Post by alee on Aug 3, 2016 4:19:52 GMT
rosenose of thunderclan
rosenose is a cat of complex personality
hi im rose and im totally not based off a character from dr who yup no totally not gender:
age:
sexuality:
rank:
image credits:
age:
sexuality:
rank:
image credits:
important points:
reason for name:
[/b] -- her golden ginger furnose -- exceptional tracking abilities[/ul]
mother:
father:
siblings:
other cats of importance:
a history of great depth and care is behind this feline
"Do you wanna come with me? 'Cos if you do, then I should warn you — you're gonna see all sorts of things. Ghosts from the past. Aliens from the future. The day the Earth died in a ball of flame. It won't be quiet, it won't be safe, and it won't be calm. But I'll tell you what it will be: the trip of a lifetime!"
She was born in the height of leaf fall, when the forest blazed a magnificent blend of russet and flaxen gold and crackling brown, until it seemed if the entire world had been set aflame. Upon the back of a whispering breeze swirled and danced dying foliage in one last, desperate attempt at survival; within the bright and multicolored land of ThunderClan woods, tufts of stringy grass sprouted and fought for life, vying for the rare drips and drops of sunlight leering through the thick branches above.
Paws hit the peaty earth hard, dirt and dust punted up in their wake. Lean muscles rippled beneath a thin pelt of waxen gold, lustrous yellow eyes reflecting the outstretch of woodland that lay before him. Every frenzied breath tore sharp at his throat, until it felt as though his gullet bled thick and raw, and each sharp twinge of his muscles sent wracking spasms through his elongated form.
But as he clawed and tore past the underbrush, as thorns and sticks grabbed at his fur and tugged him back into their murky depths, not even the fresh blood blossoming bright from his wounds, or the aching pain that swelled in his bones, could slow his frenzied pace. He skidded to a sharp left, narrowly avoiding a thicket of bristling spicules, a trail of swept up mud trailing behind his feet. The tom's silver glinting talons slipped from their sheaths, digging deep into the grit and stones below, and he jolted to a sudden halt.
He couldn't stop - not now, not ever. But his body begged otherwise and against his better judgement, he allowed himself one long, yanking gasp. Sweet air pooled into the depths of his lungs, the rich taste of ThunderClan camp tingling on the very surface of his scent glands. It was enough to send him surging forward once more, albeit at a much more languid pace.
The tom barely noticed the sudden change in terrain, so exhausted was he. Stones rattled and slipped from beneath his paws as he gingerly picked his way down the ravine, unable to even muster the slightest of care at the pebbles that lodged their way in the sensitive flesh between his toes. As the ground flattened to a straight dirt track, awning up under an expertly knotted thistle bush, ears shoved forward against his skull as he strained for even the slightest scrap of Dovestorm's telltale yowl.
All remained quiet as death however. As he emerged in the widespread opening of camp, flaxen optics caught the forms of a few warriors sitting idly by as they shared tongues. One, a thick furred grey tom known as Pigeonwing, glanced up, his frost blue eyes lingering with an uncharacteristic warmth. "Congratulations, Branchtail." His surrounding posse murmured their agreements.
It was then that Branchtail felt as though his heart had fallen straight down to the bottom of his paws. "Yer kiddin' me," he exclaimed, "it's - I mean - she's done?"
A brown furred male snorted his amusement. "Trust me, if she weren't done, you'd be hearing a lot more from that yap of 'ers." But his comment went unnoticed. Branchtail bounded past, his eyes wide, fixated in a mingling mixture of fear and anticipation on the yawning mouth of the Nursery.
He paused at its murky depths, his breath snagging hard within the confines of his throat. One paw hovered mid air, frozen, and his ears twinged slightly back against the base of his skull. On one hand he was almost relieved that Dovestorm's birth was over and out - he'd never been good with blood and pain and oh dear StarClan, the last time he'd witnessed a birth he'd nearly fainted on the spot!
But this was his child. His kin. He should've been there for both of them. As he lingered hesitantly at the Nursery's door, a sharp, familiar voice jolted him back to reality. "Well, look who makes his face known!"
Inwardly Branchtail cringed. Ah, well, no turning back now. He wouldn't at all want to evoke the wrath of his ill tempered mate. She was after all quite the...how would one put it politely...ah! A fickle case. Oh boy, was that the understatement of the century. He stepped in, and at once a forced smile broke across his features. "Darling!" came Branchtail's happy-go-lucky chirp, "how are you today?"
