-cats and a tom, but they were young warriors. There was no way that Sagestar would elect such a young and inexperienced deputy as Stormfrost, even if he was more suited for the role than him. Still, Molefur had hope.
But it wasn’t enough.
Molefur was elected as the new deputy of Lichenclan. At first, he tried to cut ties with Foxfire, unwilling to put his lover’s life at risk. But Foxfire refused to relent, and they continued to meet in secret. Foxfire tried to convince him to end the war, to be the change their clans both desperately needed, but Molefur could never do it, as much as he wanted to. He knew his cruel, callous father would never end the war, not until all of Redwoodclan was dead. He knew that if he dared to make such a suggestion, Sagestar would banish him on the spot, so he remained silent, continuing to play the role he had orchestrated his entire life.
But it wasn't enough for Mallowfur. Shortly after his deputy ceremony, the she-cat finally left Molefur, unable to live the life of a queen without any kits. Instead, she quickly found solace in a tom named Ospreyflight, who offered to father her kits out of servitude for the clan. Molefur was relieved that their "relationship" was over, making his visits to Foxfire much easier. However, he feared that their separation would earn prying eyes. Fortunately enough, few warriors gave him little grief. Instead, their ire was turned toward Molefur's niece, Minnowleap, who refused to take a mate of her own and continue the heron line.
A season into his deputyship, Molefur continued to see Foxfire in secret, but their relationship was strained under his new role. One night while Molefur was sneaking back into camp, he heard a sudden clatter of rocks, as if someone had been watching him. Alarmed, the tom quickly darted into the main cave, his heart in his chest. He waited, anticipating the worst, but it never came. No one ever confronted him, but still, the paranoia bloomed.
He started to become anxious, nervous that his secret would be found out, and then one morning, after returning from the dawn patrol, Molefur found the rotted skull of a fox in his nest: a warning. Terrified, Molefur chose to end it all that night. He knew that if it continued, Foxfire would be found and killed. He was sure of it.
Heart in his throat, the tom recklessly leapt from the cave as soon as the moon touched the horizon. He was too scared to even think, careless in his departure, and completely unaware of the fact that he was being followed. When he found Foxfire in their usual meeting place, a small clearing beneath a redwood giant in the graveyard, he hastily told the tom his fears. He told him about the skull, how he feared for their lives, and then he left just as quickly as he arrived. Foxfire tried to stop him, but it was no use, Molefur was determined. He had to end this, no matter how much it hurt.
He never made it home.
In the last moments of his life, Molefur was racing across the crest of the cliffs, bent on returning to the main cave before the moon reached its final apex in the sky. When suddenly, he was hit, a sharp crash of claws against his legs and a loud, venomous hiss. “Traitor!” It was the last words he ever heard before he slipped, violently crashing into the rocks below, the waves hungrily claiming his unconscious body. His water-trodden corpse was discovered the next morning. A mysterious accident it was claimed, an unfortunate end to the male heron line.
BUILD: Coyotecall was a small and skinny cat, sickly in the girth of his limbs and curve of his ribs. His tail was long and particularly thin in the middle. The fur between his toes was often unkempt, and the skin long and sagging between his pits. He was a cat who appeared as if the wind could take him from his feet.
COAT: A short blue, ticked tabby coat was dusted in dull tawny and dun. The charcoals was darkest on the top of his head, running down his back and tail. White lined the eyes and splashed Coyotecall’s muzzle.
FACE: With a face small and diamond shaped, Coyotecall carried high cheekbones with large ears and yellow eyes. Great shadows drew beneath the arches of his face, but the lightness of his fur shielded them from the darkness cast, allusively light. His whiskers were white and sprayed in great bunches from his square jowls.
PERSONALITY
INTELLIGENT: When the other kits were playing, Coyotekit was left to the boredom of his nest. There, he had to make games out of the mundane. Using the little resources available, Coyotekit kept himself entertained with puzzles and conversations to all who visited, honing a great sense of intelligence. Of course, Coyotecall always had a natural inclination for intelligence, finding patterns quickly and hypothesizing each trajectory. His favorite area of study was the motives of others.
PERCEPTIVE: Coyotecall had an incredible ability to read others. This keen sense of perception allowed him to accurately assess others' thoughts and emotions. Everything from body language, tone of voice, and the content of their words were pooled into Coyotecall’s understanding.
MANIPULATIVE: He used this uncanny intuition to his personal advantage. Coyotecall was a master manipulator. All of his motives were attuned to discover the needs and desires of others and ultimately use them against the other, or at the very least, in pursuit of his own goals and ambitions.
SINISTER: From the start, Coyotecall experienced a warped version of reality. Coyotecall’s understanding of one’s innate nature comes from his own paranoid, fearful, and controlling perspective. Haunted by the voices and visions of the Dark Forest, this evilness is what Coyotecall sees in others, and also what he projects himself. Coyotecall truly believes that others are inherently bad and that he himself is a part of that experience. There is no use struggling from the darkness, to Coyotecall it was inevitable
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Born runty and sick, Coyotekit was a small, pitiful thing alongside his strong and healthy sister, Squirrelkit. Frequent visits to the medicine cat's den plagued the first moons of his life. Worried he wouldn't live to see his apprenticeship, his parents fretted over him and often spoke about StarClan's twinkling sky, as if soothing him for the inevitable.
It was strange, accepting he was going to die at three moons old.
Coyotekit persevered, nonetheless, though he never experienced the normal life of a kit. While Squirrelkit played games with their den-mates and prepared for her future as a warrior, Coyotekit watched from the safety of the nursery, deeply envious of her health.
Every waking moment was torture for the young tom. He never felt right. He experienced regular breathing issues, struggling to sometimes expand his chest and always feeling fatigued. Even his sleep was plagued with constant and debilitating nightmares. Frequently he awoke gasping for air after a particularly frightening dream, which his parents mistook for another breathing flare up and rushed him to Saltfur, the medicine cat.
There was nothing the aging medicine cat could do to make the dreams go away once they discovered it was part of the problem. "They're only kit dreams," he'd tell his parents. "They will resolve by the time he's in the apprentice den. It's fairly common."
Even at four moons old, Coyotekit didn't believe him. There was something sinister and evil about his dreams. Thumping flesh. Darkening skies. And whatever was out there, as the landscape started to morph and shift into shadows, it was trying to talk to him.
But he could never make out the words.
APPRENTICESHIP: At six moons old, Coyotepaw was apprenticed to an older tom named Gobyshadow, just moons away from the elder's den. Highly perceptive, Coyotepaw saw through his parents' ruse. They must have consulted with Miststar and requested this geriatric warrior to "mentor" him, accepting he'd never become a normal warrior due to his health. It was laughable, the way Gobyshadow "trained" him.
While Squirrelpaw trained with the rest of their peers, practicing hunting skills and the few battle moves the pacifistic LichenClan approved of, Coyotepaw learned to clean out dens and help with the newborns kits, like a queen. It was insulting and belittling.
Why didn't they just give him a chance?
Around his eighth moon, he tried requesting an actual mentor, someone who would train him to become a warrior, but his request was denied. Miststar danced around her reasoning, explaining it was "noble" and "respectable" of him to help tend to the camp, and his training was just as important as his sister's. But he saw through her fox-dung.
She thought he was weak and pitiful too.
Then he heard the voice.
MEDICINE CAT APPRENTICE:"Follow me," it said to him in a dream. Swathed in shadows, Coyotepaw crept through the darkness, following the distorted meows until a forked path came before him. One path glistened, a light beaming at its end. Delicate blooms and foliage sprung up at its edges, the path straight and welcoming. While the other twisted and gurgled, the stench of carrion wafting from its depths. Overgrown and tangled, the second path was sinister, evil, surely a path leading to his death.
A cacophony of voices suddenly surged at him, as if hundreds of cats were speaking at once. Frantically he tried to make out the words, head swinging from side to side. When finally one voice, louder than the rest, thundered within the swarm.
"Great power awaits you, Coyotepaw," it boomed from the second path. He glanced toward it, nape bristling. "Come, here."
He went, despite the roots reaching for his paws, the dark, sinister branches tearing into his pelt, and the screeches singing from the shadows. He went until his eyelids fluttered open, and he no longer felt afraid.
"Saltfur," he meowed the following morning in the medicine cat's den. He was having his weekly check-up. The old tom glanced at him, pausing in between evaluating his lungs. "Yes?"
"I had a dream."
Saltfur, no longer interested, continued with his physical. He always had dreams.
"I was walking through the forest and suddenly two paths rose up before me," Coyotepaw meowed softly.
Saltfur went rigid.
"A path of light and dark."
His breath hitched.
"A voice called out to me, promising me great power—"
"Coyotepaw," Saltfur meowed urgently, gripping the young tom with his paws. "What path did you go down?"
Coyotepaw glanced at him, considering his answer. His whole life nobody listened to him. They thought he was weak, pathetic — incapable of ever living a respectable life as a warrior.
"The light one," he lied without blinking. "It brought me to a haven of Stars."
The next day, Coyotepaw was sworn in as the next medicine cat apprentice of LichenClan. Saltfur believed it was a sign from StarClan, claiming he received a similar dream in his youth. He too was presented with the opportunity of joining the forces of the Dark Forest, but rejected their promises of power and greatness, just like Coyotepaw.
Coyotepaw readily took to his training as a medicine cat. Possessing a sharp mind and a powerful intuition, it took him little time to memorize all of the herbs and their healing properties. He was quick and highly accurate when it came to assessing his ailing patients and giving them a diagnosis.
For the first time in his life, Coyotepaw felt like he had a purpose. Den-mates who used to look at him with pity began to seek out his healing abilities and commend his efficiency. Even his sister congratulated him and celebrated his success. Saltfur praised him for his quick learning and accuracy. Being a medicine cat gave him power.
But it wasn't enough.
It began in Miststar's den. A meeting was called between them, the deputy and medicine cats. Tension was rising between the three clans concerning territory and resources after a rather persisting drought. Miststar shared her willingness to hold a council between leaders, hoping for a peaceful resolution.
"Why not use our position with the MoonCave to our advantage," Coyotepaw spoke up unexpectedly.
They all glanced at him.
"What do you mean?" Miststar asked slowly as Saltfur stared at the young tom, willing him to remain quiet.
"Threaten to take away their access to the MoonCave and their ability to convene with our ancestors," he meowed. "If they don't come to an agreement, hold StarClan hostage."
Appalled, Miststar dismissed him at once. Saltfur angrily led his apprentice back to their den.
"It is not your place to speak to Miststar like that," he warned. "And to suggest taking StarClan hostage?" The old tom was at a loss for words. Coyotepaw indignantly held his stare. "Why not? As medicine cats, aren't we granted the same power as our leaders and deputies? Do we not converse with StarClan? If we threaten to sever their connection, they will surely give us everything we want." Silence clung to the stone walls. "It was only a suggestion," Coyotepaw meowed after a beat, sensing his misstep. "I will not speak out of it again."
He had to be more careful.
Visited frequently by dreams of shadows and pulsing flesh, Coyotepaw met with cats of the Dark Forest. They held the secrets of the island, they told him. The true secret to power and prosperity. Only those deemed capable enough ever reached their hidden skies. Only those brave enough ever walked their dangerous path. Everyone else was too weak, pathetic, refusing to learn what existed beyond the shadows. Coyotepaw was special, and if he continued meeting with them and heeding their signs, they would grant him the secrets to unfathomable power.
The Dark Forest believed in a natural order of things. Just as light existed, so did darkness. Sometimes, cruelty and evil were necessary to rid the islands of the forces that threatened to destroy it. But his leaders were weak and foolish, choosing to pacify his den-mates with lies.
If LichenClan did not change its ways, soon it would be taken advantage of by the other Clans and destroyed.
But nobody listened to him.
Not to a lowly apprentice.
Around his eleventh moon, the current deputy passed away, and Heronfoot was appointed in her place. Coyotepaw dismissed the senior warrior, expecting another weak-minded pacifist, but Heronfoot was different. While removing a thorn from his paw-pad one morning, he learned the deputy was in favor of teaching their warriors to fight. If territory negotiations with the other Clans went south, he dreaded their chances on the battle-field.
Heronfoot struggled bringing up the issue to Miststar, already anticipating the she-cat's answer. Coyotepaw drank in his indecision and self-doubt.
Would Heronfoot be the answer to his prayers?
At fourteen moons old, Saltfur still adamantly refused to give him his name. The old tom didn't trust his connection to StarClan and was beginning to have his doubts. Despite his ability to heal and diagnose patients with frightening accuracy, there was something 'off' about him, something unsettling. He wanted to bring it up to Miststar, but struggled forming the words. If something was wrong with Coyotepaw, then that meant he misread the signs, and what did that say about him?
Saltfur never got his chance. A moon later, Miststar passed away unexpectedly in her sleep. She was aging, but previously showed no signs of sickness. They inspected her body post-mortem. "Her heart stopped," Coyotepaw meowed simply after examination. Saltfur glanced at him. "How do you know that?" he rasped. Coyotepaw raised his crown to meet him. "How do you not?"
Tension crackled in the medicine cat's den in the moons following her death. The newly named Heronstar took a liking to the young Coyotepaw and often requested his input during meetings. They got along well. It made Saltfur uneasy. He tried speaking to Heronstar about his doubts, but struggled expressing his concerns. It was hard to conjure any proof.
Coyotepaw knew what he was doing.
Saltfur was a heretic and a fool, unfit to continue guiding LichenClan and practicing the word of StarClan. If he let him continue, his Clan was doomed.
In the middle of the night, he slipped away from camp. He slunk through the shadows and across ThistleClan's border. He walked until the earth turned wet and peaty beneath his paws. Entering the bog, he very delicately collected the death berries. He would only need one to kill his mentor, but he harvested several just in case.
As easily as he slipped away, Coyotepaw returned to camp and crept back into the medicine cat's den. He stood over his sleeping mentor, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. In one swift movement, he parted his mentor's jaws and planted a death berry on his tongue, using his tail to soothe it down his throat.
With a gasp, Saltfur's eyes popped open, body still groggy from sleep. He tried pushing himself to his paws, but it was already too late. He stumbled back into his nest, mouth beginning to froth and gurgle. "What did you—" He gasped as his eyelids fluttered. Coyotepaw counted down the seconds. Soon each of his organs would fail and his heart would stop. He would be dead in less than a minute.
Right on cue, Saltfur slumped, body fighting against the inevitable.
"Goodnight, Saltfur," he whispered as the tom took his final breath. Gently, Coyotepaw cleaned him up, closed his eyes, and curled up into his nest, feeling at peace for the first time in moons. In the morning, standing beside a somber Heronstar, Coyotepaw pronounced his mentor as dead. "His heart stopped," he meowed clinically.
Heronstar accompanied him to the MoonCave, where he finally received his name.
MEDICINE CAT: It was easy to manipulate Heronstar. Since becoming deputy, Heronstar wanted to train his warriors to fight, but was met with opposition. They were pacifists. LichenClan didn't fight.
But what if StarClan told them to?
Using StarClan as a guise, Coyotecall returned from the Half-moon with a sign, though they never truly visited him at the MoonCave. Only the Dark Forest spoke to him in his dreams.
"If we don't train our warriors to fight, it will be the end of LichenClan," he told Heronstar somberly. "StarClan sent me a vision, a future of our Clan writhing in unfathomable despair and suffering. We must abandon our pacifist ways or risk losing our Clan to the darkness."
They began training the next day.
His meetings with Heronstar persisted. The leader was an indecisive fool. It only took the slight suggestion of StarClan for Heronstar to buckle and relent. He would never displease their ancestors.
