Post by Spiderbreath||Soul on Feb 28, 2006 4:45:43 GMT -5
Name: Spiderbreath.
Do you honor?: Yes, I honor.
Age: 23 moons.
Gender: She-cat.
Appearance: A flash of orange fur. Yellow-amber orbs gleam out of the safe reaches of the high-up canopy. A quick, lithe body leaps out of the branches, revealing its person to all present.
Spiderbreath is her name. She is not a feline of unimaginable beauty, nor a cat with great intellectual capacities. Only one creature in a million others, as normal as a human that has ten toes and fingers.
Or maybe not so normal.
Something in those twin pools of molten metal shines like wild-fire, glints like the cold touch of steel. Something in their unfathomable depths shows what the she-cat truly is. Seeking for something lost long ago, wary of a danger that doesn't exist, fiercely protective of something she cannot have. Or does not want to own.
However, her eyes are not the only things about her that make her stick out. The hair that covers her thin body is of medium length, growing noticeably longer around her wrists and on the tip of her tail and ears, and is bedraggled and thick with burs and dirt. In the exact spots where her pelt lengthens, the fur sticks up in a wild array of spike-like tufts. Spiderbreath has earned this trait from her great-grandmother, Spiderthorn, who was originally a Windclan cat. Then, below the thick crest of golden-orange fibers, the colors slowly fade from the hue of an almost-out sunrise to the taint of crimson blood on her paws and tail. This change also happens around her muzzle, giving her the strange look of a cat who has just eaten freshly-killed prey in great amounts. Her ears are completely brown except for their spiked ends, which, opposed to the golden-amber color of the tufts on her tail and paws, is the same vermilion as her muzzle. Otherwise, lean, dusty yellow or earthy brown stripes lattice this feline's body, making it look as if it is covered with multi-colored scars.
Spiderbreath has a thin and lanky build, that of a cat who spends their time climbing and descending trees. Some could even call her gaunt. Her eyes are often sunken into her skull, especially when she becomes depressed, and her shoulder or hip bones stick out quite profusely.
The last detail one could notice about her is that, whenever she breaths, a rattle-like noise escapes her throat. This is because she caught green-cough quite young, and its mark never quite left her. Now she sounds like a very old cat in both the way she inhales air and how she speaks: a wheezy, harsh sound that resembles the speech of a snake more than that of a cat. Whenever she speaks for any long amount of time, a weak but insistent cough takes over her lungs, and she spends a few minutes trying to make it go away.
RP example: ((This, I think, will be how Spiderbreath meets her sister, who I will create later. Her name will be Soul.))
The moon, full and serene, hung up in the sky like a lantern guiding the cats of the lands below. Its light descended softly upon the lumpy terrain of Shadowclan, soft humps of mud peppering the ground, their moldable bodies shining eerily with the sheen of a beetle carapace. No creatures moved, and even the camp, usually filled with the sounds of snoring cats, had drifted into muteness.
It was silent on the Thunderpath. No monsters roared across its rough black surface, no crickets chirped from the hidden safety of the sickly thickets that bordered the wide, stench-filled strip of tar, no birds twittered their happiness or grief from the high branches of a lone beech stuck in the middle of the marshy plain a few feet away. There were no squirrels to fill the air with their incessant chattering, not a single mouse to scuttle from its hole with a squeak and a rustle of fallen leaves. All was quiet. Hidden. Shadowed.
At first, it would look as if the thick band of onyx pitch was abandoned, what with the lack of life in the area. But, at a second glance, one would be able to spot a patch of glistening, sunrise-colored fur in the unhealthy brambles at the side, or the gleam of twin orbs of molten metal. The faint murmur of moving leaves drifted from the bushes, not truly piercing the agonizing silence around the area, but pushing at its surface as if it wanted to tear it apart.
A thin leg poked out of the drooping, dark green and brown leaves, the yellow-striped amber fur glinting almost imperceptibly in the blue-white rays of moonlight. The fur on the leg's wrist was raised in an uncontrolled crest of varied tufts of brown, orange and gold, which faded to bloody crimson at the paw. Then another leg, similar, but not exactly the same, to the last, stepped out, quickly followed by a cautious head and a tense body.
The feline was wary, that was obvious, especially by the way she held herself close to the muddy ground, how the earthy brown ears that topped her head were perked high in the air, swivelling the slightest bit every time she thought she heard a suspicious noise, how her tail was kept low and still in the soggy dirt. The twin orbs of yellow-amber hue, narrowed in a vigilant stare, flicked from side to side in a mechanical motion, almost a reflex from moons of being alert and attentive.