Dovestorm merely quirked an eyebrow in reply. "How am I today? Well I'm quite fine, after losing nearly a gallon of blood and squeezing something the size of a fat mouse out of my -"
"Of course! Where is she?" Hesitation forgotten, Branchtail's eyes lit up with pure excitement. His head ducked high, low, side to side, eyes searching for even the tiniest scrap of fur. Despite her annoyance with her rather lax minded mate, she couldn't help feeling her heart soften ever so slightly within her breast. "What, don't tell me she went back in?" he joked, as Dovestorm rolled her eyes in exasperation. "C'mon, where is she?" he pressed on, kneading at the moss impatiently.
With a sigh, Dovestorm finally gave in. "My, you really know how to treat a lady, don't you?" she muttered, though she couldn't keep the twinkle of amusement out of her eyes. "Here. But be quiet! StarClan knows, it took her hours before she stopped her mewling. All I need is an oaf like you to set her back up again."
Slowly Dovestorm uncurled her form, revealing a tiny scrap of ginger fur nestled deep within the crook of her belly. The air was stolen from Branchtail's lungs. Leaning closer, he drew in a soft breath; his kin tasted of milk and Dovestorm and flowers, a taste that he so adoringly treasured.
Finally he'd grasped onto a tendril of his voice. "She's...beautiful," he whispered, his gaze flickering up to his mate. "As beautiful as her mother." Dovestorm snorted at that, but it seemed even she wasn't immune to the tender moment at play. "What should we name her? Hrm...how about...Twigkit? Branchkit JR, perhaps? I can tell right now, she's gonna take after her proud daddy!'
"Branchtail, the day you carry a living being inside your stomach for three whole moons will be the day you're allowed to choose the name." Branchtail seemed disheartened at that. Quickly Dovestorm added, in an usually soft voice, "no. I've already chosen a name."
"Since when?" he replied, with a sniff. Wasn't this a ritual mates chose to perform together?
"Since the moment I decided I wanted to start a family," Dovestorm flashed back. The kitten mewled, shifting deeper into her mother's furry form. Lowering his voice, she continued on, "Rosekit. I've always wanted to name my firstborn daughter Rosekit."
"Rosekit..." The name rolled off his tongue as smooth as glass. Even Branchtail couldn't deny that the name fit surprisingly well. "Rosekit...Rosy...my little Rose..." Bending his head, he drew a salmon pink tongue over Rosekit's fluffy back. She mewled and wriggled happily at the touch. A rumbling purr awoke deep within Branchtail's maw. Pressing close to Dovestorm, he savored the rare tender moment and allowed himself to finally relax.
"Our little Rosekit...She's perfect, Dovestorm."
Dovestorm happily agreed.
But as he clawed and tore past the underbrush, as thorns and sticks grabbed at his fur and tugged him back into their murky depths, not even the fresh blood blossoming bright from his wounds, or the aching pain that swelled in his bones, could slow his frenzied pace. He skidded to a sharp left, narrowly avoiding a thicket of bristling spicules, a trail of swept up mud trailing behind his feet. The tom's silver glinting talons slipped from their sheaths, digging deep into the grit and stones below, and he jolted to a sudden halt.
He couldn't stop - not now, not ever. But his body begged otherwise and against his better judgement, he allowed himself one long, yanking gasp. Sweet air pooled into the depths of his lungs, the rich taste of ThunderClan camp tingling on the very surface of his scent glands. It was enough to send him surging forward once more, albeit at a much more languid pace.
The tom barely noticed the sudden change in terrain, so exhausted was he. Stones rattled and slipped from beneath his paws as he gingerly picked his way down the ravine, unable to even muster the slightest of care at the pebbles that lodged their way in the sensitive flesh between his toes. As the ground flattened to a straight dirt track, awning up under an expertly knotted thistle bush, ears shoved forward against his skull as he strained for even the slightest scrap of Dovestorm's telltale yowl.
All remained quiet as death however. As he emerged in the widespread opening of camp, flaxen optics caught the forms of a few warriors sitting idly by as they shared tongues. One, a thick furred grey tom known as Pigeonwing, glanced up, his frost blue eyes lingering with an uncharacteristic warmth. "Congratulations, Branchtail." His surrounding posse murmured their agreements.
It was then that Branchtail felt as though his heart had fallen straight down to the bottom of his paws. "Yer kiddin' me," he exclaimed, "it's - I mean - she's done?"
A brown furred male snorted his amusement. "Trust me, if she weren't done, you'd be hearing a lot more from that yap of 'ers." But his comment went unnoticed. Branchtail bounded past, his eyes wide, fixated in a mingling mixture of fear and anticipation on the yawning mouth of the Nursery.
He paused at its murky depths, his breath snagging hard within the confines of his throat. One paw hovered mid air, frozen, and his ears twinged slightly back against the base of his skull. On one hand he was almost relieved that Dovestorm's birth was over and out - he'd never been good with blood and pain and oh dear StarClan, the last time he'd witnessed a birth he'd nearly fainted on the spot!