But it wasn't enough for Coyotecall. The other medicine cats were beginning to treat him differently at each half-moon. After convening with StarClan, they questioned him like Saltfur used to, as if he couldn't snuff out their rotting intentions. He hated the way they looked at him, asking about his dreams and his connections with StarClan.
What did they know?
They never braved the dangerous path. They never conversed with the Dark Forest and learned their secrets. They were not chosen like him. They were filled with sin.
He told Heronstar of his suspicions. Not only were the medicine cats poisoned with evil, but so were the other Clans. They could only be cleansed through death. It was a necessary evil if they ever wanted to restore balance to the island. Heronstar struggled to understand him.
"So what should we do?" He asked.
"Start by banning them from the MoonCave," he advised as he once did moons ago. "They can not be trusted with our ancestors" Heronstar stiffened. "Then we must attack."
The leader couldn't make a decision, even with Coyotecall advising his every move. Something drastic would have to happen. The Dark Forest sent him a vision, a blood-thirsty ThistleClan patrol.
A hunting party was sent out to the Sandy Creek. Honeyflower, Heronfoot's mate, was assigned to go with them. Sensing an opportunity, Coyotecall slipped away to join them, claiming he needed to restock his herbs. While at the creek, an apprentice lost control of a fish. It went flopping over the water and onto the other side of the border. They all stared at it, sensing a ThistleClan patrol nearby. The warrior code permitted them from stealing prey over the border. Coyotecall gestured to it.
"Go fetch it," he encouraged. "You'll be so quick, they won't even notice."
The apprentice leapt out of the water and into ThistleClan land. The bushes crackled. It was already too late. The patrol leapt out, angry and half-starved. For moons, ThistleClan suffered due to two-legs pillaging their land. They threatened the apprentice, waiting little time to break out into a fight.
Honeyflower moved to go back to camp for reinforcements, but Coyotecall stopped her. "I'll go," he promised. "I won't be much use in a fight." She hesitated slightly, but relented. With a nod, Coyotecall raced toward camp as yowls split over the earth and into the sky.
Only when he was completely out of sight did the medicine cat slow and take his time. He meandered about, pausing to inspect moss growth upon the cliff sides. When enough time had passed, he finally returned to camp, feigning he was out of breath. "Heronstar!" he yowled. "Skirmish! On the ThistleClan border." Heronstar leapt from his den, gathering warriors with a bark. He raced past him. "Honeyflower," Coyotecall meowed desperately. "She's with them."
Heronstar and his warriors returned hours later, Honeyflower's dead body between them. A giant wound gaped at her neck. Coyotecall padded over to join him. They sat somberly in the middle of camp. "Do you believe me now, Heronstar." The leader, more defeated than he'd ever been, glanced up at him. "Yes," he meowed weakly.
They declared war on both RedwoodClan and ThistleClan, and as Coyotecall advised, they soon took the MoonCave too, barring the other medicine cat's from convening with StarClan. The Dark Forest was greatly pleased with him.
At last, Coyotecall had complete control, but for how long?
Power was precious, always fleeting. He had to ensure they could never take it from him again, even after he was gone.
With Heronstar under his paw, they enacted new laws in LichenClan. It was decided that Heronstar possessed 'holy blood.' He and his line were the purest to ever be born on the island. StarClan blessed his family. They too were chosen, and only they could ever lead LichenClan again. Coyotecall told him this, lying that StarClan came to him in a dream. Desperate, Heronstar ate it up. It was empowering to believe he was chosen — that killing cats across the border was justified and holy.
Coyotecall devised it to keep his control. Heronstar and his brothers were stupid, power-hungry cats. It was easy to manipulate them, and if he continued grooming their line? Ensuring they always trusted the word of the medicine cat? It was too easy.
She-cats were then banned to the nursery. No longer could they train to become warriors. This came partially from Heronstar's insistence. Every day, he mourned his mate, believing she would have been safer in camp tending to kits. But it partially came from Coyotecall's own reasoning too. Wasn't it easier to control half a population if they grew up believing they were inferior?
War raged between the Clans until StarClan had enough.
A flood was brought down upon the land, killing everyone fighting on the shore. Safe upon the cliffs, Coyotecall watched as they washed away with the waves. Every leader perished, including Heronstar, and he felt nothing. His brother, Reedstorm, was a bumbling buffoon, if not more than Heronstar. He'd be easy enough to fool. But unease prickled at him as the waves brought torrent after torrent to their shores.
Was it perhaps meant for him? A warning?
Unrest rippled through LichenClan in the moons following the flood. Some thought it was a sign, a desperate plea to return to their pacifistic ways, but Reedstar quieted them. With Coyotecall at his side, they claimed it was StarClan's will. Heronstar committed the greatest sacrifice by dying in the flood and to save them from sin. If StarClan was punishing them, then why did the flood kill the other two leaders too?
To ease some of the hostility, Reedstar reopened the MoonCave, if only to gain their favor. Coyotecall was furious, but nothing he said could persuade his leader otherwise. He was forced to relent.
With the MoonCave returned, the unrest dissipated, but not all. Alone in the medicine cat's den, Coyotecall heard whispers. They spoke of rebellion, of rising up against Reedstar and everything he worked so hard to create. They had to go.
It was easy for Coyotecall to find them. One by one, he marked down the dissenters, and one by one, over seasons, he killed them. Some he poisoned with death berries. Others he let die in the medicine cat's den, standing by as they perished to treatable wounds and ailments. It was easy to kill someone if you understood just how delicately the body worked.
And it was even easier to get away with it. At every death, he spoke about their impurity, their sin. If they just believed in StarClan enough — if they just prayed enough, then they would've lived. But they were lowly, dirty, insignificant, undeserving of StarClan's blessing and light.
A class system slowly emerged as cats began to identify themselves with the sacred Heron-blood, fearing the repercussions of believing otherwise. His most loyal supporters were treated with respect. They received the best prey, the best nests in the warriors den, and the highest honors. And the rest? They were treated like scum of the earth.
As he grew older, Coyotecall became more of a recluse. His days were spent conversing with the Dark Forest and heeding their calls. Only his sister and her kin ever received his infrequent company, and that was limited. He still harbored resentment for her, but at times he thought about confessing to her, if only to tell someone everything he's done for their Clan. As much as he enjoyed the power he wielded, a part of him longed to be as celebrated as the great Heronstar.
Shouldn't his name be honored too?
It was only in his aging moons did Reedstar force Coyotecall to take on an apprentice.
"You're getting older, Coyotecall," he meowed. "Do you wish to leave LichenClan without a medicine cat?" Coyotecall regarded him coolly. "Who says I'm leaving," he replied.
But it was an interesting idea. His mortal body would not serve him and LichenClan forever. Perhaps an apprentice was a good idea. For moons, he studied the young kits in the nursery before deciding on a pupil. A young tom named Otterpaw was selected as his apprentice, he too was sickly and weak, reminding Coyotecall of himself.
Otterpaw was a bright apprentice, readily taking to the life of a medicine cat when it came to herbs and healing, but where Coyotecall lacked a warm and sympathetic bedside manner, Otterpaw did not. He chatted happily with his patients and practiced great empathy. His parents and siblings were supportive of his choice, believing Otterpaw was chosen by StarClan.
It unnerved Coyotecall.
StarClan did not choose him. He did.
He tried imparting his teaching from the Dark Forest to the young tom, but he fought him every step of the way.
"Necessary evil?" Otterpaw responded. "What are you talking about?"
"As medicine cats, we must do what others cannot. We must preserve the natural order of things, even if it means committing a sin."
They only trained together for a few moons when Coyotecall heard him whispering to another clan-mate in the medicine cat's den.
"I think he's talking with the Dark Forest," his apprentice urged fervently. "I think he's killed warriors before. Coyotecall, he's not—"
Coyotecall stumbled, crashing into one of the herb stores. It fumbled to the ground with a bang. Fox-dung! He quickly padded to the other side of the den, hoping to catch the other clan-mate, but they were gone. Only Otterpaw stared back, nape bristling.
He passed away a few days later.
"His heart sadly stopped," he told the Clan. "It was the will of StarClan."
He refused to take another apprentice, even as his bones began to ache and his memory started to slip. As the seasons shifted, Coyotecall continued advising Reedstar under the tutelage of the Dark Forest. He was able to convince the tom to attack RedwoodClan, fabricating a sign from StarClan. War raged between the Clans until Reedstar perished in battle.
Heronstar's son, Wolfstar rose to leadership.
Against Coyotecall's wishes, he assigned his own grand-daughter, Honeypaw to train beneath him as his apprentice. LichenClan desperately needed another medicine cat. The ancient medicine cat refused to train her. Quiet and unassuming, Honeypaw did her best to stay out of his way and appease him. She learned secretly by meeting with the other medicine cats, who readily helped her, sensing a chance at peace.
In his final moons, he was sequestered to the elder's den, mind fully gone to dementia, as Honeyfern took over. He only babbled and screamed to himself, of prophecies and signs and impending doom. He claimed Heronstar spoke to him constantly. His feeble body remained in the den, but his mind, sharp and alert prowled the Dark Forest. For moons, he existed in this half-state until his heart finally killed him. It just gave out, old and refusing to pump blood any longer. LichenClan mourned his death. Despite his slip in sanity, he was a legend among the nobility. Perhaps one of the greatest medicine cats to ever live.
But was he truly gone?
uvu
coded by ulla
Lilacbite
Blue and cream tortie she-cat with sage green eyes.
BUILD: Lilacbite was tiny. Even in her old age she was slight of frame, appearing the same size as she was at a few moons of age. She was a thin cat, with a solemn and sharp face.
COAT: A short coat of blue and cream mottled fur graced Lilacbite's frame. A long, spidery thin tail stretched out behind her.
FACE: In the center of Lilacbite's sharp face was a petite charcoal nose. Long, graceful white whiskers sprung from each side of her maw. Sage green eyes peered on either side of the small cream blaze that traveled down her nose. A large patch of cream covered the left side of her face, while blue dominated the right side.
PERSONALITY
METICULOUS: Lilacbite was meticulous. She kept all aspects of her life and the Clan's business organized and rarely would one have found her stores of herbs lacking. She was in the know on every cat's business and kept tabs on who was and wasn't worthy of StarClan's honor.
CHARISMATIC: Lilacbite was a master weaver of words. She knew how to say the right thing to relax the cats who entreated her for service. She knew what to say to get a cat to complete some task. She knew what to do to please those she needed something from. Lilacbite was one who knew what to say and do to get people on her side.
FANATICAL: When Lilacbite would latch on to an idea, she would rarely let go. This was most pronounced in her devotion to StarClan. She obsessed over her dreams and their meaning. She obsessed over what StarClan was trying to communicate to her at all times. This obsessive drove her motives and agenda in all things.
SANCTIMONIOUS: Fueled by her visions with Coyotecall, Lilacbite believed herself the epitome of blessed. She could do no wrong, all others who had not been blessed by StarClan were below her and deserved only her scorn for their failures in their faith.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Lilackit was born during the change of cold winter to warm spring. She was the only she-kit in a litter of three. Her mother, Wrenpelt, raised the kits on her own. Their father, a warrior named Jayclaw, had no love in his heart for his mate or his kits. Lilackit grew up beside her brothers, Fernkit and Pinekit, in the relative safety of the nursery. Wrenpelt entertained her kits with stories of LichenClan's great history, and the pride they should feel for their ancestors. "Your great-uncle was one of the greatest medicine cat's on the island, his name was Coyotecall." Her mind filled with these stories, Lilackit dreamed of meeting Coyotecall. Her imagination was so powerful that sometimes her dreams felt like reality. Some nights, she would dream of meeting a large, powerful tom in a dark forest. With a alluring voice he would tell Lilackit about StarClan's powers, and the might LichenClan deserved to exert over the others. His smooth ways influenced Lilackit greatly, and under the influence of these dreams she learned to navigate conversations with her clanmates in such was as to almost always get what she wanted. Even her two brothers, although they fought often, were ultimately under her paw.
APPRENTICESHIP: As her sixth moon neared, Lilackit dreamed once more of a visit from the strange tom. In that dream, he told her that if she became apprenticed to the medicine cat he could reveal secrets to her that he had never revealed before. Intoxicated by the prospect, and remember her family's connection to the past medicine cat, Lilackit begged Honeyfern to take her as an apprentice. Honeyfern agreed, and soon Lilackit became Lilacpaw, apprentice medicine cat of LichenClan.
It was her first night as an apprentice that the tom from her dreams confirmed the young kits suspicions. "I am no figment of your imagination, I am Coyotecall, and with my help you can bring LichenClan back to its glory." Tainted by Coyotecall's words, Lilacpaw began to hate her mentor. The sweet, dainty Honeyfern who cared more about peace than the glory of being StarClan's servants. It was maddening to the young apprentice to be constantly dismissed as an ignorant, fanciful, she-cat whenever she spoke of their great duty to StarClan. When Coyotecall would visit her, Lilacpaw would complain. "What should I do? She's holding LichenClan back." The blue tom smiled. "Simple, we get rid of her."
Lilacpaw was only three moons into her apprenticeship. It was the dead of winter, and nature was relentless. Coyotecall told Lilacpaw what to do, promising that he would continue her lessons once her mentor was gone. The time finally presented itself, and Lilacpaw convinced Honeyfern to join her on a walk along the cliffs. A storm threatened to break, and Honeyfern wanted them to return to camp. But Lilacpaw convinced the she-cat to stay out a little longer. And then the storm broke. The cold air turned to ice and sleet battered the she-cats and the ground. Lilacpaw slipped into a cave for shelter, and then watched Honeyfern grapple on the went stones searching for her. When the wind picked up, Lilacpaw knew it was only a matter of a misplaced paw that would send Honeyfern crashing to her death. As the pale she-cat grew more frantic searching for her apprentice, she became careless. Her paw slipped, and Honeyfern fell.
Lilacpaw waited until the storm cleared. Feigning heartbreak, she staggered back to camp where her clanmates had grown concerned from the absence of Honeyfern and Lilacpaw. When Lilacpaw revealed that Honeyfern had taken her on a walk when they were caught in the storm that took her mentor's life, the more traditional cats in the clan grew concerned. What do we do now? We have no medicine cat! That was when Wolfstar spoke, and with his commanding voice declared he would escort Lilacpaw to the Moon Cave to receive her name and guidance from StarClan's waters.
Sitting at the water's edge, Lilacpaw felt a thrill rush through her. Now she would learn so much from Coyotecall. Now Honeyfern couldn't hold her back anymore. She dipped her paws into the icy cold water, then waded further in until her entire body was encased in the water. Only when she could hold her breath no longer did the small she-cat pull herself from the water. Then, chilled to the core, Lilacpaw slept beside the pool.
It wasn't a dream like she had experienced before. Shadow figures crowded around her. Only one sharpened into a familiar face - Honeyfern. Do no be deceived by Coyotecall's promises. The words echoed through Lilacpaw's mind, and she recoiled from her mentor. No! He knows what is best, he is the greatest medicine cat LichenClan has had. Lilacpaw ran, and then she woke.
She had received no name, no guidance. Honeyfern knows nothing, she kept me from StarClan. Lilacpaw knew that Wolfstar waited outside for her, to hear what name StarClan had bestowed upon their newest and youngest medicine cat. She had nothing but the lessons Coyotecall had taught her before. The tortie she-cat meditated for a bit longer before leaving the cave. She had answers for Wolfstar. I'll be called Lilacbite, for my biting words will remind LichenClan of their ultimate duty. For to long LichenClan has allowed the heathens in the other Clans to traverse this sacred ground. Not anymore, I promise we will return StarClan to honor.