A pair of harsh yellow lights appeared at the top of a rise earlier on the Thunderpath, approaching the she-cat with the speed of a falcon. The customary roar of a monster accompanied the dark shadow behind the glare. The feline flinched away from the road as the great thing passed, and waited a few seconds before crossing the Path just as quickly as the monster had come.
A sigh of relief escaped the animal's maw as her paws came to rest upon the dead grass on the other side, and she sucked her breath in at her unwary mistake. The air rattled in her throat, threatening to make her cough, but she fought against it, and finally overcame the violent feeling of having swallowed a long-haired mouse whole.
"Who are you, cat?"
The she-cat did not jump as a demanding voice cut the previous silence, but her body tensed like a spring, and she was on her crimson feet in seconds. Her eyes searched everywhere, scrutinizing the deciduous trees with an acute awareness, and she finally glimpsed the glimmer of an open eye. Sinew still tense, mind clear and ready to escape if a fight broke out, the she-cat sat down on the softer ground of Thunderclan territory.
Facing the place she believed the other to be in, the yellow and brown-striped cat opened her carmine muzzle and let words creep out of its depths.
"I've got the same thing to ask you."
Her voice wheezed in her throat, resembling the hiss of a snake more than the speech of a feline. The hidden cat, who sounded a lot like a female, growled low at the impudence of this intruder, and snapped sharply at her.
"You are not welcome here. I ask the questions, and you answer them."
She acts as if she owns this forest, the first she-cat thought. She did not smile as if amused, but she did not pad away like an obedient apprentice. She was scared, of course. She had always been. Scared of being hit. Scared of being understood. Scared of dieing before her mission was complete. But, in a way, she was less scared than usual. She had a feeling about this night. That she would finally accomplish something.
I'll answer...maybe then she'll give me her name. I don't know what she looks like yet. All I know is that her name has only one part. That lessens cats considerably...I hope. But what if she's not who I want her to be? What if she attacks? What if I die without doing what I need to do?
Moons of stewing in her own thoughts had caused her to become worried easily. Some called this 'pananoia': thinking everything was against you, that the worst things happened to you and only you, that every other cat had a better life than you did. Maybe it was so. Maybe not. Whichever, the way she acted sure resembled it.
It was becoming clear that she was now uncomfortable with the idea of meeting this other feline. The crimson tip of her tail was thumping the ground repeatedly in an agitated way. She was biting her bottom lip in a gesture of nervousness, and you could hear her heart beat faster and faster as doubt took over her mind.
At this show of internal weakness, the hidden she-cat smirked quietly, and called out in a boisterous manner.
"...Or are you scared?"
Her voice undoubtably had a hint of a sneer in it. That simple sentence shook the orange feline, and she frowned. A ferocious hiss escaped her maw as she answered in a curt manner, the wheezing rattle in her breath hidden slightly by the force of the escaping air.
"I'm not scared. My name is Spiderbreath, of Shadowclan. And what's your name? Or do you admit that all you can do is hide in the shadows like a tiny kit, throwing insults at your opponent as a young cat does when they are angry?"
Rage was pushing the doubt away from her mind like a bulldozer pushed away bricks, and she held her head up in a challenging way, amber eyes glinting with a savage power buried deep inside her. The moment the words escaped the other one's mouth, the hidden feline hissed in fury, and revealed herself to all present.
"My name is Soul."
Clan: Shadowclan.
Rank: Warrior.
Breed: Not any specific breed, though she is part tabby.
Personality: If two cats met Spider and gave an account of what she acted like around them, they would probably give very different descriptions of the strange she-cat.
What her temper or actions are like depends on who she faces.
Around Leaders, she keeps her distances and stays with her head low, tail down, in a canine-like gesture of respect. Her eyes betray her, however. They plainly show she is wary of the higher-ranking cats, scared of a beating that would probably not come. Maybe she thinks they want to take her life, or something she cares about even more. She has been known to become paranoid when stressful times come around, or just think up things that seem unbelievable to others, but very probable to her.
Warriors are a different matter all together. She is still wary of them, but not just as intensely as Leaders or Deputies. Her manner is a bit less tense and defensive around them, even up to being amiable, but she's not known for making friends. There are very few cats who she chooses to tell her thoughts to. To say the least, not a single one has yet been picked.