But this was his child. His kin. He should've been there for both of them. As he lingered hesitantly at the Nursery's door, a sharp, familiar voice jolted him back to reality. "Well, look who makes his face known!"
Inwardly Branchtail cringed. Ah, well, no turning back now. He wouldn't at all want to evoke the wrath of his ill tempered mate. She was after all quite the...how would one put it politely...ah! A fickle case. Oh boy, was that the understatement of the century. He stepped in, and at once a forced smile broke across his features. "Darling!" came Branchtail's happy-go-lucky chirp, "how are you today?"
Dovestorm merely quirked an eyebrow in reply. "How am I today? Well I'm quite fine, after losing nearly a gallon of blood and squeezing something the size of a fat mouse out of my -"
"Of course! Where is she?" Hesitation forgotten, Branchtail's eyes lit up with pure excitement. His head ducked high, low, side to side, eyes searching for even the tiniest scrap of fur. Despite her annoyance with her rather lax minded mate, she couldn't help feeling her heart soften ever so slightly within her breast. "What, don't tell me she went back in?" he joked, as Dovestorm rolled her eyes in exasperation. "C'mon, where is she?" he pressed on, kneading at the moss impatiently.
With a sigh, Dovestorm finally gave in. "My, you really know how to treat a lady, don't you?" she muttered, though she couldn't keep the twinkle of amusement out of her eyes. "Here. But be quiet! StarClan knows, it took her hours before she stopped her mewling. All I need is an oaf like you to set her back up again."
Slowly Dovestorm uncurled her form, revealing a tiny scrap of ginger fur nestled deep within the crook of her belly. The air was stolen from Branchtail's lungs. Leaning closer, he drew in a soft breath; his kin tasted of milk and Dovestorm and flowers, a taste that he so adoringly treasured.
Finally he'd grasped onto a tendril of his voice. "She's...beautiful," he whispered, his gaze flickering up to his mate. "As beautiful as her mother." Dovestorm snorted at that, but it seemed even she wasn't immune to the tender moment at play. "What should we name her? Hrm...how about...Twigkit? Branchkit JR, perhaps? I can tell right now, she's gonna take after her proud daddy!'
"Branchtail, the day you carry a living being inside your stomach for three whole moons will be the day you're allowed to choose the name." Branchtail seemed disheartened at that. Quickly Dovestorm added, in an usually soft voice, "no. I've already chosen a name."
"Since when?" he replied, with a sniff. Wasn't this a ritual mates chose to perform together?
"Since the moment I decided I wanted to start a family," Dovestorm flashed back. The kitten mewled, shifting deeper into her mother's furry form. Lowering his voice, she continued on, "Rosekit. I've always wanted to name my firstborn daughter Rosekit."
"Rosekit..." The name rolled off his tongue as smooth as glass. Even Branchtail couldn't deny that the name fit surprisingly well. "Rosekit...Rosy...my little Rose..." Bending his head, he drew a salmon pink tongue over Rosekit's fluffy back. She mewled and wriggled happily at the touch. A rumbling purr awoke deep within Branchtail's maw. Pressing close to Dovestorm, he savored the rare tender moment and allowed himself to finally relax.
"Our little Rosekit...She's perfect, Dovestorm."
Dovestorm happily agreed.
It was no secret to ThunderClan that Rosekit was very well loved. Her parents might have been the odd couple of Camp - and that was certainly quite the understatement - but their passionate and adoration shone through for their daughter, from every careful groom and thick, happy purr. Despite this it was rather obvious that these two young cats were quite new to the whole family thing.
"Where've you been?" Her voice struck like the snap of thunder, several heads whipping up as a familiar scene unfolded before their eyes. Dovestorm perched at the opening to camp, her tail as thick as a bristle brush, blue eyes blazing and fixated on the exhausted form of Branchtail.
"What in StarClan's name are you talking about?"
"Oh, don't act daft." A frustrated snort escaped Dovestorm's nostrils, stirring up scraps of late evening fog before her muzzle. "Let me guess. Met some pretty she-cat on the twoleg border. Chasing tail instead of chasing mice. That's you, i'n't it?"
"You're crazy!" Branchtail drew himself up, chest swelling and his usually oh so lax amber eyes blazing like the embers of a waning flame. "I didn't do any such thing. Ask Pigeonfeather! He told me to go scout the SkyClan borders - or is that out of bounds too nowadays?"
Ears flattened back against Dovestorm's head, and she felt her muscles bunch beneath her pelt. She'd always been quite the jealous type - a constant cause for argument between her and Branchtail - although lately it seemed as though their bickering had escalated, had found a new level of its own to rest upon. Perhaps it was the late night patrols that Branchtail now partook in, perhaps to escape the stress of his mate and the responsibilities of a newborn daughter; or maybe, as Dovestorm was truly convinced in, he'd found a prettier, younger femme, one without the post pregnancy flab and free of the threat of children.