MEDICINE CAT: It was not until a few nights later that Coyotecall visited her again. But Lilacbite could forgive him for his absence, he had already taught her so much. Guided by his words, Lilacbite exerted an influence over Wolfstar. With silky tones she presented herself as a meek child seeking the support and advice from her trusted leader. But with each meeting she planted another seed into Wolfstar's mind. Barely a year after Honeyfern's death, Wolfstar, guided by Lilacbite, announced a return to war with RedwoodClan. The blue and cream she-cat smiled inwardly the entire time. We will make StarClan great once more.
Lilacbite's influence became more visible over the seasons. As the war threatened to continue on endlessly, the deputy of LichenClan spoke out against her. Neither approved of the other, but Lilacbite's influence over Wolfstar was strong and with Bearstar of RedwoodClan as bloodthirsty as LichenClan, peace was only obtainable in dreams.
Lilacbite had stood as LichenClan's only medicine cat for many seasons, but as she began to near her 120th moon she felt it was time to groom an apprentice to take her place. In council with Coyotecall still in her dreams, Lilacbite had in her sights one of her great nieces, but her niece did not approve of Lilacbite's influence, and wished to see the war end. She refused to allow her daughter to train under Lilacbite, and so Lilacbite was forced to chose another kit. She took on Swallowpaw as her apprentice. She was meticulous with Swallowpaw's training, and Swallowpaw proved to have a keen mind. Lilacbite felt it would be wise to introduce her apprentice to Coyotecall. The tom was hesitant, but agreed to meet the she-cat in a dream. It did not go well.
Swallowpaw was disturbed by the visit and grew distrustful of her mentor. "You have been taking advice from the Dark Forest." Swallowpaw had accused her mentor. It disturbed Lilacbite to her core. Coyotecall is of StarClan, not the Dark Forest. She insisted in order to reassure herself. But the words still shook Lilacbite, and Coyotecall would not visit her again.
Lilacbite sought refuge at the Moon Cave. She sought out the voices of her ancestors, but none came. During a visit when Lilacbite was discerning if she should give Swallowpaw her name, a RedwoodClan war party attacked the cave. Bearstar of RedwoodClan was among the patrol, and he knew the influence Lilacbite held over Wolfstar. Without mercy, Bearstar killed Lilacbite in the mouth of the cave. When the two leaders of the warring clans died shortly after in subsequent battles, their successors sought out peace and freedom from the war they had been in for a decade.
BUILD: Hollythroat was a slim and lithe she-cat. Her stature was small and her soft features made her approachable to even the timidest of cats.
COAT: A beautiful blue Somali color graced Hollythroat's pelt. Long, wispy fur feathered across her body. Her plumed tail would curl gently around her body. Undertones of red and cream lined her lower body.
FACE: Her face was small, but not round. Her angular face featured a soft, dusty red nose. Short, graceful white whiskers jutted from the sides of her face. Beautiful hazel orbs peered from under the distinctive Somali face markings. Her ears were large triangles, their creamy interiors striking atop her darker toned face.
PERSONALITY
CARING: Hollythroat had a kind, caring heart even as a kit. Nurtured by the love of her parents, Hollythroat wished for others to experience that same love. Stories of helpful medicine cat's inspired the she-cat to care for others in a similar way.
ASPIRING: Hollythroat had lots of hope for her Clan. Filled with stories of legends and heroes, Hollythroat dreamed of an era of peace and tranquility for LichenClan. Driven by a still, quiet hope, Hollythroat persevered that even if she wasn't assertive, or had to submit to the decisions of her leaders, that one day goodness would prevail and peace would return.
FEARFUL: Fear drove Hollythroat to operate under the radar as a medicine cat. When she would speak out against the plans of the leader, she knew she would be putting not only herself but her family at risk. Fearful of how far some in LichenClan would go for power, Hollythroat learned to focus only on her tasks of healer and not as advisor.
INSECURE: Hollythroat, some might say, did not have a back bone. She was timid, and this timidness affected how she interacted with her clan and her completed her duties. She would not assert herself in her position of medicine cat. When teaching Cinderface, she hoped that her calm, quiet, kindness would speak louder than anything. On rare occasions when she would be asked for advice, Hollythroat would be soft-spoken and hesitant in bestowing said advice. She became a medicine cat who stayed under the radar, and hoped for better things to come from her failures.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: It was the beginning of green-leaf when Hollykit entered the world. Beside her was her sister, Berrykit. The two she-kits were loved by their parents - Sandbite and Mintheart. Mintheart, their mother, was frequently visited by her friend Egreftfeather as the kits were growing. Sandbite would visit his small family almost every night. Hollykit's parents doted not only on their two daughters, but on each other. The blue Somali she-kit grew up knowing only love and happiness. The nights that Sandbite would spend with his family were Hollykit's favorite nights. Her father would regale his daughters with harrowing tales of battle, perseverance, and legends. Hollykit loved the stories that featured cats who healed the best. When she and Berrykit would play Clan, Hollykit always insisted on being the medicine cat.
APPRENTICESHIP: Hollykit's inclination to help others was noticed by many. The Clan spoke highly of the helpful she-kit and brought her to the attention of the medicine cat, Robinwing. But the tabby she-cat was not impressed with the young kit. Hollykit was devoted to much to serving others and not StarClan. The she-cat, however, was growing sickly and old. StarClan left Robinwing no guidance, and when Hollykit reached six moons of age Robinwing accepted the kit as her apprentice.
During Hollypaw's training, she became weary of Robinwing's devotion to StarClan. Although it wasn't as extreme as other medicine cat's from history, Robinwing was a demanding mentor and expected similar devotion and perfection from her own apprentice. It was a stressful time for Hollypaw, and it was only with the support of her sister that she was able to get through her training with Robinwing's demands.
As Hollypaw neared her twelfth moon, four apprentices were involved in an accident. Egretfeather, who Hollypaw affectionately called aunt even though they weren't related by blood, saved three of the apprentices. It was the first trial of Hollypaw's training, and her performance in healing the injured apprentices impressed Robinwing. Hollypaw never reached the level of devotion to StarClan that Robinwing thought appropriate for a medicine cat, but her skill in healing made up for it.
Shortly after the incident, a civil war broke out in LichenClan. The old deputy, Nettlefur, passed from old age. The Clan was ripped in two between those who wanted Egretfeather named deputy and those who wanted Sagestrike. Hollypaw was worried the fighting would reach the point that physical battle would break out in the middle of camp, but then Egretfeather was found dead. The she-cat's death was a mystery. When Hollypaw sat beside the she-cat's body with her family, the she-cat noticed the subtle signs of poison. Her heart froze, knowing that only herself and Robinwing would have had access to such herbs. Scared that revealing the truth would result in her own, or her family's, death Hollypaw remained silent about her suspicions.
MEDICINE CAT: Hollypaw reached her twelfth moon. She and her family had sunken into the shadows, worry about their safety after Egretfeather's death spurred them into submission to the leadership of LichenClan. Robinwing had grown progressively sicker over the course of Hollypaw's apprenticeship, and when Hollypaw was of age the medicine cat bestowed her full name - Hollythroat. Robinwing passed soon after.
Hollythroat kept her suspicions about Egretfeather's death to herself. She did her best to prevent Crimsonstar and Sagestrike from using StarClan to rationalize their hunger for war and battle with RedwoodClan, but she was so young compared to the toms that soon she was relegated to to the "menial" tasks of healing, the leader and deputy rarely came to her for guidance from StarClan.
Seasons passed, and Crimsonstar passed from old age having reached his final life. Hollythroat accompanied Sagestrike to the Moon Cave, and sat beside him as he received his nine lives from StarClan. She feared him more than she had feared Crimsonstar. The blue Somali remembered what had happened to Egretfeather, however, and remained complacent and quiet to Sagestar's ambition.
As Sagestar exerted his dominance over the Moon Cave and RedwoodClan, Hollythroat knew she needed help. With battles occurring frequently the she-cat could not keep up with the demand for healing. Although she wished to take on one of her great nieces or nephews, none of them showed interest in the life of a medicine cat. Instead, a small mottled she-kit would frequently find her way into Hollythroat's den. Cinderkit, whose bright hazel eyes glowed with a passion that Hollythroat could not deny. But she hesitated, knowing that Cinderkit came from Icefoot, a StarClan fanatic and staunch Heron line supporter. Hollythroat worried she would not be able to rid the young kit of her mother's influence. Growing short on time, however, Hollythroat was forced to trust that StarClan was bringing Cinderkit to her den for reasons of their own, and so named Cinderkit her apprentice.
Moons passed, and Cinderpaw took quickly to her learning. She was attentive and devoted, but as battle became a norm for LichenClan Hollythroat frequently noticed her apprentice seeking out StarClan and blaming her failures on her lack of faith. Gentle correction, nudges, and advice from Hollythroat only did so much. The time came for Cinderpaw to be named, having completed her training. Hollythroat took Cinderpaw to the Moon Cave, and there bestowed the name of Cinderface onto her apprentice.
As moons passed and Hollythroat grew older, she did her best to continue teaching Cinderface. As LichenClan fell further into war with RedwoodClan, and political strife ripped through the Clan, Hollythroat feared she had not done enough for her Clan. They should be at peace with RedwoodClan and each other...StarClan what do I do? But time continued to pass, and Hollythroat's attempts to pull Cinderface away from her reckless devotion to StarClan continued to fail. The blue Somali grew tired and weak with age. Whatever bond she had shared with Cinderface during the mottled she-cat's apprentice ship was gone. As Hollythroat neared her 170th moon, she knew life was coming to a close for her. One final night she meditated by the pool of water in the den. It's source is the Moon Cave pool, she had once told Cinderface. Staring into its depths, she prayed one final prayer that StarClan would forgive her clan, and would not abandon them to destruction.
That night, Hollythroat passed away in her sleep, her hope for peace in her Clan guiding her to the starry sky above.
uvu
coded by ulla
WARRIORS
EGRETFEATHER
TALL, LITHE SNOW SEAL LYNX SHE-CAT WITH ROSETTE FUR AND BLUE EYES
BUILD: For a Lichenclan warrior, Egretfeather stood tall, towering over her den-mates, especially for a she-cat. Her body was built long and lean, making her quick and agile in battle. With a svelte figure, her body curved into a feminie frame, her waist small and defined. Naturally, she was able to scale the cliff-faces she called home and run across the shores with her strong legs, lungs never desperate for air. While a pacifist in nature, Egretfeather never neglected her training and made sure her musculature remained fit and lithe over her lifetime.
COAT: Cream in color, the she-cat was a beauty, noted for her dazzling seal rosettes that stretched across her pelt in a paw-print pattern. Her extremities, namely her legs and tail, adorned the darkest spots, almost charcoal in color. While her lower flank was a bit lighter, carrying a chocolate brown hue. The rosettes faded into golden, cream stripes upon her chest and back, swirling across her body in a mackerel pattern. In texture, her coat was short and silky to the touch. Tufts of feathering extended from her stomach and haunches, but otherwise, her pelt remained on the thinner side, excellent for repelling water.
FACE: Adorned in the same stripes that covered her neck, Egretfeather’s face carried rich, charcoal lines, marking her forward in the classic tabby “M.” The same dark coloring covered the bridge of her nose and lined her eyes, a stark contrast against her dazzling blue orbs. Crystalline in color, her eyes mirrored the sandy creek, and like its waters, echoed the same enchantment. Her nose was a light peachy-pink, while her whiskers extended from her face in alabaster white. Like the rest of her body, Egretfeather’s contours were long and angular, while her ears were tall and often erect.
PERSONALITY
ALTRUISTIC: From a young age, Egretfeather exhibited altruistic tendencies, always putting others’ needs above her own. As a kit, she would offer to help change bedding or keepy lonely den-mates company as their mothers left the nursery to stretch their legs. This desire to help others only grew as she started to learn about Lichenclan’s hostile culture and customs during her apprenticeship. The oppression that plagued their clan bothered her greatly, as it often conflicted with her generous and kind heart.
CANDID: Encouraged to always speak her mind, Egretfeather never shied away from voicing her own opinions regarding the nature of her clan or the impending war. When something didn’t make sense to her, like unnecessary cruelty or punishment, she always dared to express her displeasure, finding no relief in idle silence or observing as a bystander. The she-cat was frank and straightforward with her den-mates, which earned her the title of leader in the first rebellion.
IDEALISTIC: Egretfeather’s vision of a better Lichenclan was grandiose, but largely unrealistic due to her ignorance. The she-cat never fathomed that the leaders of her clan would condemn, or worse, kill their own clan-mates to remain on the Heron-blood throne. This naivety was her downfall. While the she-cat wanted to foster a greater, more understanding and communal home for her den-mates, she was careless and reckless in her decisions. Which in the end, resulted in her death and the end of the rebellion.
ASSERTIVE: A confident she-cat, Egretfeather’s desire to be direct and frank with her clan-mates conflicted with Lichenclan’s subservient culture. As a she-cat, Egretfeather was expected to be submissive and docile, but she was not. A lot of her den-mates, especially her male clan-mates, found her to be too assertive, domineering, and forceful, a rather undesirable trait for a future mate. As the rebellion leader, this essentially put a target on the she-cat’s back. Perhaps, if she had learned to blend in and remain silent, Lichenclan’s future would have been different.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: On the night of Egretfeather’s conception, her parents padded peacefully beside the sandy creek, only stopping when a mighty egret spread its massive, snow-colored wings and took flight, the sky surrendering beneath its elegant mass. Mesmerized, Snowstep paused to watch the noble beast before she turned to her mate, Vireoflight, and proclaimed, “What a pretty bird.” She then tucked away the name, remembering it once again when her children were born a few moons later.
Adorned with an alabaster pelt, Egretkit received the name, while her brother was named Chickadeekit for his richer, darker pelt. Raised under the loving tongue of her parents, Egretkit and her brother quickly noticed the stark difference between her family and the other stoic queens who occupied the nursery. While her father doted on them with tales of their ancestor’s noble pacifistic roots, other kits never met their fathers, only learning the stern voice of their mother, wanting to raise strong, devout warriors for the inevitable war.
Snowstep and Vireoflight encouraged their kits, praising them for each achievement, while other kits only ever faced punishment and shame. It was this encouragement that fostered Egretkit’s altruistic nature. Even as a three moon old kit, the she-cat was kind and generous, always offering her paw to those in need. But beneath her selfless heart, another fire burned, one unafraid to voice the truth and speak her mind, a trait unlike many other she-cats in Lichenclan.
APPRENTICESHIP: At six moons old, Egretpaw was apprenticed to a battered, war-torn tom named Phloxfang. Unlike her parents, he was not encouraging and pushed the young she-cat to her limits. He tried to cull her altruistic heart and pacifistic ideologies, claiming it was a sin to sympathize with Redwoodclan and protest for peace. This only encouraged Egretpaw to voice her opinions more, always questioning her mentor’s motives.
Based on her father’s stories, Egretpaw couldn’t understand their rivalry with Redwoodclan. Under a truce, Lichenclan and Redwoodclan were peaceful, no longer at each other’s throats beneath Crimsonstar’s quiet reign, but resentment and hostility persisted within the clan. Many warriors wanted the war to resume, the bloodshed to continue, but Egretpaw and her family did not. Lichencaln was born out of unity and peace, so where did this vitriol manifest?