Spiderbreath, though she is calmer around warriors, becomes very drawn when confronted to an apprentice. You could even say they scare her. Her eyes narrow, her brow furrows into a frown, and you can just feel the fear roll off of her in waves. She takes cautious steps, edges away from the feline, without saying a single word. Her eyes glance around furtively in search of any way of escaping, and she scampers off as soon as possible (though 'sneak' would be a better verb for this...).
As for kits, she can't stand them. She's never said why to anycat. She just...does. Whenever she crosses the camp, Spiderbreath makes a large loop to evade the small space kits are confined to, and as soon as a young feline shows signs of approaching her distrustful figure, she pads away as quickly as she can without receiving suspicious glances. It's as if young cats scared her.
She doesn't even try to interact with the elders. They don't scare her as the kits and apprentices do, or make her uncomfortable like the Leader or deputy, but she just doesn't think it necessary to speak to an old and dieing cat. She was like this even as a small kit, never asking a question, keeping to herself, silent as the tomb. She would have become even more inhibited after the green-cough ordeal...if that was ever possible.
Spiderbreath hates fighting even more than she fears kits, which is something quite important to say. She does the best she can to avoid battling another, but when she cannot get away, she looks more like a furious tornado of fire than a paranoid she-cat.
History:
Kit-Spiderbreath is the daughter of a Shadowclan queen, Mooneye (who was found alone in Shadowclan territory as a kit with Windclan's scent on her), and a rogue from the outside. No one knows the name of this cat, and no one truly cares, since all think that Spiderbreath is the kit of Mooneye and Blackfoot. The Shadowclan tom loved the she-cat, and did not want her to get in trouble with the Leader because she had kits with an unknown rogue. And so he took care of the young one.
Mooneye stayed in the nursery as Spiderkit grew alone, without a single sibling to help her. It is said that the she-cat has a sister in another Clan, taken by the rogue father because she looked too much like him, and the mates did not want to be found out. But most wave it away as yet another rumor for a plainly normal kit.
But it was obvious that Spiderkit was not, as others said, 'normal'. Whenever another kit spoke to her, she would back away from them, maw contorted into a grimace of fear. Her hackles would raise like a thick rift of golden-orange fur, mimicking the tufts on her wrists, neck and tail. A hiss would escape her throat in a fierce blow of air as she lowered her body to the ground, preparing to leap upon the unfortunate feline. That was her way around others. Soon, they all learned to stay away from her, keeping heads and tails low as they passed. She never truly attacked, but many tended to be afraid that she would.
Apprentice-Needless to say, the nursing queens sighed in relief when she was made an apprentice. Her mother was the only one that seemed to worry for the young one....but, of course, all queens worried for their kits.
Spiderkit's mentor was an old warrior with a lot of experience. Mooneye, as she departed for the elders' den alongside her old mate, Blackfoot, was sure that the Leader had chosen the ancient tom because of her youngling's strange behavior. Maybe he would be able to knock some sense into the bony she-cat, make her see the bad side of her ways. And that was the reason Mooneye worried. She did not want ideas to be beaten into the young kit's head with force or cunning. She wanted the small feline to act as was seen fit by herself.
Mooneye did not have much say in it, however. She died one moon later from a terrible case of white-cough. Spiderkit, now named Spiderpaw, was saddened by these news, though she kept a dry and passive face as her mother was buried. Some glared at her, whispering things like 'heartless demon', and walked away with an angered glint in their eye at her cold, blank look. She was only seven moons old.
Warrior-Nine moons later, after an intense amount of battle and hunt training, Spiderpaw became a warrior herself. The old mentor she had once died before she was fully accepted, about two moons after her mother's death, and so her supposed 'father' took the tom's place. Blackfoot stayed alive long enough to see his adopted daughter become a fully-fledged warrior of Shadowclan, and died two days after. Spiderpaw, renamed Spiderbreath for the characteristic rattle in her throat, was then sixteen moons of age.
Seven moons have passed, and Spiderbreath is the same as she ever was. Nothing changed, even with the great efforts of both her mentors to help her get along better with others. She is still the rock-hard feline she ever was, silent as a windless night in a desert, wary as the mouse who knows it is stalked, fearing as the rabbit does when it is in the claws of a fox. One or two cats have said that she is still searching for something, something that they all doubt exists. Maybe the rumors they have heard about her are true. Maybe they are not. Only time will tell.
Codewords: Zeik, The Ancient Ways.
((Heya! It's Moonpelt from WCv2. Since someone else took the name 'Moonpelt', however, I decided to take the name of one of my other cats and change it a bit. So...just wanted to say hello and all. =D))
Do you honor?: Yes, I honor.