It was a terrifying, undeniably baseless thought. But to Dovestorm, it struck her right to the core; it squeezed and twisted at her chest, constricted her throat until the words within felt dry and withered. What escaped her lips was an emotionally charged, angry voice, charged by fear and uncertainty. These two had never been the most elegant when it came to handling arguments however - for Branchtail responded just as vehemently.
"Where are you this, what are you doing that! For StarClan's sake, Dovestorm, just let me live my life!" He stepped to the side, making to brush past his mate. "I'm not...chasing tail as you so eloquently put it. I've better stuff to do with my days!" As he shoved past, Dovestorm twisted on her heels and stood her ground, refusing to follow.
"Walk away then! That's your answer to everything, isn't it?" Branchtail paused. "We have a child, Branchtail. A kitten. If you don't have time for us anymore...if you don't want to be here -" She choked on her words mid sentence, a brimming of tears blurring the crevices of her vision. Branchtail remained frozen before her, as if he'd turned to stone.
Visions fluttered before Dovestorm's mind's eye - of her mate with pretty young mollies, spending time without the pressure of responsibility, without the burden of home to fall heavy upon his shoulders.
"Then why do you even come back?" And before she could stop herself, she'd spluttered out those next, chilled words, as cold as raw bone. Not a bird fluttered overhead. Not a warrior whispered or gossiped among themselves at the public disagreement on display. Even the wind seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation.
Finally, Branchtail slowly turned to face her. The glow in his amber orbs shocked Dovestorm, right to her very core; cold anger blazed deep within those optics, a tail lashed to and fro. "How could you even think that?" His voice escaped as a tendril of a thread, hurt and offended, though the anger boiled deep in his tone, evident and unmissable.
"You know what. You're right." Another long, heavy pause. "Why do I come back?"
"Branchtail -" It was Pigeonfeather this time, but not even the senior warrior could halt Branchtail's paws. He bounded past Dovestorm, whom remained fixed in place, paws rooted to the earth below. She heard a rustle of branches and thorns, the heavy pad of paws - and then a weighty silence. Branchtail was gone.
Dovestorm didn't even feel the tail draping comfortingly across her back. "He'll return," said Pigeonfeather, gently. "He always does."
But Pigeonfeather's voice sounded hollow and distant to Dovestorm's ears; she broke away from his reassuring touch, her paws automatically carrying her back in the direction of the Nursery. Already gossip was swelling, the rippling murmurs of warriors and apprentices melding together, a dozen pairs of eyes scorching holes into the Queen's backside. "Those two...they're at it again," one she-cat sighed.
"Honestly, I don't know how Branchtail copes," muttered a shirty tom. Dovestorm's walk broke into a brisk run. Darkness swallowed her whole as she kidded to a halt within the Nursery's depths. Tears clogged at her throat, feelings of shame and guilt and anger and hurt all rising and blending together until it felt as though every minute nerve in her body had transformed into ice.
A flash of ginger fur streaked past. "Mama, look!" Rosekit giggled, two tiny paws landing heavily on a crawling ant. She crouched down, green eyes sparking in the dark, and slowly she unfolded her paws. The ant continued crawling on, barely phased. A purr rumbled in Rosekit's maw and she was about to pounce on her prey once more, when a sob tore her attention back to her Dovestorm. "...Mama?"
"Shh. It's nothing, baby." A paw hooked around her middle, drawing her in, and a rough tongue rasped over Rosekit's skull. For a brief moment the kitten wanted to struggle and complain and snap about this forced grooming session - but something snagged the complaints within her throat, held them back as the plop of a tear drenched the side of her flank.
"Are you okay-" But she was hushed by a drawling 'shh.' Rosekit complied. Instead, she snuggled even closer to her mother's chest, and endured her onslaught of rough, frenzied licks.
"What in StarClan's name are you talking about?"
"Oh, don't act daft." A frustrated snort escaped Dovestorm's nostrils, stirring up scraps of late evening fog before her muzzle. "Let me guess. Met some pretty she-cat on the twoleg border. Chasing tail instead of chasing mice. That's you, i'n't it?"
"You're crazy!" Branchtail drew himself up, chest swelling and his usually oh so lax amber eyes blazing like the embers of a waning flame. "I didn't do any such thing. Ask Pigeonfeather! He told me to go scout the SkyClan borders - or is that out of bounds too nowadays?"