Egretpaw soon learned whose voice mattered the most, the voice loudest with hate. It was the Heron supporters and the descendants clinging to his blood. While Crimsonstar begrudgingly adhered to the truce with Redwoodclan, his nature much more forgiving than his predecessors, his relatives did not. They furiously wanted to cull the truce and attack Redwoodclan for their sins, and this hatred consumed their clan.
Quietly her brother, Chickadeepaw, started to conform, unable to withstand the backlash of his den-mates. It was easier for him to blend in and mimic the hate than oppose it like his sister and father. So he distanced himself from them, a decision that broke Egretpaw’s heart. As much as she tried to sway him, her brother would not falter, too fearful to stick out, so he followed the crowd in a pained silence.
Angrily, Egretpaw took to her training, vowing she would not lose any others to this hate. Out of a vow, a powerful, warrior she-cat was born. Despite her mentor’s pleading, Egretpaw refused to become a queen like her she-cat den-mates and took down the warrior path in a blaze of fire. Her assessment was completed after she pinned Phloxfang in a fight, so thus she was named.
WARRIOR: At thirteen moons old, Egretfeather entered the sacred waters of her ancestors and confessed her sin. Guilefully, the she-cat confessed to not saving enough of her den-mates and urging them toward salvation, a sly remark that hid her true intentions. While Crimsonstar and Robinwing, the medicine cat, believed her confession to be about Starclan and the path of righteousness, Egretfeather’s admission was about the hatred in her clan instead.
Salvation to her meant reforming Lichenclan back to its former roots. To her, it meant a revolution.
Secretly, the she-cat began to speak with her den-mates, always in the shadows as she professed her cause. She believed the Heron supporters were a poison, permeating across the clan like a deadly disease until everyone was infected with their blind hate. Salvation would only come in their dismantlement. To her surprise, she found other warriors within their numbers who felt the same and a quiet rebellion formed.
But it was hard. While others shared similar beliefs, many others did not, making it difficult for the rebellion to meet in secret. Few of her den-mates even got caught speaking in private and received punishments for their sins. The rebellion had to lay low, and seasons would turn without progress. Egretfeather soon grew weary, and the death of her father, Vireoflight, dampened her spirit.
Around her thirty-second moon on the island, a young Heron descendant named Sagestrike made a pass at her, a mere compliment the she-cat laughed off as a ridiculous joke. The warrior was newly named and hardly twelve moons old. It was laughable to say the least. But to her dismay, she discovered he was serious and contended to make her his mate.
Egretfeather adamantly refused. She found his arrogance and blood-lust extremely unbecoming and told him as such, but the tom still aggressively persisted, until she lied and told him she was committed to someone else instead. No part of her was interested in continuing the Heron line, nor would she find happiness confined to the nursery, birthing kit after kit. The Heron toms treated their mates like rabbits, only expecting strong heirs from them and nothing more. The she-cat couldn’t imagine a more insufferable fate.
Sagestrike grew angry at her rejection, refusing to believe that she was in love with someone else. Annoyed, Egretfeather held her own against the tom, but eventually recruited the help of Prairieheart, a tom she had befriended as an apprentice, to pretend to be her mate. Sagestrike soon backed off, but not without swearing revenge against the she-cat.
To her surprise, Egretfeather started to develop actual feelings for Prairieheart, and garnered the confidence to confess her love. Delightfully, Prairieheart returned her affections, and the two welcomed three kits onto the shore a few moons later. Unlike the other queens in the nursery, Egretfeather never belonged to her mate, and they raised their children, Vervainkit, Spottedkit, and Mallardkit, equally.
Like her parents, Egretfeather and Prairieheart raised their children under the stories of the original Lichenclan, the clan born from unity and peace. At the same time, the rebellion started to flourish like a forest fire, crackling with hope. Almost three seasons old, Egretfeather carried a bright vision of the future. Unfortunately, her idealistic nature got the best of her. Because as the rebellion strengthened in the shadows, so did Sagestrike and his quest to become the next leader of Lichenclan.
With plans to stage a coup, the rebellion schemed in the tunnels beneath the island with Egretfeather at their helm. It wasn’t a massive group, but the warriors committed to the cause were formidable and ravenous for a new reign, a clan free from authoritative rule. It was a long-shot, but Egretfeather was confident it could be done. With enough resistance, perhaps the Heron line would finally fall, and Lichenclan could embrace change.
But tragedy struck and the rebellion suffered. Instigated at the border, Redwoodclan attacked a taunting Lichenclan patrol, a band led by none other than Sagestrike. The skirmish turned bloody and Egretfeather’s brother, Chickadeewhisker, was killed. Crimsonstar quickly reprimanded his youngest son and made amends with Redwoodclan due to their truce, but the damage had been done. Chickadeewhisker was dead.
Egretfeather couldn’t help but think the attack had been purposefully planned, believing that Sagestrike orchestrated the skirmish to kill her brother. Most likely, she was right. Paranoid and protective about the rest of her family, the she-cat called off the coup, choosing to disband the rebellion, at least for now. She didn’t want to lose anyone else.
Around her sixth season on the island, Egretfeather stumbled upon a band of apprentices trapped on an ice flow out on the lake. Desperately, the apprentices screeched for help, unable to face the icy waters on their own. Without thought, the she-cat plunged into the icy depths and rescued them one by one. But it wasn’t enough. One of the apprentices died the following morning, succumbing to horrific frostbite. Egretfeather quickly blamed herself, but to her surprise, whispers of the rebellion resurfaced, calling her to power.
They wanted her to be the next deputy of Lichenclan for her heroic deed.
Dying in the medicine cat’s den, the current deputy, Nettlefur, had little time. His body was frail and weak from seasons of servitude. He was too old to face the green-cough that clung to him. The next morning he died, and Egretfeather’s name danced around from mouth to mouth like wildfire.
But a stronger, more sinister name countered her own: Sagestrike. He was Crimsonstar’s most notable son, albeit the youngest. With the Heron blood coursing through his veins, he was the obvious choice.
Seated beneath the high-ledge, Egretfeather waited, unsure of the destiny before her. She didn’t want to be deputy, or believed she would even be chosen, but she couldn’t deny its call. As deputy, she could easily end the Heron reign once and for all and finally achieve the dreams of her rebellion. So as Crimsonstar ascended to his throne, she held her breath in bated anticipation.
Predictably, her name was never chosen.
Sagestrike was appointed instead.
But to her surprise, the members of her rebellion grew furious, tired of the cold oppression and hatred destroying their clan. So they rose from the ashes, demanding Crimsonstar to appoint her instead, even going as far to incite violence. They didn’t calm until Egretfeather herself leapt above them, positioning herself on another ledge, still beneath her leader. “Lichenclan,” she meowed, her voice confident and strong. “Please, listen to your leader and respect Crimsonstar’s choice.” Her words placated them, but Sagestrike seethed in the shadows, his greatest moment taken from him.
Alone with her mate, Egretfeather quietly confessed her newfound excitement to him, her body vibrating with anticipation. “The rebellion lives,” she breathed willfully, blue eyes bright. “We can do it. We can create a better future for our clan, our children. This is the time to strike.” Wasting little time, the she-cat dispatched a message to her followers, urging them to meet in three sunrises.
But she never saw the sun rise again.
Out on the shores, Egretfeather walked toward the Moonvave, mind churning with thoughts about her rebellion, when a sudden sound startled the she-cat. Whirling around, she was surprised to see Sagestrike’s ominous pelt, his face as heavy as a shadow. “Sagestrike,” she meowed slowly, careful to hide the fear creeping in her voice. But the tom didn’t greet her in turn, he only stalked forward, eyes venomous.
Egretfeather retreated, her paws meeting the smooth stone that eventually led toward the Mooncave’s sacred mouth. “I never got to formally congratulate you,” she murmured, eyeing the tom’s unsheathed claws. His voice came dangerously from his maws. “Is that so?” Egretfeather furrowed her brows, refusing to believe the tom had such sinful intentions. “Congratu--” the word never fully left her mouth, caught in a gargled, bloody scream.
Sagestrike slit her throat.
Egretfeather’s body slumped, eyes panic-stricken. Then it slipped into the lake below, the water swallowing her whole.
Three sunrises later it mysteriously washed to shore near the Mooncave, clean of blood, devoid of smell. Only a wound lacerated her neck, a grave injury Robinwing kept to herself upon examination, the dangerous gaze of Sagestrike like needles in her pelt. The clan soon learned of her death and the rebellion grew silent and fearful. Eventually, it disbanded, but Prairieheart continued to teach his children, and they taught their own children and so forth, until even his great-grandchild, Swansong and Quickstrike, learned about Egretfeather and her dreams of a better Lichenclan.
BUILD: While he never carried the imposing height of a Redwoodclan warrior, Cranewatcher made it by with his barreled chest and sheer girth. The blue warrior padded on heavy-set limbs and a thick covering of muscle, providing an impenetrable force in battle. He carried himself low to the earth and with purpose, his movements always calculative in nature.
COAT: A long, dense coat covered his already hefty frame. It extended across his flank in great tufts before pluming into a notable, feathered tail. His long coat primarily bloomed from his chest, stomach, and cheeks. Unlike most of his clan-mates, his fur held onto water, making the task rather disagreeable for the tom. It was a remarkable, dark blue in color. While tufts of warmer gray spread from his chest and underbelly.
FACE: Cranewatcher carried a dark, imposing visage. Reserved and a tom of few words, his wide-set maws and small, narrowed eyes did little to ease his already monstrous complexion. The tom’s were a bit set apart atop his crown, unportionally small. His nose was charcoal in color, almost blending into the blues of his coat. While his eyes were specks of vibrant green, a striking contrast to the rest of his dark hues. After his fourth season, the tom earned a grizzly scar across the left side of his face, resulting in one blind eye.
PERSONALITY
PERCEPTIVE: Reserved since his kithood, Cranewatcher was always the listener, the thoughtful observer. He did not believe in speaking until spoken to. Never one for unnecessary chatter or words, the blue tom spent his time watching others and developing his intuition. He grew sensitive to the unsaid, quickly discerning a situation often before others. This made him a praised strategist who could always offer valuable insight.
DARING: Beneath his ignorance and naivety was a self-sacrificing tom, who was willing to risk it all for what he believed in or for those he loved. It was not until Cranewatcher was faced with the reality of his clan did a boldness emerge from deep within him. He was brave and audacious, which drove him to commit feats few would ever dare. He would much rather sacrifice his own life than ever make another cat suffer.
GUARDED: Until he met his mate, Cranewatcher was a drastically private and cautious tom. He did not want his clan-mates to learn about the nature of his family and their connection to Egretfeather. To him, it was safer to keep potential friends or love interests at a tail-length distance, fearful they’d be punished for his family's misdoings. So he remained noncommittal and reserved, never developing any meaningful relationships in Lichenclan. He lived a very lonely life until his exile.
DETACHED: It was perhaps a coping-method for the young tom, but in order to process his family’s connection to Egretfeather, he simply removed himself from their presence. Detached and wary, Cranewatcher kept his head down and did what he was told as an idle listener. This earned him high regard among the loyalists, but it also made him terribly complacent, and in some regards, complicit in the atrocities his clan-mates committed. Cranewatcher knew horrible, unspeakable acts were committed in his clan, but it was not until his ow mother was wrongfully banished did he decide to change.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Born in the seasons after Egretfeather’s death, Cranekit entered the island during the cruel reign of Sagestar. War bristled on the horizon, and whatever freedoms had existed under Crimsonstar’s leadership were no longer in place. When Asterfur found her stomach was heavy with kits, she did not tell her mate, Salmonstep, until she was near her due-date. A quiet Egretfeather supporter, the she-cat did not want to bring kits into a clan that suffered under a tyrant. Salmonstep felt similarly but urged his mate their kits would be a blessing.
Only two kits survived the kitting. The third passed quietly through the night, born too weak to see her first sunrise. Cranekit and his brother, Stonekit, pressed confidently into the next few moons, where their parents silently influenced them against the Heron line. They were never direct with their misgivings for their leader, careful to keep their sons safe. But they made sure they didn’t develop the same brutal claws and hateful tongues as their peers.
It was not until the eve of their apprenticeship did his parents reveal the story of Egretfeather and her mysterious death to Cranekit and his brother. Stonekit listened in a thoughtful silence, while Cranekit grew stricken with fear. He wanted nothing to do with Egretfeather or a rebellion. He wanted to be like the other kits who wrestled and played and talked of war – if only to keep himself safe. He did not want to die.
APPRENTICESHIP: He was apprenticed to a cruel loyalist, an older tom named Sharpstorm, who adamantly advocated for war and the eradication of sinners across the island. So he made sure his apprentice echoed the same cruel sentiments, training the tom in the art of battle and prayer. Cranepaw slowly distanced himself from his family the older he got. It was not unusual for an Egretfeather supporter to be dragged out into the middle of camp, only to be brutally punished or exiled before the clan.
He feared his family would be next, as careful as they were.
Intuitive, Cranepaw quickly established himself among his peers, finding it easy to lose himself in a crowd. He was not the most popular apprentice, but he certainly wasn’t overlooked either. Many of his den-mates admired the young tom. Stonepaw wasn’t as fortunate. His brother was so quietly absentminded he came off as suspicious to the Heron supporters who filled their den. Cranepaw tried to vouch for him, but soon it became difficult to even be near his brother, who spent more and more time slipping off into the tunnels when the sun dipped beneath the horizon.
A moon before his warrior ceremony, Cranepaw decided to follow his brother in the dead of night. As much as he didn’t want to be crucified for his family’s sins, he still cared for them deeply and feared for their lives. When he found them huddled with a few other warriors, far within the tunnels, his mouth only fell agape. Fear crossed his face as he met his mother’s eyes. Desperately, he tried to convince them to disband and that the clan was fine under Sagestar’s leadership. But none of them would hear it. So he left.
WARRIOR: At twelve moons, he became Cranewatcher, named for his skill in thoughtful observance. He was a tenacious strategist and showed great promise for the approaching war. It was no secret that Sagestar wanted to attack Redwoodclan and reclaim the Mooncave as his own. The question only became when. Trained under a strict regime, Cranewatcher quickly became the favorite of some of the older warriors and was soon welcomed into their inner-circle. He did not contribute much, but he did listen, choosing only to cut in when he found it crucial.
But he lacked few meaningful connections, unable to ever truly be open with another. Several she-cats and their mothers tried to arrange a courtship with the young tom. But he always politely refused. He did not want some poor, unassuming she-cat to bear his children and pass on his lowly blood. So he kept everyone at a tail-length’s distance. He was well respected and renowned, but lonely.
When he was around his third season on the island, he woke suddenly, one leaf-bare night, to the sound of pained yowling. Fur bristling, Cranewatcher left the warrior’s den to find his mother sprawled across the Lichenclan camp, Sagestar’s claws ensnared in her back. “Let me go!” His mother screeched. Her cry was so full of anguish, Cranewatcher could only stand, rooted in horror, as his leader pressed her harder into the floor.
He denounced her as a traitor to the clan and banished her on the spot, not without giving her a nasty scar across the face. Despite it all, Asterfur left with dignity, chin lifted and tail held high. Her eyes met her son’s on the way out, a brief buckle of hurt, before she was gone forever. Shame consumed him like never before, a guilt that was nearly crushing.
It only took a moon for him to wander into the tunnels, after his brother one night, and find them huddled together beneath the stone. “I want to make amends,” he breathed as their cold stares fell upon him, glowing in the dusk of the shadows. “I want to be a part of whatever this is.”