Age: 23 moons.
Gender: She-cat.
Appearance: A flash of orange fur. Yellow-amber orbs gleam out of the safe reaches of the high-up canopy. A quick, lithe body leaps out of the branches, revealing its person to all present.
Spiderbreath is her name. She is not a feline of unimaginable beauty, nor a cat with great intellectual capacities. Only one creature in a million others, as normal as a human that has ten toes and fingers.
Or maybe not so normal.
Something in those twin pools of molten metal shines like wild-fire, glints like the cold touch of steel. Something in their unfathomable depths shows what the she-cat truly is. Seeking for something lost long ago, wary of a danger that doesn't exist, fiercely protective of something she cannot have. Or does not want to own.
However, her eyes are not the only things about her that make her stick out. The hair that covers her thin body is of medium length, growing noticeably longer around her wrists and on the tip of her tail and ears, and is bedraggled and thick with burs and dirt. In the exact spots where her pelt lengthens, the fur sticks up in a wild array of spike-like tufts. Spiderbreath has earned this trait from her great-grandmother, Spiderthorn, who was originally a Windclan cat. Then, below the thick crest of golden-orange fibers, the colors slowly fade from the hue of an almost-out sunrise to the taint of crimson blood on her paws and tail. This change also happens around her muzzle, giving her the strange look of a cat who has just eaten freshly-killed prey in great amounts. Her ears are completely brown except for their spiked ends, which, opposed to the golden-amber color of the tufts on her tail and paws, is the same vermilion as her muzzle. Otherwise, lean, dusty yellow or earthy brown stripes lattice this feline's body, making it look as if it is covered with multi-colored scars.
Spiderbreath has a thin and lanky build, that of a cat who spends their time climbing and descending trees. Some could even call her gaunt. Her eyes are often sunken into her skull, especially when she becomes depressed, and her shoulder or hip bones stick out quite profusely.
The last detail one could notice about her is that, whenever she breaths, a rattle-like noise escapes her throat. This is because she caught green-cough quite young, and its mark never quite left her. Now she sounds like a very old cat in both the way she inhales air and how she speaks: a wheezy, harsh sound that resembles the speech of a snake more than that of a cat. Whenever she speaks for any long amount of time, a weak but insistent cough takes over her lungs, and she spends a few minutes trying to make it go away.
RP example: ((This, I think, will be how Spiderbreath meets her sister, who I will create later. Her name will be Soul.))
The moon, full and serene, hung up in the sky like a lantern guiding the cats of the lands below. Its light descended softly upon the lumpy terrain of Shadowclan, soft humps of mud peppering the ground, their moldable bodies shining eerily with the sheen of a beetle carapace. No creatures moved, and even the camp, usually filled with the sounds of snoring cats, had drifted into muteness.
It was silent on the Thunderpath. No monsters roared across its rough black surface, no crickets chirped from the hidden safety of the sickly thickets that bordered the wide, stench-filled strip of tar, no birds twittered their happiness or grief from the high branches of a lone beech stuck in the middle of the marshy plain a few feet away. There were no squirrels to fill the air with their incessant chattering, not a single mouse to scuttle from its hole with a squeak and a rustle of fallen leaves. All was quiet. Hidden. Shadowed.
At first, it would look as if the thick band of onyx pitch was abandoned, what with the lack of life in the area. But, at a second glance, one would be able to spot a patch of glistening, sunrise-colored fur in the unhealthy brambles at the side, or the gleam of twin orbs of molten metal. The faint murmur of moving leaves drifted from the bushes, not truly piercing the agonizing silence around the area, but pushing at its surface as if it wanted to tear it apart.
A thin leg poked out of the drooping, dark green and brown leaves, the yellow-striped amber fur glinting almost imperceptibly in the blue-white rays of moonlight. The fur on the leg's wrist was raised in an uncontrolled crest of varied tufts of brown, orange and gold, which faded to bloody crimson at the paw. Then another leg, similar, but not exactly the same, to the last, stepped out, quickly followed by a cautious head and a tense body.
The feline was wary, that was obvious, especially by the way she held herself close to the muddy ground, how the earthy brown ears that topped her head were perked high in the air, swivelling the slightest bit every time she thought she heard a suspicious noise, how her tail was kept low and still in the soggy dirt. The twin orbs of yellow-amber hue, narrowed in a vigilant stare, flicked from side to side in a mechanical motion, almost a reflex from moons of being alert and attentive.