Ears flattened back against Dovestorm's head, and she felt her muscles bunch beneath her pelt. She'd always been quite the jealous type - a constant cause for argument between her and Branchtail - although lately it seemed as though their bickering had escalated, had found a new level of its own to rest upon. Perhaps it was the late night patrols that Branchtail now partook in, perhaps to escape the stress of his mate and the responsibilities of a newborn daughter; or maybe, as Dovestorm was truly convinced in, he'd found a prettier, younger femme, one without the post pregnancy flab and free of the threat of children.
It was a terrifying, undeniably baseless thought. But to Dovestorm, it struck her right to the core; it squeezed and twisted at her chest, constricted her throat until the words within felt dry and withered. What escaped her lips was an emotionally charged, angry voice, charged by fear and uncertainty. These two had never been the most elegant when it came to handling arguments however - for Branchtail responded just as vehemently.
"Where are you this, what are you doing that! For StarClan's sake, Dovestorm, just let me live my life!" He stepped to the side, making to brush past his mate. "I'm not...chasing tail as you so eloquently put it. I've better stuff to do with my days!" As he shoved past, Dovestorm twisted on her heels and stood her ground, refusing to follow.
"Walk away then! That's your answer to everything, isn't it?" Branchtail paused. "We have a child, Branchtail. A kitten. If you don't have time for us anymore...if you don't want to be here -" She choked on her words mid sentence, a brimming of tears blurring the crevices of her vision. Branchtail remained frozen before her, as if he'd turned to stone.
Visions fluttered before Dovestorm's mind's eye - of her mate with pretty young mollies, spending time without the pressure of responsibility, without the burden of home to fall heavy upon his shoulders.
"Then why do you even come back?" And before she could stop herself, she'd spluttered out those next, chilled words, as cold as raw bone. Not a bird fluttered overhead. Not a warrior whispered or gossiped among themselves at the public disagreement on display. Even the wind seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation.
Finally, Branchtail slowly turned to face her. The glow in his amber orbs shocked Dovestorm, right to her very core; cold anger blazed deep within those optics, a tail lashed to and fro. "How could you even think that?" His voice escaped as a tendril of a thread, hurt and offended, though the anger boiled deep in his tone, evident and unmissable.
"You know what. You're right." Another long, heavy pause. "Why do I come back?"
"Branchtail -" It was Pigeonfeather this time, but not even the senior warrior could halt Branchtail's paws. He bounded past Dovestorm, whom remained fixed in place, paws rooted to the earth below. She heard a rustle of branches and thorns, the heavy pad of paws - and then a weighty silence. Branchtail was gone.
Dovestorm didn't even feel the tail draping comfortingly across her back. "He'll return," said Pigeonfeather, gently. "He always does."
But Pigeonfeather's voice sounded hollow and distant to Dovestorm's ears; she broke away from his reassuring touch, her paws automatically carrying her back in the direction of the Nursery. Already gossip was swelling, the rippling murmurs of warriors and apprentices melding together, a dozen pairs of eyes scorching holes into the Queen's backside. "Those two...they're at it again," one she-cat sighed.
"Honestly, I don't know how Branchtail copes," muttered a shirty tom. Dovestorm's walk broke into a brisk run. Darkness swallowed her whole as she kidded to a halt within the Nursery's depths. Tears clogged at her throat, feelings of shame and guilt and anger and hurt all rising and blending together until it felt as though every minute nerve in her body had transformed into ice.
A flash of ginger fur streaked past. "Mama, look!" Rosekit giggled, two tiny paws landing heavily on a crawling ant. She crouched down, green eyes sparking in the dark, and slowly she unfolded her paws. The ant continued crawling on, barely phased. A purr rumbled in Rosekit's maw and she was about to pounce on her prey once more, when a sob tore her attention back to her Dovestorm. "...Mama?"
"Shh. It's nothing, baby." A paw hooked around her middle, drawing her in, and a rough tongue rasped over Rosekit's skull. For a brief moment the kitten wanted to struggle and complain and snap about this forced grooming session - but something snagged the complaints within her throat, held them back as the plop of a tear drenched the side of her flank.
"Are you okay-" But she was hushed by a drawling 'shh.' Rosekit complied. Instead, she snuggled even closer to her mother's chest, and endured her onslaught of rough, frenzied licks.
Branchtail didn't return that night. Nor did he return the next. Dovestorm's fury soon began to melt into a high-pitched, keening anxiety; it was unlike Branchtail to disappear for long after their many arguments. Though he might not have been the greatest of mates, or most responsible of fathers, rarely would he ever miss a day to see their faces. Her guilt began to mount, twisting at her gut, her fear sending swirls of nausea roiling through her stomach. And then there was the doubt - that ever present doubt, that uncertainty, that during this tough time Dovestorm so honestly preferred. "He's just flirting up a storm," she'd mutter to herself; "he'll be back any day now, and I'll be sure to claw out that slimy tongue of his!"