Under the tutelage of Egrefeather’s surviving family, the blue tom learned the history of the rebellion’s efforts and their once courageous leader’s downfall. It was not confirmed, but many believed she was unjustly murdered. Cranewatcher did not doubt that Sagestar could brutally maim or kill one of his own. But he did not like the implications of it. Suddenly, his clan seemed so much more sinister and cruel. But the rebellion was small and often acted more as a support group than a revolution. To Cranewatcher, it felt like they were doing nothing at all.
After a half season of attending these meetings in silent observation, Cranewatcher proposed a different strategy, one that could rival Egretfeather’s own plans to restore Lichenclan to its peaceful and pacifist roots. But it was far more radical than anything she ever proposed. “We should kill Sagestar,” he meowed one night, voice dark and low. Eyes swung towards him in surprise. His father edged towards him. “Son,” he warned, sharing a glance with one of Egretfeather’s descendants.
Cranewatcher silenced him with a flick of his tail. “No,” he meowed firmly. “I could kill him. I’m sure of it.” Silence filled the tunnels. “They think I’m one of them. Everyday I sit among his strongest, most loyal supporters. Everyday, I listen to battle plans and talks of genocide. They want to reinstate the war with Redwoodclan. He wants to eradicate them and Thistleclan entirely from the forest.” It was decided.
On the eve of his fourth season on the island, Cranewatcher would commit one of the highest acts of treason. He would murder his leader in cold blood and then the rebellion would rise from the tunnels, using the opportunity to stage a coup.
The night was cold and unforgiving, a strange green-leaf eve. A storm brewed on the horizon, beckoned by the sudden drop in temperatures. Wind howled against the sandstone. Cranewatcher waited in the shadows as his leader slipped from the safety of his den and onto the shore.
He trailed quietly, keeping close to the cliffs, so the shadows concealed his blue visage. It was not until Sagestar entered the Mooncave and lowered himself to the sacred pool in silent prayer did Cranewatcher step into the holy light cast upon the stone. Cold hatred shone in his eyes. Sagestar did not look up, lost in the fervent of his prayer.
Cranefeather launched himself viciously upon the old leader, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of his neck. Blood burst into his mouth at an alarming rate. Sagestar scrambled beneath him, claws tearing helplessly at his flank, until he went limp with death. Cranefeather remained steadfast, knowing the tom would return, bound to the earth by another life. But he miscalculated.
Sagestar came to with such a violent force that he was able to quickly overpower the younger tom, clawing him grievously across the face. Cranewatcher hit the stone with a loud thud, only finding enough strength to nearly dodge a killing blow. He rolled onto his paws, hackles raised. Blood gushed from the left side of his face, his vision partially black. Another gash radiated just below his neck. His breathing grew haggard. “TRAITOR!” His leader screeched before barreling forward, claws outstretched and hungry for blood.
Cranewatcher ran.
He ran as fast as he could into the tunnels and he did not look back. He ran until his lungs burst. He ran until his legs folded and he collapsed in sheer darkness, somewhere unknown and vast.
The blue tom awoke to the feeling of a warm tongue rasping across his fur. His eyes fluttered open. A black she-cat stood before him, eyes kind but concerned. “Shhh, it’s going to be ok.” She murmured softly. Cranewatcher fell back into his darkness.
Upon waking once more, Cranewatcher desperately tried to return to his paws, but the dark she-cat urged him back. "You can't return," she whispered softly. Realization dawned on him as he sunk into the rocks. "No," he echoed, his vision blurred and ruined. Sagestar had half-blinded him. "I can't."
He soon learned that his savior was an ex-Redwoodclan medicine cat apprentice named Rookflower. He was surprised to learn she defected from the clan on her own many seasons ago. Under Rookflower’s care, he slowly healed, soon finding he enjoyed her quiet and gentle company.
“Every day, I found myself more and more overwhelmed by my responsibilities,” she had revealed to him one evening. “Until one night, I couldn’t take it anymore. So I left.” The dark she-cat feared for the future of her clan. “Starclan would visit me all of the time,” she whispered after a moon in his company. “They sent me omen after omen. I was only plagued with nightmares. My mentor never saw anything like this.”
“Sometimes, I wonder if it was the Dark Forest trying to reach me instead.”
One night, Rookflower awoke with a violent tremor, claiming she could hear voices, urging her down the tunnels. Cranefeather followed, concerned for the she-cat he knew was far more important to him than a friend. The voices led them far beneath Redwoodclan territory until the falls could be heard thundering ahead. To their surprise, a large cavern opened before them, where a small trickle of water fell from the back wall. A measly basin of rainwater glistened before them, pathetic and unassuming.
“I can’t explain it,” Rookfeather whispered to him as they trekked back to their shared nest closer to Lichenclan territory. “But that place,” she murmured. “Starclan wanted us to find it.”
A season followed and Rookflower birthed their one and only child, a small blue tom, a spitting image of his father. For days they debated on bestowing their son with a warrior’s name, but they ultimately decided to name him Vega, after a story Rookflower learned when she used to roam the northern territory as a rogue. “It’s after one of the brightest stars in the sky,” she whispered to her mate.
While a reflection of his father, Vega quickly proved himself to be quite the rambunctious kit, reckless and impulsive in nature. He did not carry his father’s careful silence at all. With a knack for exploring, he’d run away from his parents and escape above ground, fascinated with the world above. His parents tried to explain why he had to remain hidden, fearful of the clans who roamed above. But he disregarded them.
It was on one of his explorations did he come across a wounded Redwoodclan warrior near the Lichenclan border in the aftermath of a gruesome battle. She could barely move, her throat open and bleeding. Desperately, he convinced his mother and father to help her. Cranewatcher reluctantly obliged, fearing if they revealed themselves to the outside world, they'd be persecuted, and he'd lose the life he so greatly cherished.
But when his eyes gazed upon the young, dying she-cat, who they later learned was named Dapplefang, the old fire of his youth returned with a vengeance. They had to help her. Quietly they dragged her into the tunnels and nursed her back to health. At first the she-cat was wary, claiming she was going to return to her clan when she was better, but as the moons passed, Dapplefang never left, finding solace wit them from the war.
After all of these seasons, Sagestar's desire to rid the forest of sin was upon them. Cranewatcher could not sit idly by. For the first time in moons, he tried to seek out what remained of his family and the rebellion, but after many weeks of searching and waiting, his paws came up empty. It was like they never existed at all.
It was not until moons later did he learn his father was executed for his involvement in the rebellion and his brother died in the war, sent to the front-lines of the battle. All whispers of the rebellion were silenced. The Great Egret line and any of her supporters were gone.
Even in Sagestar's death, Lichenclan was not freed. Cranewatcher learned that his granddaughter, Minnowstar, carried his same, cruel beliefs. She bore a different face, but it was always the same regime.
So he did what he could to help those who had been gravely injured, banished, or lost. Rookflower, Vega, Dapplefang, and him remained hidden in the tunnels, far from prying eyes, but in the shadows of the night, they emerged when needed. More cats joined them, some for shorter periods, others for longer. Some never left. It was how Cranewatcher lived out the remainder of his life. It was his rebellion, an outcry against the cruelties of clan life.
The night before the flood struck the island, Rookflower woke with a croaking gasp, her eyes wild. A nightmare plagued her, one of water and suffering. Old and weathered, she knew death was upon her. But before Starclan made their final call, she reached out a trembling paw to her mate and whispered: “Cranewatcher.” Her mate turned to her with grief stricken eyes. "Egretfeather has returned." And then she passed.
Gut-wrenched, Cranewatcher lamented for his mate. But he had little time to mourn, for the thunderous sound of water echoed down the tunnels. Everyone startled awake. A flood was upon them. Adderheart, a Thistleclan tom who had joined them a season prior, released a loud screech: “The falls!” Cranewatcher leapt to action, making sure everyone was up and moving, before leading them to the safety of the wide, cavernous basin. They all ran, weaving and winding beneath the island as the torrential rain waters bit at their heels.
A sudden cry broke through the cave as his granddaughter, Ara tripped, spraining her paw. Cranewatcher grabbed her by the scruff and hauled vigorously after the others as they poured into the cavern under the waterfall. It was nearly upon them. With one final effort, Cranewatcher passed Ara off to her father and screeched, "The rebellion, Vega!" before the water claimed him. His final vision was of stars as a ghastly blue descended upon the falls.
BUILD: Sky was lithe and small. Lanky limbs from her oriental blood gave her a fragile appearance. But muscles rippled under her fur, giving her the speed and agility needed for her duties as a prey-hunter.
COAT: Blue fur covered her pelt, while darker blue spotted tabby stripes blanketed it. Her fur was short and smooth, soft to the touch. Her blue fur faded into cream on her underside and crept up the sides of her chin.
FACE: Her face was triangular, and large bat like ears heralded her oriental blood. Long white whiskers framed her face, and large round eyes peered forth with their regal emerald gaze.
PERSONALITY
INQUISITIVE: One of Sky's best traits was her inquisitiveness. Constantly curious, she always looked for a new story to learn. She sought out these stories, learning the history of the Tribe from others and fostering bonds with her tribe-mates.
AMICABLE: Because she strove to learn the history of her tribe mates, she came to know each cat well. Her kind heart made her constantly concern for their well being and safety. Even as a to-be she wanted to ensure the health and safety of her tribe-mates. She loved to visit with them, especially the elders, and get to know everyone better.
INDECISIVE: As much as Sky cared for her tribe and wanted to support them, she suffered from indecisiveness. She hated upsetting anyone, and so it lead her to being indecisive. She relied heavily on the Has-Been's and her head Stone-guard and prey-hunter to give her advice and guidance. Only when matters became desperate would she suffer and make a decision on her own, regretting it if any of her tribe mates were upset by it - even if it helped the tribe as a whole.
PUSHOVER: With her indecisiveness and need to please everyone, Sky became a pushover. While most of the tribe loved her too much to take advantage of this, it lead to those who yearned for more vying for power to lead the tribe.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Born to a prey-hunter and stone-guard, Sky that Beckons Dawn was one of a litter of three. Her two brothers were rough and rowdy, the pride of their father, Jay, who believed they were on the path to becoming strong stone-guards like their mother. Daisy watched Sky blossom into the makings of capable prey-hunter. The day that Sky was named a to-be, the teller, Flash of Minnow's Tail, watched her closely, a knowing gleam in his eye.
TO-BE: Sky explored and learned all she could as a to-be. Her curiosity was insatiable. With the guidance of her tribe-mates, Sky learned the skills of stone-guards and prey-hunter. Her aptitude for catching prey was clear; so when her twelfth moon came, all were expecting Sky to study under the head prey-hunter, her father Jay. On the day of the ceremony, Flash appointed her brother's to learn under prominent stone-guards in the tribe. But when he came to Sky, the tom smiled fondly. "Today, Sky shall become my to-be, and walk the path of teller as the spirits revealed to me the dawn of her sixth moon." Sky squirmed with apprehension. Her curiosity made her excited, but the prospect of leading the tribe frightened her. How was she to please all those in the tribe?
Flash was a talented guide, however. He was patient with the young she-cat's questions and encouraged her to be confident with her decisions. While she had respected the teller even before becoming his to-be, as the moons passed she genuinely cared and loved him as a second father. The aging tom help a special part in her heart.
Then the plague came, and the tribe changed. Many became sick, and cats began dying off. Flash determined it to be a parasite making its way through the tribe. He and Sky administered herb after herb, trying for find a cure. A moon passed, and no cure was found. Sky watched her tribe mates wither away, and soon she watched her mentor, the teller, fall prey to the disease. As Sky's twenty-fourth moon passed, Flash did as well. He was buried on the shore of the island, his favorite place to rest. Sky was Teller now.
TELLER: With her Tribe dying around her, Sky knew she had to act. They had tried all known cures. They were out of known options. So the she-cat turned to her stories, and of the heroic deed of a prior teller - Whitefish. He had taken the tribe to the hills, to the hidden points of craggy cliffs. With little hope left, and now the Teller, Sky attempted the trek, her eyes scouting for signs of anything new that could save her Tribe.
The trek was precarious, but Sky was careful and attentive. She explored the unknown area carefully, and it was there in the hills of the moorland, she discovered the pale flowers. She examined the strange flower carefully, and shakily ate a few of the leaves herself. She passed the night without falling ill or dying, and so she brought the catmint to the tribe. With her ministering, the tribe began to heal. Her first trial as Teller had passed, and while it would take time, they would recover.
Sky's caring nature and natural inquisitiveness endeared her to the Tribe. With her resourcefulness in finding the new herb, she had gained their trust in her abilities even at the beginning of her reign as Teller. But she cared greatly for her tribe, to the point that she did not want to upset anyone. She trusted the head stone-guard, and her father had survived the disease and remained head prey-hunter. She went to them often for advice. While her father encouraged her to stand on her own, Rubble, the head stone-guard, yearned for more sway over the Tribe.
Moons passed, and strange creatures the tribe came to call two-legs visited their island home. The Tribe skirted around them, scared. Strange structures were erected. Stone-guards explored the area when the two-legs weren't around. Sky was frazzled, unsure how to handle the situation. The she-cat came to Rubble for advice, he encouraged her to trust him. "Let me handle that Sky." "Trust me Sky, I can handle it." Trusting completely in him, Sky allowed him more and more control. Rubble handled everything related to the strange creatures and structures. He ordered his stone-guards, and instructed the prey-hunters to show no fear. "These creatures are invading our home, we will not let them step on us. Size is not everything." The tribe began to come to Rubble instead of Sky. Until, that is, when her father confronted him. "You are not Teller, Rubble, Sky is." A fight broke out between the two toms. Larger than Jay, Rubble over powered him until Sky barreled in, screaming for the fight to stop. But the damage had been done. Jay was injured, a tendon torn in his leg. Even with her skill in healing, Sky could not heal her father's leg. He was to retire, and sky would need a new head prey-hunter and stone-guard.
Distraught by the damage her indecisive nature caused, Sky immediately ordered the Tribe to avoid the northern edge of the island where the two-leg's roamed. It was a rare occasion where she made a decision easily, but it had come to late to keep her tribe safe. Rubble's flippant handling of the situation had left many tribe mates injured when they ran from the two-legs. And some tribe mates had been captured. It had become to much. The decision had basically been made for her.
Refusing to see Rubble, and depressed over her father's injury, sky wallowed in her den, wondering who she could turn to. That was when the vision came, and those who she had love spoke to her through the earth. With flashes of images whirling in her mind, the next morning Sky felt peace in known the decisions had been made for her.
Before the tribe, Sky named her new head stone-guard and prey-hunter.
A time of peace entered the Tribe. The two-leg creatures disappeared from the island, but with the structures still present the fear remained. Sky continued to forbid the tribe from visiting the northern part of the island.
Moons passed, Sky bid her parents farewell as they returned to the earth. Rubble passed as well, and Sky began to fill her age. She knew she needed to name an apprentice, but she did not know who to choose. Each night she fell asleep hoping she would receive a sign.
Then one night she did. Standing in a field of goldenrod's, Sky felt at peace. The next morning to visited the new prey-hunter, Goldenrod, and took him on to be her to-be. He received a year of training from her before she to, passed, at peace with where she left the tribe.
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coded by ulla
FAWN FROM WHERE HEATHER BLOOMS
long-haired black and red torbie she-cat with green eyes
BUILD: A middling she-cat of no staggering or unassuming height, Fawn was terribly average in musculature and appearance. Chosen as the next teller of the Tribe before her to-be ceremony, Fawn never began training as a guard or hunter. She boasted a pleasing figure, curvy and captivating, compared to her well-trained peers.