A pair of harsh yellow lights appeared at the top of a rise earlier on the Thunderpath, approaching the she-cat with the speed of a falcon. The customary roar of a monster accompanied the dark shadow behind the glare. The feline flinched away from the road as the great thing passed, and waited a few seconds before crossing the Path just as quickly as the monster had come.
A sigh of relief escaped the animal's maw as her paws came to rest upon the dead grass on the other side, and she sucked her breath in at her unwary mistake. The air rattled in her throat, threatening to make her cough, but she fought against it, and finally overcame the violent feeling of having swallowed a long-haired mouse whole.
"Who are you, cat?"
The she-cat did not jump as a demanding voice cut the previous silence, but her body tensed like a spring, and she was on her crimson feet in seconds. Her eyes searched everywhere, scrutinizing the deciduous trees with an acute awareness, and she finally glimpsed the glimmer of an open eye. Sinew still tense, mind clear and ready to escape if a fight broke out, the she-cat sat down on the softer ground of Thunderclan territory.
Facing the place she believed the other to be in, the yellow and brown-striped cat opened her carmine muzzle and let words creep out of its depths.
"I've got the same thing to ask you."
Her voice wheezed in her throat, resembling the hiss of a snake more than the speech of a feline. The hidden cat, who sounded a lot like a female, growled low at the impudence of this intruder, and snapped sharply at her.
"You are not welcome here. I ask the questions, and you answer them."
She acts as if she owns this forest, the first she-cat thought. She did not smile as if amused, but she did not pad away like an obedient apprentice. She was scared, of course. She had always been. Scared of being hit. Scared of being understood. Scared of dieing before her mission was complete. But, in a way, she was less scared than usual. She had a feeling about this night. That she would finally accomplish something.
I'll answer...maybe then she'll give me her name. I don't know what she looks like yet. All I know is that her name has only one part. That lessens cats considerably...I hope. But what if she's not who I want her to be? What if she attacks? What if I die without doing what I need to do?
Moons of stewing in her own thoughts had caused her to become worried easily. Some called this 'pananoia': thinking everything was against you, that the worst things happened to you and only you, that every other cat had a better life than you did. Maybe it was so. Maybe not. Whichever, the way she acted sure resembled it.
It was becoming clear that she was now uncomfortable with the idea of meeting this other feline. The crimson tip of her tail was thumping the ground repeatedly in an agitated way. She was biting her bottom lip in a gesture of nervousness, and you could hear her heart beat faster and faster as doubt took over her mind.
At this show of internal weakness, the hidden she-cat smirked quietly, and called out in a boisterous manner.
"...Or are you scared?"
Her voice undoubtably had a hint of a sneer in it. That simple sentence shook the orange feline, and she frowned. A ferocious hiss escaped her maw as she answered in a curt manner, the wheezing rattle in her breath hidden slightly by the force of the escaping air.
"I'm not scared. My name is Spiderbreath, of Shadowclan. And what's your name? Or do you admit that all you can do is hide in the shadows like a tiny kit, throwing insults at your opponent as a young cat does when they are angry?"
Rage was pushing the doubt away from her mind like a bulldozer pushed away bricks, and she held her head up in a challenging way, amber eyes glinting with a savage power buried deep inside her. The moment the words escaped the other one's mouth, the hidden feline hissed in fury, and revealed herself to all present.
"My name is Soul."
Clan: Shadowclan.
Rank: Warrior.
Breed: Not any specific breed, though she is part tabby.
Personality: If two cats met Spider and gave an account of what she acted like around them, they would probably give very different descriptions of the strange she-cat.
What her temper or actions are like depends on who she faces.
Around Leaders, she keeps her distances and stays with her head low, tail down, in a canine-like gesture of respect. Her eyes betray her, however. They plainly show she is wary of the higher-ranking cats, scared of a beating that would probably not come. Maybe she thinks they want to take her life, or something she cares about even more. She has been known to become paranoid when stressful times come around, or just think up things that seem unbelievable to others, but very probable to her.
Warriors are a different matter all together. She is still wary of them, but not just as intensely as Leaders or Deputies. Her manner is a bit less tense and defensive around them, even up to being amiable, but she's not known for making friends. There are very few cats who she chooses to tell her thoughts to. To say the least, not a single one has yet been picked.