Alas, Branchtail did return.
But it was not in the way that his mate expected.
Alas, Branchtail did return.
But it was not in the way that his mate expected.
All was normal, eerily so. Patrols flowed in and out of camp, apprentices tussled and playfully fought one another, senior warriors yammered on and on about the so-called good ol' days. Above shone the vivacious ring of the sun, its blindingly bright orb shedding pools of flaxen gold upon the wide open clearing of Camp. An elder arched his back on the flat of a hollowed out log, his rustic purr resonating amid the happy go lucky whispers and gossip amid the warriors and queens; two Queens shared tongues, half heartedly moaning and groaning about the trials and errors of raising their kittens.
Indeed, it seemed a perfectly normal day to a perfectly normal Clan. The disappearance of Branchtail - now four days ago - had boiled down to nothing more than a curious rumor. "He'll be back," they muttered with a roll of their eyes; "this isn't anything new of 'im."
A crackle of twigs alerted the gathered group of relaxing cats to the return of the afternoon patrol. Languid, half-lidded eyes grazed over the entrance to camp as Pigeonfeather emerged first, his fur ruffled and eyes wide. Behind him strode Hawkgaze, panting, tail lashing to and fro. Finally one warrior stood to alert, and then another, until the whole Clan was gathered around these two older toms, questioning and picking at what had just occurred.
"It's Branchtail," Hawkgaze finally gasped, seizing onto what remained of his voice. "He's - he's dead!"
All fell quiet. The rest of the patrol emerged into the light, a lean body draped upon their shoulders. Leaning down, the form of Branchtail rolled to the earth. "We found him near the thunderpath" Pigeonfeather murmured, bowing his head in grief. "Poor soul. We think he's been lying there for a few days."
"A monster struck him down," Hawkgaze rumbled sadly. "Don't think it killed him straight away though. He must've dragged himself back to the woods. Died not long ago, by the smell of it."
"Branchtail?"
All heads whipped around. There stood Dovestorm, grey tabby fur fluffed up, her blue eyes stretched wide beyond belief. Slowly she stumbled forward, each step trembling and uncertain, each breath shallow and soft. She halted beside his pliable form, orbs fixated down on her mate once brimming with life, now as cold and limp as a piece of prey.
"I'm so sorry, Dovestorm," Pigeonfeather said. A tail flicked up to gently brush against her shoulder blade. "He was dead long before we found him. There was nothing any of us could've done."
A soft, inaudible noise escaped Dovestorm's pink lips. Paws folded beneath her form, and she collapsed; the rippling screech that suddenly ripped from her maw was nothing like any cat had ever heard, the wailing cry resonating with grief and horror and pain, oh, so much pain, as if her heart had been torn straight from her chest. Her vision blurred blue as water pooled before her eyes, blinded her to nothing but the muddled, golden color of Branchpelt's soft and flaxen pelt. She felt them crowd around his body, snagged the shape of a warrior as he bent close to groom at Branchpelt's mate, and a claw whipped out, just striking him on the flank.
"Don't touch him!" Her hiss rattled long and low. On instinct Dovestorm drew herself over his broken shape, as if he were nothing more than a mere kit in desperate need of protection. Another cat approached; her head swung to the left, shoulders lifted dangerously beneath her fur, and a hideous snarl was wrenched sharp from her throat, curling up at the very end into a shrill, burbling growl.
Everything was numb; every nerve, every cell, every inch of her lean form - it was all as cold and dead as ice, her blood curdling sour within her veins, every throb of her heart sending a spasm of pain attacking at her breast. Slowly the crowd backed away; it was then that Dovestorm's wild screech morphed into a hideous, hopeless wail, jerked straight from the very depths of her lungs, and she barely noticed the broken sobs that rubbed raw and choked at her gullet.
"Don't...don't touch him." But it was less of an order now, and more of a terrified mantra. Slowly the world around her drifted away, until all that existed was she and Branchtail, she and the cocoon that was once her zestful, spirited soul of a mate.
Indeed, it seemed a perfectly normal day to a perfectly normal Clan. The disappearance of Branchtail - now four days ago - had boiled down to nothing more than a curious rumor. "He'll be back," they muttered with a roll of their eyes; "this isn't anything new of 'im."
A crackle of twigs alerted the gathered group of relaxing cats to the return of the afternoon patrol. Languid, half-lidded eyes grazed over the entrance to camp as Pigeonfeather emerged first, his fur ruffled and eyes wide. Behind him strode Hawkgaze, panting, tail lashing to and fro. Finally one warrior stood to alert, and then another, until the whole Clan was gathered around these two older toms, questioning and picking at what had just occurred.
"It's Branchtail," Hawkgaze finally gasped, seizing onto what remained of his voice. "He's - he's dead!"