COAT: From a distance, Fawn resembled a regular mackerel black tabby, but upon closer inspection, patches of red sprung up over her pelt, signifying her as a torbie. Long and dense fur draped over her frame. It was not as thick as many of her stone-guard tribe-mates. The red was most notable within the ridges of her visage and down the slopes of her back, going into her long and plumy tail. Her tightly packed stripes changed from red to black as they coiled over her coat in a consistent pattern.
FACE: As the rest of her figure, Fawn's face was not as large as the guard's or as elongated as the hunter's. It was terribly unremarkable and average in appearance. Her head was triangular in nature, with a slightly narrowed and pointed maw. Wispy tufts of fur came from her cheeks, emphasizing her trailing white whiskers. Her nose was small and unobtrusive, a mauve peach color. Her most captivating feature was her large green eyes, the shade of the moorland in bloom.
PERSONALITY
AMBITIOUS: Deeply determined and motivated, Fawn came into the world with a vision for her Tribe. She refused to let them suffer after Goldenrod's leadership and worked diligently to give them a future worth fighting for. She was steadfast in her decisions and firm with her subordinates. Fawn jumped at every opportunity to improve her Tribe-mate's lives and the island's life. She never let her own personal life interfere with her work. The success of the Tribe was her number one priority, no matter what the costs.
INNOVATIVE: Fawn's ingenuity as a teller led to many of the Tribe's modern-day customs and duties. Vowing never to let the Tribe suffer under her lead, she developed new roles for both prey-hunters and stone-guards to guarantee the life of the island, and, therefore, her Tribe. When presented with a problem, Fawn exhausted all of her resources and experimented with solutions. Giving up was never an option. Oftentimes, her solutions were whimsical or adventurous in nature, or humored her spiritual side.
CONDEMNATORY: Refusing to let anything get in the way of the Tribe's success, Fawn was unforgiving and at times unjust, to those who threatened it. She quickly shut down Weevil and his supporters, going so far as to demote the tom. While protecting the Tribe, Fawn's decision was shortsighted and perhaps dogmatic. Her quick dismissal of any naysayers later developed into the Great Hunger during Black Bear's reign and Cypress's grudge against the Tribe.
NEGLECTFUL: Fawn was a great Teller and prioritized the Tribe's success, but a lousy friend, sister, mate, and mother at times. Unable to give up her work, she often neglected her friends and family. She would compulsively work herself ragged and would never create time to spend with her loved ones. She also neglected her own health to better the Tribe, and set impractical standards for other Tribe-mates regarding her work ethic and demands.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Born during a reign of destruction and spiritual dissonance, Fawn took her first breath while Goldenrod, the teller, received a frightening omen. The teller saw a great blooming moorland. Protected by dense growths of heather, a tiny fawn curled at its center, as thunder crackled in the distance. Illuminated was a great and terrifying wave.
The wave threatened to engulf the entire island, including Goldenrod himself. He gave their parents, Dogwood and Foam, a hasty interpretation of their names before vanishing into the night. Fawn was an ambitious young kit and desired to become a strong stone-guard like her parents. She enjoyed devising grandiose plans for the day and ordering her more lackadaisical sister around. This often led to fights between the two, but they usually made up by the end of the night.
As Fawn's to-be ceremony neared, she began to understand the dire state of her Tribe. Under Goldenrod's tellership, the land did not peacefully coexist with its inhabitants. It was overgrown, and prey suffered to thrive. Goldenrod also struggled to build a connection with his ancestors, often interpreting the signs wrong.
After Sky's death, Goldenrod, a once confidant and capable prey-hunter, grew anxious under the pressure and suffered multiple panic attacks, leading him to make poor decisions and appoint lousy heads, including the head prey-hunter, Weevil. Many tribe-mates wondered if Sky had made a mistake in appointing him.
Goldenrod's anxiety grew worse as nightmares began to plague him. Every night, he saw the same omen. A baby fawn circled by heather as a wave threatened to spill over the island and drown them all. It haunted him so much. Their ancestors did not visit him until the eve of Fawn's to-be ceremony. They declared one of the sister's as the next teller of the Tribe, but the message was unclear. Which sister?
Goldenrod went with the obvious answer: Fawn.
TELLER'S APPRENTICE: Fawn stepped right out of the nursery and into the teller's den. While most to-bes her age might have balked at the responsibility, Fawn reveled in it. She enjoyed the varying tasks, developing a knack for herb identification and healing, and became a steadfast anchor for her anxious teacher, who required constant guidance.
However, her influence could only go so far.
Fawn lacked the emotional maturity to guide Goldenrod properly, and due to his inability to interpret signs from their ancestors, Fawn had to learn on her own, which proved to be a difficult task. She also didn't feel comfortable speaking up or over him.
Goldenrod continued to misinterpret signs, and the Tribe continued suffering under his leadership, namely at the expense of their land. Weevil, the head prey-hunter, continuously took advantage of this and used every Tribe meeting as an opportunity to belittle the tom. He urged his hunters to overhunt the land to cull starvation.
But that was not the answer either.
As Fawn tried to guide her mentor, tension grew with her sister, Wave. Deeply committed to her future as a teller, Fawn spent less time with her family. She turned down visits and outings so she could mesmerize herbs and try to find innovative ways to save their land. She also devoted a lot of time to supporting Goldenrod. Fawn felt torn between both worlds as conditions on their island got worse.
TELLER: During her tenth moon, a dangerous storm rolled over the island. Fawn stood at the top of the ravine as the storm gathered in the distance, desperate for Goldenrod to appear from his den and lead them to safety. But the tom did not appear. Fawn was forced to take action into her own paws and sent teams of hunters and guards across the island, urging all of the tribe-mates out of their dens and away from the shoreline. They sheltered at the Tribe stone as the winds picked up and the rain increased in intensity.
As the storm reached its apex, Goldenrod suddenly shot from his den and ran out into the moorland in a crazed dash, screaming about his destiny. Fawn chased after him, crying for her teller to stop. It was too dangerous. But she eventually lost him in the wailing winds and was forced back to the Tribe Stone.
She never saw Goldenrod again.
He was presumed dead after the storm passed, and they began slowly evaluating the wreckage. A tornado had touched down during the storm, rousing great flood waters onto their island. Several other tribe-mates were pronounced dead, including Fawn's sister, Wave. She had been so preoccupied trying to save her Tribe, and rouse Goldenrod out of his den, that she never personally checked on her own family.
She accepted the role as teller with a heart full of guilt and shame.
Their ancestors declared Fawn the youngest ever Teller of the Tribe. At only ten moons, she was thrust into one of the most demanding positions on the island. But it did not rattle her. Fawn rose to the occasion. After sitting in Goldenrod's shadow for so long, Fawn found she was desperate to right her mentor's wrongs.
She hastily replaced his heads, including Weevil after he sustained a grievous injury from needlessly grappling with a coyote. She deemed him reckless and irresponsible, and the tom took great offense—especially due to her age.
With her heads appointed, Fawn set out to rebuild her Tribe.
While the tornado took many lives, it also destroyed the two-leg campground that had plagued their island since Sky's leadership. The destruction gave them access to their land again, and the two-legs never returned. They were able to clear away the rest of the debris under Fawn's guidance.
Their burial grounds were also destroyed. After receiving a vision from their ancestors, Fawn convinced her Tribe to move their burial grounds and rituals to one of their isles. When she stepped onto the isle's shores, Fawn was compelled to journey into a cave of stone, beckoned by an unnamed force. The ancestors seized her at once, pulling her into a vision.
This isle would become the Stone that Never Ends, a communal burial ground, but also a place to openly commune with the deceased. No longer would the Tribe go on without a concrete connection to their ancestors. The Tribe would continue to learn from Goldenrod's mistakes.
Significantly in tune with the earth and apt at reading signs, Fawn also pushed for new guard and hunter duties—duties more geared toward the island they lived on. Instead of only fighting predators, guards began clearing their shores, inspecting tributaries, pulling out old plant growth, and tending to herbs. Hunters not only killed prey, but took inventory of it as well and tracked their dens and hollows. Their practices became more selective to guarantee future numbers by assuring the health of breeding pairs.
As summer changed to winter and then spring, the Tribe island saw a great resurgence and entered a new era of overabundance. Prey was plentiful again, and a belly never went unfed. The Tribe rejoiced under Fawn's leadership and readily followed her guidance after seasons of struggle. Only Weevil and his few followers ever gave her any trouble, but she was quick to discredit them. She refused to let anyone hurt her Tribe.
Fawn continued to lead favorably. However, her personal life was rather lacking. Her entire existence revolved around her Tribe. At five seasons old, her parents were long dead, and she had very few close friends. She only conferred regularly with her heads, which included the head stone-guard, Timber.
He was a patient and kind tom, slightly older than her. He was chosen a few seasons prior after Fawn's original head stone-guard retired. While a courageous and apt fighter, Fawn appointed Timber for his interest in continuing a herb repository—to help set up the Tribe's future. He was greatly attuned to the earth, and Fawn trusted his guidance.
It was not until her seventh season Fawn realized that Timber was in love with her—and perhaps, she liked him too. Their courtship was fast after working alongside each other for several moons, and their den joining ceremony was modest but heartfelt.
During her eighth season, they welcomed a small litter of kits into the world, one tom and a she-cat. A vision of towering trees came to the teller during her own kitting, signaling their family's importance for the future of the Tribe. So they were named Redwood and Sycamore. Fawn tried to be an attentive mother, but old habits die hard. She greatly struggled with balancing her personal life and leading her tribe.
Timber was supportive but also grew frustrated with his mate, fearing Fawn would never develop a relationship with her children. They already felt closer to him as their father. At his urging and reassurance, Fawn briefly gave up her duties as teller, allowing their head prey-hunter to take over until her kits became fledglings.
As Fawn grew older, she considered taking on an apprentice, but the ancestors refused to give her a sign. It was not customary for a teller to appoint a successor until a vision was received. So she waited patiently until the moment arose. It did not occur until the winter of her tenth season as teller.
One night, Fawn was suddenly thrust into a vision of yowling and bloodshed. It clung to the air, heavy and full of suffering. Wild-eyed, she raced over the moors, trying to locate the source—when suddenly two dark and burgeoning shadows overpowered her, loping toward the Tribe Stone. They raced past her, taking the shape of a black bear.
It plunged toward a den near the Tribe Stone, and Fawn's belly grew wrought with fear. The bear was going to destroy her Tribe! But to her surprise, the bear lunged into the den and returned, a yelping and mad coyote hanging from its maws. It shook it until it died. She locked eyes with the bear as it slowly morphed into the face of one of her guards.
Black Bear.
He was going to become her apprentice.
It was an unorthodox choice. The ancestors usually put their faith into a young to-be, or in her case, a kit, but after Black Bear and his brother, Sunfish, saved a Tribe-mate from a coyote, Fawn put all of her trust into their ancestor's choice. The stoic guard was startled by the request and wrestled with accepting the position. After much convincing, he begrudgingly obliged, and they began training.
Extremely patient, Fawn sat with Black Bear as he struggled to memorize herbs and treat injuries. They developed an unlikely friendship, one Fawn treasured deeply. He was nearly the same age as her own children, so she treated him as one of her own.
After training for half a season, Black Bear woke Fawn after receiving his first vision in a cold sweat. A kit-mother was dying. Together, they raced across the moorland, and saved Vine, the kit-mother in labor, from certain death. They left the den tired and ragged but also filled with relief. Fawn had interpreted the vision correctly. Black Bear was meant to become the next teller of the Tribe.
As the moons pressed on, Fawn became more fragile and frail in her old age. Her mind was as sharp as ever, but her body grew tired and arthritic. Every step brought pain. Their training sessions outside of the den became infrequent. They often opted to just sit together at the Tribe Stone as Fawn gave Black Bear all of her advice—as if she knew the end was nearing, and perhaps she did. Timber had left her only a few moons before, and she missed her mate.
Nearing her eleventh season on the island, Fawn said goodbye to her Tribe peacefully in her sleep. Guided by the cry of her sister's meow and Timber's gentle paws, she journeyed to the Tribe of Endless Sleeping, where even from the great sky, she never gave up her watch.
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coded by ulla
BLACK BEAR WHO FORAGES ON FROZEN MOOR
LARGE BLACK SMOKE AND WHITE TOM WITH YELLOW-GREEN EYES
BUILD: Descended from generations of stone-guards, it's no surprise that Black Bear carried a massive, well-muscled frame made for battle. He stood tall with well-formed limbs and a wide, destructive chest that made an ideal shield for his tribe-mates.
COAT: Over his musculature frame, the stoic tom adorned a dense, dark coat that mirrored the colors of smoke, making him a distinct cat to look at. Most of his fur was a rich, coal black that faded to swirls of silver across his flank. His chest, muzzle, and feet were an alabaster white in contrast.
FACE: Black Bear's face was distinctive in nature due to his vibrant, yellow-green eyes. His leaf-colored hues stood out against the dark shade of angular, apple-shaped face. His nose was black in color, while his whiskers shot out of his face in a brilliant, noticeable white.
PERSONALITY
BRAVE: Black Bear was raised in a nest of stone-guards, and as a result, he quickly learned to swallow his fears and leap head first into battle. When it came to protecting his tribe, the tom was rather valiant in nature and never turned his tail and fled when he was needed. He was always ready to face and endure even the most dangerous threats, never fearing the ache of a wound.
ALTRUISTIC: The dark tom was selfless in the sense that he was raised to consider others before himself. Each decision he made, even if it hurt him, was in the effort to better the tribe. During times of hardship, he would sacrifice his own resources for the benefit of his tribe-mates, and in the end, he demonstrated the ultimate sacrifice when he offered his own flesh and blood to save the tribe from starvation.
DETACHED: While selfless, Black Bear was almost detached from his tribe-mates in a sense. This made it easier for him to lead and to shield his own emotions from those who wished him harm. He had few friends in his life and conversed little with his tribe-mates. This detachment allowed him later on in life to develop a deeper connection with the Tribe of Endless Hunting, and therefore, the island itself. He received visions with more ease and was able to make his final sacrifice, no longer attached to the physical world. However, this detachment harmed those close to him and greatly affected his successor, Rain. It also made him come off as rather cold and caustic toward his tribe-mates.
STUBBORN: The smoke tom was mostly amiable. However, he did harbor some stubbornness about his decisions. He was a hard cat to convince otherwise once he was driven on a specific path. In this sense he was almost too decisive on matters that should have been more flexible. This stubbornness would cost him later on in life, when the tribe entered a winter of horrendous starvation.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Black Bear was born during a time of rebirth for the tribe. Under the leadership of Goldenrod, the tribe suffered as the result of his negligence during the last massive flood. Their lands were ruined, and food was scarce on the island for seasons. However, under Fawn, the new teller, the island was slowly restored to its naturalistic roots, and at the end of the decade, Black Bear was born. His mother, Sunflower, and his Father, Raven, welcomed Black Bear and his brother, Milkweed towards the start of summer. The lands were lush, and Black Bear was raised in an era of overabundance. He and his brother had few worries, and only dreamed of their lives as future stone-guards like his mother and father.
TO-BE: Black Bear and Milkweed became to-bes at the ceremonial sixth moon of their life. Black Bear wore the crown of berries across his forehead with an excited shimmer in his stare. Both he and his brother excelled in stone-guard lessons, their bodies built for battle and the chores associated with the island. While the brothers were close, both veered in different directions with their lessons. Milkweed liked to tend to the island more than test his claws for battle, while Black Bear roared into a threat without a second of hesitation.