Spiderbreath, though she is calmer around warriors, becomes very drawn when confronted to an apprentice. You could even say they scare her. Her eyes narrow, her brow furrows into a frown, and you can just feel the fear roll off of her in waves. She takes cautious steps, edges away from the feline, without saying a single word. Her eyes glance around furtively in search of any way of escaping, and she scampers off as soon as possible (though 'sneak' would be a better verb for this...).
As for kits, she can't stand them. She's never said why to anycat. She just...does. Whenever she crosses the camp, Spiderbreath makes a large loop to evade the small space kits are confined to, and as soon as a young feline shows signs of approaching her distrustful figure, she pads away as quickly as she can without receiving suspicious glances. It's as if young cats scared her.
She doesn't even try to interact with the elders. They don't scare her as the kits and apprentices do, or make her uncomfortable like the Leader or deputy, but she just doesn't think it necessary to speak to an old and dieing cat. She was like this even as a small kit, never asking a question, keeping to herself, silent as the tomb. She would have become even more inhibited after the green-cough ordeal...if that was ever possible.
Spiderbreath hates fighting even more than she fears kits, which is something quite important to say. She does the best she can to avoid battling another, but when she cannot get away, she looks more like a furious tornado of fire than a paranoid she-cat.
History:
Kit-Spiderbreath is the daughter of a Shadowclan queen, Mooneye (who was found alone in Shadowclan territory as a kit with Windclan's scent on her), and a rogue from the outside. No one knows the name of this cat, and no one truly cares, since all think that Spiderbreath is the kit of Mooneye and Blackfoot. The Shadowclan tom loved the she-cat, and did not want her to get in trouble with the Leader because she had kits with an unknown rogue. And so he took care of the young one.
Mooneye stayed in the nursery as Spiderkit grew alone, without a single sibling to help her. It is said that the she-cat has a sister in another Clan, taken by the rogue father because she looked too much like him, and the mates did not want to be found out. But most wave it away as yet another rumor for a plainly normal kit.
But it was obvious that Spiderkit was not, as others said, 'normal'. Whenever another kit spoke to her, she would back away from them, maw contorted into a grimace of fear. Her hackles would raise like a thick rift of golden-orange fur, mimicking the tufts on her wrists, neck and tail. A hiss would escape her throat in a fierce blow of air as she lowered her body to the ground, preparing to leap upon the unfortunate feline. That was her way around others. Soon, they all learned to stay away from her, keeping heads and tails low as they passed. She never truly attacked, but many tended to be afraid that she would.
Apprentice-Needless to say, the nursing queens sighed in relief when she was made an apprentice. Her mother was the only one that seemed to worry for the young one....but, of course, all queens worried for their kits.
Spiderkit's mentor was an old warrior with a lot of experience. Mooneye, as she departed for the elders' den alongside her old mate, Blackfoot, was sure that the Leader had chosen the ancient tom because of her youngling's strange behavior. Maybe he would be able to knock some sense into the bony she-cat, make her see the bad side of her ways. And that was the reason Mooneye worried. She did not want ideas to be beaten into the young kit's head with force or cunning. She wanted the small feline to act as was seen fit by herself.
Mooneye did not have much say in it, however. She died one moon later from a terrible case of white-cough. Spiderkit, now named Spiderpaw, was saddened by these news, though she kept a dry and passive face as her mother was buried. Some glared at her, whispering things like 'heartless demon', and walked away with an angered glint in their eye at her cold, blank look. She was only seven moons old.
Warrior-Nine moons later, after an intense amount of battle and hunt training, Spiderpaw became a warrior herself. The old mentor she had once died before she was fully accepted, about two moons after her mother's death, and so her supposed 'father' took the tom's place. Blackfoot stayed alive long enough to see his adopted daughter become a fully-fledged warrior of Shadowclan, and died two days after. Spiderpaw, renamed Spiderbreath for the characteristic rattle in her throat, was then sixteen moons of age.
Seven moons have passed, and Spiderbreath is the same as she ever was. Nothing changed, even with the great efforts of both her mentors to help her get along better with others. She is still the rock-hard feline she ever was, silent as a windless night in a desert, wary as the mouse who knows it is stalked, fearing as the rabbit does when it is in the claws of a fox. One or two cats have said that she is still searching for something, something that they all doubt exists. Maybe the rumors they have heard about her are true. Maybe they are not. Only time will tell.
Codewords: Zeik, The Ancient Ways.
((Heya! It's Moonpelt from WCv2. Since someone else took the name 'Moonpelt', however, I decided to take the name of one of my other cats and change it a bit. So...just wanted to say hello and all. =D))