All fell quiet. The rest of the patrol emerged into the light, a lean body draped upon their shoulders. Leaning down, the form of Branchtail rolled to the earth. "We found him near the thunderpath" Pigeonfeather murmured, bowing his head in grief. "Poor soul. We think he's been lying there for a few days."
"A monster struck him down," Hawkgaze rumbled sadly. "Don't think it killed him straight away though. He must've dragged himself back to the woods. Died not long ago, by the smell of it."
"Branchtail?"
All heads whipped around. There stood Dovestorm, grey tabby fur fluffed up, her blue eyes stretched wide beyond belief. Slowly she stumbled forward, each step trembling and uncertain, each breath shallow and soft. She halted beside his pliable form, orbs fixated down on her mate once brimming with life, now as cold and limp as a piece of prey.
"I'm so sorry, Dovestorm," Pigeonfeather said. A tail flicked up to gently brush against her shoulder blade. "He was dead long before we found him. There was nothing any of us could've done."
A soft, inaudible noise escaped Dovestorm's pink lips. Paws folded beneath her form, and she collapsed; the rippling screech that suddenly ripped from her maw was nothing like any cat had ever heard, the wailing cry resonating with grief and horror and pain, oh, so much pain, as if her heart had been torn straight from her chest. Her vision blurred blue as water pooled before her eyes, blinded her to nothing but the muddled, golden color of Branchpelt's soft and flaxen pelt. She felt them crowd around his body, snagged the shape of a warrior as he bent close to groom at Branchpelt's mate, and a claw whipped out, just striking him on the flank.
"Don't touch him!" Her hiss rattled long and low. On instinct Dovestorm drew herself over his broken shape, as if he were nothing more than a mere kit in desperate need of protection. Another cat approached; her head swung to the left, shoulders lifted dangerously beneath her fur, and a hideous snarl was wrenched sharp from her throat, curling up at the very end into a shrill, burbling growl.
Everything was numb; every nerve, every cell, every inch of her lean form - it was all as cold and dead as ice, her blood curdling sour within her veins, every throb of her heart sending a spasm of pain attacking at her breast. Slowly the crowd backed away; it was then that Dovestorm's wild screech morphed into a hideous, hopeless wail, jerked straight from the very depths of her lungs, and she barely noticed the broken sobs that rubbed raw and choked at her gullet.
"Don't...don't touch him." But it was less of an order now, and more of a terrified mantra. Slowly the world around her drifted away, until all that existed was she and Branchtail, she and the cocoon that was once her zestful, spirited soul of a mate.
Rosekit was too young to understand the concept of death. All she knew was that, one day, Branchtail existed - and the next, he did not. Life is an ever flowing stream, incessant and constantly surging onward; it waits for no one, and so, as the days rolled into weeks, and the weeks to months, Branchtail's life became nothing more than a memory. A bitter, tinged sweet memory perhaps - but a memory nonetheless.
They'd both made mistakes, Dovestorm and Branchtail; they'd both struggled with their new responsibilities, and their tepid duties as parents. But death has a way of sobering up many individuals; all think they can avoid its cold grasp, and all are proven wrong. Dovestorm appreciated Branchtail much more in death than she did in life - and Rosekit's earliest memories of her youth were filled with stories of the father she naught remembered. Rosekit clung to every word and tale Dovestorm weaved, and there was nothing she longed more for than to meet Branchtail, and to share tongues with him one last time.
They'd both made mistakes, Dovestorm and Branchtail; they'd both struggled with their new responsibilities, and their tepid duties as parents. But death has a way of sobering up many individuals; all think they can avoid its cold grasp, and all are proven wrong. Dovestorm appreciated Branchtail much more in death than she did in life - and Rosekit's earliest memories of her youth were filled with stories of the father she naught remembered. Rosekit clung to every word and tale Dovestorm weaved, and there was nothing she longed more for than to meet Branchtail, and to share tongues with him one last time.
"Your father was a wonderful cat, Rosekit." Her mother's voice emerged as a quiet murmur. Rosekit snuggled deeper into her mum's soft pelt, savoring her familiar scent and the lyrical ring of her tone. Outside, the cicadas sung their evening song, the earth washed a pallid golden as the sun drowned below the horizon. "He loved us both, more than anything in the world. You know that, right?"
"I know..." Rosekit swallowed a large yawn, her eyes half-lidding against the last few glares of sunlight. Every night, it was always the same - he loved us very much. Not that Rosekit minded. Every bit of info she could scrounge about her father was warm and welcome - and to hear that Branchtail really had adored her and Dovestorm that much...It sent a shiver crawling up her spine, a pang of longing and dull sadness striking at her breast.