It was around his ninth moon, when a she-cat named Vine became a to-be. Like Black Bear and his brother, she had an inclination for the thrill of battle and was more interested in the duties of a stone-guard than a prey-hunter. She was infectiously attractive, and Black Bear soon found himself infatuated with the tabby she-cat. But, he was not the only one who found her irresistible.
Vine had also attracted the attention of another to-be, a lithe, weedy tom named Cypress. Black Bear disliked the tom for more reasons than one. He was too loud, too brazen, and boasted about his abilities in both battle and the hunt. He was consistently irritable to be around and most regarded him with an eye-roll and a snort. With that in mind, Black Bear did not consider the tom a threat, as he knew the she-cat could never be interested in someone as awful as him.
He was wrong. Despite his advances, Vine showed little interest in Black Bear and only liked him as a friend. When he and Cypress received their assignments as a stone-guard and as a prey-hunter respectively, Vine confessed her affections for Cyrpress, and the two started to see each other romantically. Black Bear did not handle it well. He spent the rest of his training under his new mentor, Sunfish, in a heated, bitter ire. To make it worse, his brother, Milkweed, who had also been assigned to train as a stone-guard, had settled down with his own mate, a tom named Warbler. As much as he wanted to be happy for his brother, it was hard for the dark tom not be envious of of what he could not have.
Destitute, the tom felt isolated and alone. Vine's refusal took a hit on his self-esteem, and this bled into his lessons with Sunfish. He was often late to their treks into the woods, rarely listened to orders, and was unkind to his mentor. It wasn't until he was almost seventeen moons old when his attitude shifted in a different direction. It was the dead of winter, and the tribe had few resources due to the cold. Suddenly, a starved-mad coyote attacked a den near the tribe stone. Sunfish and Black Bear were only a few dens down, checking on another tribe-mate before their lesson later that dawn.
Before either tom could think, they were on their feet. racing toward the coyote, claws unsheathed. Due to their diligence, they were able to keep the beast at bay until more cats arrived on the scene. Both Sunfish and Black Bear were later named as heroes to the tribe, and it was then that Black Bear attracted the watchful eye of the Teller, as if she had seen this heroic deed in a vision.
And that she did.
TELLER'S APPRENTICE: Shortly after the coyote attack, Fawn, who was almost ten seasons old, neared the smoke-colored tom and told him he was to become the new teller of the tribe in her death. Startled, Black Bear wrestled to understand her announcement. He had wanted to become a stone-guard his entire life, never interested in the likes of medicine or herbs, nor did he want that much control over the tribe. He was not a born leader. Even his softer, more kind-hearted brother was more suited for the role than he. But, it was destined in the wind, the earth, and the lake, Black Bear would lead their tribe next.
At eighteen moons, Black Bear begrudgingly started to train beneath the old she-cat, but it was hard work for the crude and crass tom. He was used to relying on his brute strength and raw force in battle to demonstrate his worth. He was not used to the mental stimulation Fawn forced him to endure. The dark tom spent hours memorizing herbs, practicing healing techniques, and interpreting signs from their ancestors, but even after moons of work, he felt defeated. None of it felt natural to him, and he doubted Fawn's intuition. It was not until he received his first vision did he start to believe in his future as a teller.
Near his twenty-fourth moon, Black Bear woke in a cold sweat in the tribe stone. He had dreamed that a faceless she-cat went into labor, but her screams were so horrendous, the air so rancid with the scent of blood, he awoke mere seconds after the dream started. Startled, he sat there for a moment, and then leapt to his feet. Vine. She was the only due kit-mother on the island, and he knew the dream had to be an omen. Waking Fawn, he and the older she-cat hurried toward her and Cypress's den near the coast.
As much as Black Bear detested the other tom, he still cared deeply for Vine and would do what he could to save her life if the dream was true. When Fawn and Black Bear were close to the den, Vine's screams could be heard on the hills. Without a second to waste, the two healers entered the burrow and assisted the she-cat in labor, while Cyrpress nervously watched. To their horror, each kit was born dead, and Vine became weaker with each labored breath. But, with their effort, the two healers saved the kit-mother from death. Black Bear knew then, as he stared at the mess of blood, that Fawn's vision was true. He was the next teller of the tribe.
TELLER: Fawn died the following winter, passing peacefully in her sleep. Black Bear was thirty-six moons and had trained with the older she-cat for a season and a half. He felt unsure of himself without her steady guidance, but he was not as doubtful as he was before. As the tribe performed the ritual that would make him the official teller, he felt that this was destined as Fawn foretold. Under the first six moons of his leadership, the tribe flourished, even in the dead of winter, when food was scarce.
As the warmth returned to the island, so did old love. Ever since the death of their kits, Vine and Cypress wrestled to remain as mates, their love for one another fickle and strained. Vine felt that she let her mate down, that it was her blood that had killed their children, while Cypress became more and more bitter and cruel, ashamed of his inability to soothe his mate. He never hurt the she-cat, but found he could not be around her. It was then that Vine turned to her old friend, and the tom who saved her life, Black Bear, for comfort.
The two cats became closer with each moon, and by the time summer arrived on the island, their tribe-mates assumed they had taken each other on as mates. Black Bird and Vine never confirmed or denied the rumors, as it was rare for mates to leave on another, but it was true. She had finally returned his love after moons of his unrequited affection. Hurt, Cypress moved toward the northern forest on the island, and refused to meet with his other tribe-mates. The tribe whispered to one another that the tom would leave, a rare act for the familial band of cats, but no one knew for sure. He merely remained in the out lands until Black Bear fetched him back moons later.
Until then, the summer waxed hot and uncomfortable, and as fall loomed on the horizons, Black Bear feared the worst. There had been no rain for an entire moon, and a drought had ravaged the land. The moor was arid and coarse, the wildlife dwindled, and even the lake became shallow near the shore. Food became scarce and water was rationed. As Black Bear mulled over situation in his den, Vine at his side, he wondered if this was a punishment for his sins. He had stolen another cat's mate, which was far from an honorable act, and as the moons waxed and waned on without rain, Black Bear received another vision: it was a small kit with dark tabby fur and her eyes he saw the island doused in rain, lush moorland, and bountiful resources. He saw the future of the tribe, the next teller. But, this kit did not exist. Not for some seasons. So, the tom did what he did not want to do. He had to make amends with the tom he scorned most.
With a band of his best tribe-mates, Black Bear found the tom alone on the northern hills, his body a skeleton beneath his shabby coat. Cypress did not speak. He only listened, and it was not until Black Bear promised to anoint him as the next head prey-hunter, did he return. A few weeks later, rain descended over the island and life returned with a flourish.
A season later, the older head prey-hunter, a she-cat named Cricket retired from her role, and Black Bear kept his word. Cypress became the new head prey-hunter of the tribe. While the two toms never became friends, they both learned to work with one another and the tribe continued to thrive. However, Cypress forever held an intense malice toward the teller, even if he never admitted it out loud.
Seasons continued on the island, and when Black Bear reached his sixth season, Vine asked him for kits. The two had never tried due to Vine's horrendous labor the last time she was with child. But, as the two watched their friends birth kits, and the love that blossomed between them, Vine decided she wanted the same for her and her mate. So, two moons later, the she-cat birthed one, small kit onto the island, a she-cat named Snowshoe. She was a small, sickly kit who often had to remain in the tribe stone until her seventh moon, but she was well loved and adored within the tribe.
Unbeknownst to Black Bear and Vine, Cypress's hatred for the tom and ex-mate only waxed. He hated that their kit was born. He hated that Vine loved Black Bear more than she ever loved him. So, he vowed to drive the tribe into ruins, even if it would take seasons. Some even say he made a deal with the dark shadows of the Island to put a curse on Black Bear's blood, forever tainting his lineage. But, that was only hearsay. When the weather warmed once more, Cypress started to over hunt the island. It was slow at first, but over a few seasons, the animals dwindled in numbers, and Black Bear feared that an evil haunted his tribe like a shadow, never free from horror.
It was around his ninth season, when the kit from his vision, so long ago, was born. She was named Rain, and Black Bear knew from the moment she entered this earth that she would rule the tribe next. However, he did not ask the she-kit to train with him until she reached her eleventh moon. Black Bear wanted her to live a normal life first before she was forced to train as a teller, so he was pleased when she immediately accepted, excited to train under this new life. Black Bear worked with Rain for four moons before the tribe entered a time of fatal starvation.
Cyrpress had driven his hunters like wolves and eradicated most of the prey from the island, his retribution in full force. He did not care who it starved or killed. He only wanted Black Bear to be hated and blamed for the famine, which he was. This did not bode well for the old tom, as he became weaker with the cold weather, lack of food, and exhaustion that clung to his bones -- and it was the death of Vine that did him in.
Once she passed, due to starvation, the tom knew was not far from this world, so he ordered his apprentice to take him to the Stone that Never Ends and to commit the most horrendous act. He wanted her to shred what was left of his body with her claws and feed it to the tribe. He adamantly believed that he could save his tribe with his own flesh and blood, at least until the warmth returned. Horrified, Rain refused at first, but it was the sheer sadness in his stare, that convinced her otherwise. Knowing the deed would be done, the tom took his final breath, his vision filled with a serene sense of warm, and returned to the earth. Beside his lifeless body, Rain endured what would become the worst moment of her life.
BUILD: Rain was rather small for her age but really well built under her medium-length cloak. She possessed the strong four limbs of a stone-guard and the agile back limbs of a prey-hunter as she worked to make sure she was trained to assist her tribe in all roles.
COAT: Rain's fur was not exactly short but also was not extremely long. While the she-cat was mostly put together mentally, her fur did not reflect her sound mind as Rain was known for her disheveled and dirtied coat. Her tabby markings were usually streaked with mud, and matted fur often stuck out from her smaller frame.
FACE: Rain's features were nothing out of the ordinary to make her stick out compared to the other cats in her tribe. She carried the normal tabby markings across her forehead and had gentle olive green eyes. She did, however, have a large notch taken out of her left ear when she tussled with a fox cub as a to-be.
PERSONALITY
CARING: It is often said that had Rain not become a Teller and did not suffer from paranoids, she would have made a wonderful den-mother. The she-cat commonly went out of her way to make sure that her tribe had available resources. She made numerous den visits and had a soft heart for kits.
ATTENTIVE: Rain was detailed-orientated. She wanted to know every inch of the island and what was going on in the land she watched over. She wanted to know where each den was situated on the island, who lived where, and how every member was doing, not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well. She enjoyed her time getting to sit and talk with all her members, from the youngest kit to the oldest has-been.
IMPULSIVE: When it came to providing care for her tribe, Rain was known to act upon instinct rather than thought. This caused her to make numerous rash decisions. She never meant any harm, but there were several instances where the situation could have been handled better if Rain had taken her time to think about a resolution.
PARANOID: Due to the circumstances of her earlier moons, Rain dealt with a lot of her paranoia and anxiety. This mostly stemmed from her mentor's horrendous request before her death and the starvation her tribe suffered through. As a teller, Rain was always on edge. She hated the sound of whispers and always felt as if she had eyes on her that were waiting to reveal any dark secret she thought she had buried long ago.
HISTORY
KIT: Rain that Waters the Land was born on the night that ended the long drought, which had plagued the tribes for many moons. With her birth, came rain. When her parents visited the teller to choose her name, Rain was blessed with promises that her future would hold great possibilities. So her parents raised her to be attentive to those around her, kind in her words, and fierce in her loyalty to the tribe.
TO-BE: At the age of six moons, Rain began her generalized to-be training, and it wasn't long before the head prey-hunter and head stone-guard were arguing over who would get her when she became of age due to her hard-working nature and love for the tribe. Rain excelled in most tasks given to her, and when she did fail, she always asked questions in order to improve her short-comings.
When she was about ten moons old, Rain, wanting to prove herself even more to her tribe mates, slunk out of her den and into the forests of the tribe. She wanted to search for a herb that Black Bear had spoken of earlier that day, one that he had wrestled to find for moons. Instead of the herb, she found a fox den. Finding the mother no where nearby, Rain decided that if she could run the fox cubs out of the den, then she'd save the tribe a hassle down the road. So she dove in and quickly realized that she was in over her head. The two fox cubs quickly over powered her and drove her from the den, tearing her ear and leaving her with several other bites and scratches.
Limping her way back to the tribe, Stone-guards were quickly dispatched to care for the fox cubs, and Rain was herded to the Teller's den. After several scoldings, Rain promised she wouldn't go out on her own anymore. But her actions were not forgotten. Black Bear watched the she-cat for a few moons more, remembering a vision he had long before.
TELLER'S APPRENTICE: At eleven moons old, Rain was approached by Black Bear with the inquiry if she would like to start her training as his apprentice to be the next Teller of the tribe. Confused, Rain questioned his choice. She never imagined becoming the next teller. Black Bear then explained that he had a vision long before her birth that prophesied Rain's role as the next teller, but he did not want to start her training too soon. He wanted her to live a normal to-be life in order to be well-rounded in both roles before she took on the weight of the entire tribe. Excited by the notion of eventually leading the tribe, Rain accepted, and thus began her many moons of training to become the tribes next leader.
Most of her training went well during the time she trained under Black Bear. However not everything could remain peaceful. During this time, the head prey-hunter, Cypress, was careless with his preservation. He ran his prey-hunters like wolves and over-hunted the islands until there was no prey left. Black Bear had been so focused on his new pupil, that he did not realize what the tom had done until it was too late. Soon, the tribe quickly began to starve. During this time, Black bear also weakened due to the coming winter winds, lack of food, and his age.
In his last moments, he had Rain follow him to his final resting place and ordered her to take his body and shred it, giving it to the tribe as a source of food. Horrified, Rain started to object but Black Bear explained to her that if the tribe suffered any more losses than the whole island itself would fall apart in their absence. Reluctantly, Rain did as her mentor asked and miraculously the tribe and the island thrived and survived.
TELLER: While the tribe was able to survive the winter, their losses were tremendous, and Rain had few resources as the new teller. Her mental state was also unwell, and she started to suffer from nightmares and bouts of extreme paranoia. Still, she refused to let more of her tribe-mates die. She had to do this for her former mentor. His life was not lost for nothing. As the warm winds came back to the island, Cypress was demoted, and and older prey-hunter, one who Rain trusted named Tansy, was anointed to take his rank.
Under Tansy, the tribe returned to its traditions and worked hard to preserve all of the island's inhabitants. This allowed the tribe cats to flourish, and to Rain's relief, new kits were welcomed to their ranks. Around the time, the teller found solace in an old friend, a prey-hunter named Crane, who had trained with her as a to-be. He soon became a comfort to the rattled she-cat and would take her on hunts to distract her anxious mind.
Around her fourth season, and second season as teller, Rain and Crane welcomed two kits into the world, a tom and a she-cat, named Kite and Daisy. While Rain wanted to adore her kits with all of her heart, she continued to suffer from paranoia, which later turned into horrible post-partum depression. Her two kits were then nursed from another kit-mother, and Tansy, and her head stone-guard, Lightning, ran the tribe while she worked to heal herself. When her kits were around six moons old, and about to become to-bes, Rain re-introduced herself into their lives and was able to develop a better relationship with them. She and Crane decide to never have another litter of kits due to the mental stress it had caused Rain.
Once her kits were to-bes, and her mind was clearer, Rain re-took over duties as the teller and through herself into her work. Rain continued to work like this for a few seasons as the tribe flourished into its former self. The Great Hunger was a mere memory to her tribe-mates, but when the winter months became long, or a horrendous storm raged above, Rain found herself slipping, and she was back beside her mentor and his grave. The trauma of the winter never left her mind.