"I just wish..." Dovestorm paused. The silence stretched on, longer than Rosekit felt comfortable with. She craned her neck, hoping for a better view of Dovestorm's face, though her mother's eyes remained fixated on the sunset, a glassy film shielding her optics. Finally Dovestorm sighed. "He died alone, without anyone by his side. No one was there for him when he needed them." Another pregnant pause. Then, "what a sad, horrible way to die."
But alas, death is death and Rosekit was no upcoming medicine cat apprentice. So she lived life as every kitten does - that is to say, she had fun. Her best friend was a wiry little tom named Mousekit, and Rosekit found herself constantly dragging him into trouble - for better or worse! She possessed a deep imbued curiosity from birth, a desire to see the world and experience all that nature had to offer. Dovestorm lost count on how many times she had to herd Rosekit back, as the curious little far attempted an escape from Camp!
At six moons old, Rosekit was formally granted the name of Rosepaw, alongside Mousepaw. Her mentor was Pigeonfeather, a tom whom claimed to have been good friends with her late father. He was rather boring and placid, and Rosepaw constantly found herself out on her own, intent on training by herself.
A blur of grey flashed before her eyes. Rosepaw swallowed a small growl, instead pouring her energy into keeping her tail deadly still, into keeping her pawsteps as light and airy as possible. Pigeonfeather The mouse skittered to a halt; within its flesh pink paws grasped a small sunflower seed and it feverishly began to nibble and gnaw at its tough shell.
Perfect! Slowly the she-cat slipped forward, as fluid as a gentle stream. Her paws tread the earth as if she were walking upon air. The mouse remained in unawares, now having found the sweet inner of its meal and happily scrounging for the most delectable of parts.
It was hers. She had it right beneath her nose. Her heart swelled, talons unsheathed and dug deep into the dirt below, her muscles and sinew bunching for the final pounce -
"Oh! Hey, Rosepaw!"
Her head swung back over the frame of her shoulder. The mouse jolted to life, eyes wide, a fine spray of dirt flung up as its paws kicked back, and it dived for the thick of the foliage. Rosepaw bit back a snarl, bounding after it - but her prey had found its burrow, her paws slamming flat on empty earth where the mouse's tail had twitched mere seconds ago. Her heart sunk, the failure of her hunt stinging like nettle at her skin, only to be overtaken by a fresh wave of annoyance.
"Mousepaw!"
Twisting on her heels, Rosenose shot a frustrated glare at the brown furred tom. There he stood, wiry and lean, a bit small and hardly the most majestic figure of the Clan. His neck craned left to right, blank confusion scrawled across his countenance; catching her eyes once more, he shrugged.
"What? Did I do something wrong?"
Try as she might, Rosenose could never remain mad at him for long. She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Nothing. StarClan knows, you've scared off all the prey in the forest by now." Playfully bumping shoulders to his, she strolled past, and Mousepaw's amused snort echoed loud behind her.
"Oh, c'mon!" Mousepaw purred, bounding up to match her step by step; "you were just begging to see me. I can tell by your face."
"Psh. Was not!"
Perfect! Slowly the she-cat slipped forward, as fluid as a gentle stream. Her paws tread the earth as if she were walking upon air. The mouse remained in unawares, now having found the sweet inner of its meal and happily scrounging for the most delectable of parts.
It was hers. She had it right beneath her nose. Her heart swelled, talons unsheathed and dug deep into the dirt below, her muscles and sinew bunching for the final pounce -
"Oh! Hey, Rosepaw!"
Her head swung back over the frame of her shoulder. The mouse jolted to life, eyes wide, a fine spray of dirt flung up as its paws kicked back, and it dived for the thick of the foliage. Rosepaw bit back a snarl, bounding after it - but her prey had found its burrow, her paws slamming flat on empty earth where the mouse's tail had twitched mere seconds ago. Her heart sunk, the failure of her hunt stinging like nettle at her skin, only to be overtaken by a fresh wave of annoyance.
"Mousepaw!"
Twisting on her heels, Rosenose shot a frustrated glare at the brown furred tom. There he stood, wiry and lean, a bit small and hardly the most majestic figure of the Clan. His neck craned left to right, blank confusion scrawled across his countenance; catching her eyes once more, he shrugged.
"What? Did I do something wrong?"
Try as she might, Rosenose could never remain mad at him for long. She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Nothing. StarClan knows, you've scared off all the prey in the forest by now." Playfully bumping shoulders to his, she strolled past, and Mousepaw's amused snort echoed loud behind her.
"Oh, c'mon!" Mousepaw purred, bounding up to match her step by step; "you were just begging to see me. I can tell by your face."
"Psh. Was not!"
as a final note, a bit more about (name)'s appearance
appearance (optional) goes here, or at least a one-line description of appearance.are you ready for a revolution?
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