When Rain was around nine seasons old, she started to wonder when the Tribe of Endless Hunting would send her an apprentice. However, her ancestors remained silent. It was not until the summer solstice did the ancient tribe send her a vision. Rain was near the lake, watching the waves crash into the shore when she heard a noise suddenly crack behind her. Startled, the she-cat turned and saw the massive silhouette of a wolf. Their eyes met, and despite it's colossal size, the she-cat did not feel fear, and then she blinked. The wolf vanished. It was a vision. Rain immediately returned home and anointed a ten moon old to-be named Jaw of the Wolf as the next teller of the tribe.
The tom proved to be a fruitful apprentice. He was smart, charismatic, and had a knack for herbs. As Jaw of the Wolf continued to train under Rain, the she-cat anxiousness dwindled. There was relief in knowing that her tribe would be left in capable paws, and for the first time in a long time, the she-cat felt at peace. This did not last.
Near the end of the season, a tribe-member named Lark is exiled from the clan. While Lightning was on island patrol, his stone-guards discovered the torn and mangled body of their tribe-mate, Owl, near the lake, and Lark's stoic form, sitting beside her. Confronted, the massive tom did not hide what he had done, and then he left, vanishing into the dense forests on the mainland. The tribe-cats watched in disbelief, too started to follow him, and later, when Rain sends a patrol to permanently banish him from the tribe, his scent is not found. The tribe never saw Lark again.
As the seasons ends, and the new season starts, both Tansy and Lightning retire as from their ranks and become has-beens. Rain anoints Moth Guided by Fireflies as the head prey-hunter and Talon of the Owl who Hunts at Dawn as the new head-stone-guard. Both cats were recommended to the teller due to their work ethic and skill in their role. The tribe flourished from the end of winter until the start of fall. Rain continued to train Jaw of the Wolf, her anxieties soothed as the tom remained a constant source of relief due to his natural knack for his role. However, sickness descended over the tribe the moment the cold winds returned.
Rain and Jaw worked tirelessly to heal their clan-mates, but their stocked storage of cat-mint soon diminished due to its high demand, and no more was able to be harvested with the cold weather. As the season came to a close, Jaw succumbed to the sickness. He had been around the sick too much, and due to his work ethic, his immune system had weakened. No matter what Rain tried, the tom did not heal, and before the next season started, he died. With his death, Rain's paranoia and anxiety returned like a horrific wave.
A few night's later, the she-cat received another vision during a sudden sleet storm. While the rain and ice pounded into the tribe stone above, Rain became still as a vision of a river breaking a rock into numerous pieces overcame her mind. With a shallow breath, Rain knew who the next teller would be. As the sleet storm raged into the island, the she-cat summoned her tribe and announced her decision. Creek that Breaks the Stone would be the next teller.
Rain trained her new apprentice for only six moons before the sickness claimed her. While the black and white tom was kind and attentive to his den-mates, he still had a lot to learn, and this worried the she-cat. Creek did not soothe her as Jaw had, and as her sickness worsened, her mental wellness deteriorated as well. Even visits from her mate, children, and their children did little to ease her mind. Rain knew that soon she would return to the earth, and she had to leave all that she could with Creek.
In her dying breath, the she-cat whispered to her apprentice: "You are the first ripple, Creek." Her mind returned to her first vision, recalling how the rocks separated. She did not know what this meant, not for the tom, not for her sick tribe, but for the first time in her life, the she-cat felt at peace. Then she took another shallow, small breath and entered the Tribe of Endless Hunting.
BUILD: Built to carve into the moors as the prey-hunters before him, Cypress dons a lithe musculature and nimble limbs. He is compactly composed, the meat of his muscles found on his legs. He is of average height, if not a bit smaller than his peers, but the sheer magnitude of his presence creates the aura of a much larger cat. It was not unheard of to find the tom looming over his peers, angular face bent in a sinister sneer. From nose to tail tip, he was a bit longer than most, which added to his narrow stature.
COAT: A rich, luxurious red covered Cypress’s pelt, the color reminiscent of the trunk of a cypress tree illuminated in the dawn. As a ticked tabby, the tom’s back, tail, and crown of his head carried a much darker hue, almost black in shade. Remnants of tabby stripes adorned the last few inches of his tail, while a prominent dash of white splashed across the very front of his chest. Beneath his sternum, a few flecks of white could be found as well.
FACE: A smaller tom in stature, Cypress made up for his nimbleness with the sharp lines of his face. Narrow and defined, the head prey-hunter carried a rather angular facade, often twisted in a venomous scowl. Even when he was in a docile mood, the dark tabby stripes atop his forehead and the dangerous slant of his green eyes created the visage of a deeply unfriendly and unapproachable cat. Lost in the hues of red, the tom toted a blushed colored nose, and from his cheeks drew long, refined white whiskers.
PERSONALITY
OPPORTUNISTIC: Born to a father who wanted him to succeed, Cypress learned from a young age to be resourceful, no matter the situation. Never one to let an opportunity slip from his claws, the red tom mastered the art of manipulation and developed a silver-tongue. He knew when to act and how to act in order to win his favor. This is not a trait that can be earned without wits. Cunning in nature, Cypress often observed from the shadows, mind always turning, as he meticulously prepared his next move.
CONFIDENT: Humility was not a common trait in his den growing up. Promised grandeur from kithood, the tom fully believed he was destined for power, so he acted as such. Confident in a tribe known for humbleness, Cypress’s ambition was often met with turned noses and criticism. He did not care, however. He was unabashedly arrogant and brazen in his desires, which boded well for him. His confidence, while off-putting to some, attracted many others in his tribe. Some of his tribe-mates found his demeanor alluring, which aided him as a head prey-hunter in his later years.
VINDICTIVE: Had he been a benevolent tom, Cypress’s confidence would have been endearing. But he was not. Strife with jealousy and delusions of grandeur, the red tom suffered from intense vengeful streaks. Unable to healthily process loss or defeat, Cypress was extremely vindictive towards those who stood in his way. Grudges lasted a lifetime for the tom. Only cruel and hateful punishments seemed to remedy the spiteful emotions in his heart.
RELENTLESS: Stubborn in all endeavors, Cypress refused to ever quit. If his mind was focused on a goal, he would never give in, even when it would have been better for him to do so. While this trait can bode well for some, it only poisoned the tom’s mind and made him difficult to work with. He was harsh and inflexible, refusing to ever meet someone half-way. It had to be his way or none at all. For those who tirelessly worked under his relentless paw, they found his leadership to be oppressively constant and demeaning.
HISTORY
KITHOOD: Despite the floods that plagued his parent’s youth, Cypress was born into a time of overabundance and seemingly endless prosperity. Under the leadership of Fawn, the tribe returned it’s naturalistic roots and relearned to appreciate the land that provided for them in turn. However, Cypress was not whelped into a den of nurturing and love. Instead, he was taught from a young age that the island was unforgiving and cruel, and no matter how hard he worked, he would only receive heartache and suffering in turn.
His father, Weevil, was once the tribe’s head prey-hunter, but a grievous injury during a run-in with a coyote left him crippled and full of spite. Despite his profuse claims that he could still tend for the tribe, he was demoted and forced into a retirement he did not want. Bad blood roused between his father and Fawn, the two often at war with one another. His voice was a constant bellow during gatherings at the tribe stone, criticizing each of the teller’s decisions.
It was with this vindictive vigor in which Cypress was raised. As his father’s only child, he was told in his early moons that he was destined to become the next head prey-hunter. His mother, a quiet and unobtrusive molly, only agreed in the shadows, too meek to counter her mate’s demands. So Cypress neared his to-be ceremony fully believing that one day the tribe would buckle and bend to his every desire.
TO-BE: Under the strict tutletledge of his vengeful father, Cypress quickly immersed himself in his lessons. Because he knew he would become the head prey-hunter some day, a fact he boasted about loudly to his peers without a lick of self-awareness nor humility, he did not waste his time training with the older stone-guards. It was not until he observed a stone-guard lesson did the training pique his interest.
Prey-hunters often learned by racing across the moorland and performing immersive tracking regimes. Little depended on their ability to defend themselves and lay a claw on a fellow tribe-mate. It was this brute strength that attracted the tom, so he started to regularly entertain himself by picking fights with his den-mates and brushing it off as “stone-guard training.”
Few of his peers humored this habit of his, instead finding him too brazen and brusque of a den-mate. The other to-bes ostracized him from their social groups, especially another young tom named Black Bear. The future teller found his behavior vile, which was later exasperated when they learned they were both in love with the same she-cat.
Her name was Vine, and like Black Bear, she dreamed of becoming a future stone-guard. It was her infectious personality and beauty that attracted Cypress to her, but perhaps, it was because she was the most desired den-mate within the tribe. For that reason alone, Cypress was convinced he had to pursue her and make her his own.
Lost in the powerful aura he emitted, Vine found herself drawn to ruddy tom’s confidence. So many of the cats in their tribe were too humble to boast about their accomplishments, and while many of her den-mates found his domineering personality unpalatable, Vine found herself enamored with it. Perhaps, she too wanted to be of some importance.
So when they both were assigned their fledgling rank, prey-hunter and stone-guard respectively, Cypress and Vine confessed their mutual attraction to one another. While Cypress proudly flaunted his new mate around and genuinely enjoyed her company, a more sinister monster flared inside him. What delighted him most about earning Vine’s affections was not that she loved him in turn. No. He liked that was able to win something that his tribe-mates could not. He liked that Black Bear had to suffer for Vine to become his.
This satisfaction fueled the rest of his training, easily winning him the respect and gratitude of his fellow prey-hunters. Whispers spread about his future in the tribe, and Cypress met them with stride. He would fulfill his father’s ultimate desire. He would become the next head prey-hunter.
PREY-HUNTER: Shortly after Cypress became a fully-fledged prey-hunter, Black Bear was selected as the next teller’s apprentice, a decision that angered the red tom greatly. Fawn’s health was on the decline as each season carved into her lifespan, and Cypress knew the black and white tom would never appoint him to his rightful role as the next head prey-hunter. Furiously, he returned to his shared den each night, enamored with his hate.
It was then he finally understood his father’s vendetta against the tribe and their ancestors. No matter how hard Cypress worked, tirelessly loping across the moors to prove himself as an exceptional hunter, he would never meet his fate.
Around his twenty-third moon on the island, Vine fell heavy with kits, and like his father before him, Cypress started to think about the future of his lineage. If he couldn’t become the future head prey-hunter, then perhaps one of his children could be trained for the role instead.
His children never lived to see their first sunrise.
When the kitting started, Cypress immediately knew something was wrong. Vine’s breathing quickly became labored as blood gushed into the den, smelling of death. Each kit entered the world without breath. Horrified, Cypress watched as his future crumbled before him. Then with a blink, Black Bear and Fawn raced into their den, tirelessly working to save his mate from inevitable death, her screams piercing the air. When it was over, Vine survived, but none of his children survived.
If possible, Cypress became even more bitter and spiteful, detesting the home he was supposed to rule.
As the moons turned, his relationship with his mate deteriorated beyond repair. Arguments erupted between them, always ending with the cruel reality of their kits. Vine blamed herself for the death of their children and felt she failed as a mother. Unable to sympathize, Cypress wrestled to soothe his mate, and in the darkest reaches of his soul, he blamed her too. It was his lineage destined to lead the tribe, not hers.
Desperate for comfort, Vine turned to her old friend and current teller, Black Bear for support. As the two grew close, Cypress found himself rife with jealousy. While he and Vine grew further and further apart, he could not lose her to him. So when it happened around his fortieth moon on the island, he left. Vine deserted him for his greatest enemy, and he would never become head prey-hunter. The tribe could give him nothing.
A deserter, Cypress roamed the northern parts of the island alone. Prey hardly settled across the desolate land. Only ravenous coyotes ravaged the forest, so the red tom remained hidden, refusing to return to the tribe. Each day was a tremendous struggle to survive, but somehow he persisted.
In his moons alone, the island fell into a horrific drought, and prey dwindled until hardly any resources existed at all. A near skeleton, Cypress kept himself alive on mere hate alone. His days and nights were spent crafting his revenge on the tom who stole his future. Black Bear would suffer. This he was sure. To ensure his suffering, Cypress went as far to make a sacrifice to the dark shadows of the island during a full moon, draining the blood of a rabbit into the lake.
Clouds covered the moon in response, answering his call.
Cypress remained in solitude until his fifty-first moon on the island. It was not until the drought reached its peak did Black Bear seek him out, begging for the prey-hunter to return. Cypress only met him with a venomous stare. He did not speak until the teller proposed a deal he could not refuse. If Cypress returned to the tribe, he would be made the next head prey-hunter.
So he returned, but not without malice in his heart.
HEAD PREY-HUNTER: With his return, rain descended upon the island in great sheets, the drought finally coming to an end. Prey flourished in abundance, and for a short time, the tribe prospered, but not for long. When Cricket, the previous prey-hunter, announced her retirement, Cypress was elected as her successor. At last, his future was before him.
Bent on revenge, Cypress quickly established himself as a constant antagonist within the tribe, constantly criticizing Black Bear’s decisions -- just as his father before him. This animosity only grew when Black Bear and Vine gave birth to their only surviving child. But Black Bear refused to demote him, fearing he would send the island into another drought.
So they endured one another, even as Cypress started to cull the prey at dangerous levels, forcing the tribe into an unexpected starvation that persisted for moons. Fearful of the retributions, Black Bear turned a blind eye to his head prey-hunter’s malice, refusing to believe it was intentional.
But it was.
Each day, Cypress watched his old mate live affectionately with the tom he hated most, a loving kit between them. He was head prey-hunter, as he wanted, but he had also lost her. Like he vowed in his moons of solitude, Cypress wanted Black Bear to suffer. He wanted him to be the most dested teller who had ever reigned. So he drove his prey-hunters like wolves, instructing them to kill in excess.
As the prey dwindled from the island, the tribe grew hungry and tired. Desperate for someone to blame, the tribe members turned furiously toward their leader and demanded change. Black Bear could not deliver, and Cypress watched greedily from the shadows, desiring to hurt him more.
Cypress could never rule the tribe as their teller, but perhaps, his children could? Wasting little time, the old tom took on a new mate, a slightly younger prey-hunter who had worked tirelessly alongside him after his appointment. Her name was Mayfly, and like him, dreamed of rearing strong prey-hunters for the tribe. While their affair was not a romantic one, the two were able to bear two kits onto the island in their older age.
Like his father before him, Cypress filled his children’s ears with destinies of greatness, promising both of them prominent positions in the tribe. But his efforts were thwarted when Black Bear announced his apprentice, a young she-cat named Rain. Furious, the tom drove his prey-hunters further and further, claiming if they ceased all life on the island, their tribe would be fed.
The tribe then entered what would be known as the Great Hunger.
Entering winter hungry and exhausted, the tribe clung dearly to life while Cypress continued a strike against their teller. Black Bear was responsible for their suffering, his line a curse on the tribe. Many tribe-members did not make it to the following spring, including Vine. Starvation took her to the Tribe of Endless Hunting, and Black Bear was not far behind.
As the warm winds of spring erupted on the horizon, Black Bear and Rain made a trek to the Stone that Never Ends. Black Bear did not return. With his death, Rain was ushered in as the new teller, and unlike her predecessor, she did not fear Cypress’s reign. Much to the tom’s horror, he was stripped of his rank and forced into retirement, much like his father before him.
Cypress only survived a season longer, but not before leaving his final mark. On his deathbed, he told his children that they were stripped of their rightful destinies. It was his blood that was fated to rule the tribe. So as he was reared, so were they. Spitefully, they grew to detest their tribe and the suffering their family endeared.