09.30.2019 → There has been some exciting changes on CD lately! We've added a new monarchy to the groups of cats on the islands, as well as restructured the boards a bit to allow for some space - thus, redrawing the map! We've also promoted Nifty to Global Mod! There are some auditions open right now for JungleClan Deputy as well as for all of the new Kingdom of Mokuhau high ranks - Artemis
09.12.2019 → Unfortunately Elaedria is stepping down as administrator due to life being too busy to keep up! The site will be going through some restructuring in high ranks as well due to this. Effective immediately, the word count is now 100 minimum. Some more changes will be coming in the future - members have been emailed a survey to help us figure out what to change and how to get better. Thanks for your patience! - Artemis
WEATHER
Year 55, Scorching Sands 09.05.2019 → The temperatures of the islands are a steady 98° F on land/ high 80s in water. There is almost no breeze, the sun is uncomfortably warm.
Prey during the day is pretty scarce due to the heat, however is quite active after the sun goes down.
Lost in the dense jungles of scattered islands, facing perils unimagined by their ancestors, are three warrior groups - The traditional JungleClan, descendants of the original clans carried aboard a twoleg contraption from their home long ago and breaking new ground on old beliefs. Second, the curious TidalClan, made up of kittypets who chose to abandon their long since passed twoleg civilization ways for those of true felines. Lastly, the mysterious Tribe of Twisted Roots, hidden in the mist from others with their strange ways and a deeper knowledge of the land around them. Together they must learn how to take their fate into their own paws if they wish to survive this land of erupting mountains and roaring waters.
Join our crew and dive into an island-based Warriors roleplay - a twist on the original series by Erin Hunter. We are a semi-literate site with a minimum of 100 words per post.
Upon hearing Orchidbloom's skeptical question, Anispine gathered the necessary herbs she needed--some she did not--and splayed them out in front of her. "Alright, I believe these are all you need."
Anispine looked around his space, spying a sharp yet tiny outcrop on the wall of his den. As an apprentice, Paleleaf warned him to watch out for that nook but he always inevitably bumped into it; so many bruised foreheads and bloody cuts came from that, and his mentor never lived it down. Presently, his mind offered a rather manic idea--anything to test his impromptu student. He said nothing, trusting that Orchidbloom would trust what he would do. He held his breath, psyching himself up for some pain, and shoved his shoulder into the spike.
A sharp throb jumped at him first and he winced audibly--a sudden and surprised intake of breath. Stepping away from the wall, he peered down at his handiwork and noticed broken skin and oozing blood. It could be worse, really, and looking at his own blood left him lightheaded for a moment. But as quickly as that feeling came, he pushed it back and faced Orchidbloom.
"Ok, I've come in with a small gash on my shoulder. What's the first step in treating it?" Honestly, the tom was being a bit dramatic but he shared a glance at the she-cat, hopeful that she had retained what he had taught. In this situation, he would choose either the moss or tree fern to soak up any excess blood; he wondered what Orchidbloom would elect first.
Anispine hummed smugly at Barracudabite's shared snide, a wide smirk rushing across his face before he could stop it. He replied a muffled "yes, thank you" to his clanmate's comment. Following the other tom's gaze to the exposed earth and the rattled shoots of the ginger, he wondered what crossed his mind as a lull of silence filled the space between them. But Barracudabite quickly glanced back and asked a truthful yet curious question. He was momentarily stunned, though he quickly offered an answer, "oh, I usually use ginger for--"
That is, until Barracudebite quickly jumped into his next set of concerns. Anispine flung his gaze around, looked the small pile of collected ginger and the other pile the tom set down earlier. He rounded the stack, counting between them and mentally racking his brain for any missing herbs. He could look for more ginger, or even rarer commodities, but he guessed the list had been completed. A part of him almost dreaded the march back to camp, the climb to his den into another tiring or boring day. His trips into the territory were infrequent, and though he enjoyed the frank tranquility of his lonely den, once he tasted fresh air it was hard to travel back to camp. He could lie, say he need one more herb or the other, which is precisely what he would do. "Yes, enough ginger, I think. But, I wanted to look around for a bit more..."
Trailing off, he spotted movement in his periphery, head darting to the side in effect. A bird he couldn't name fluttered its wings, picked at the ground, and opened its beak in a squawk he couldn't quite catch. His stomach whined in hunger, and he remembered his forgotten meal at the foot of his den.
"Uh, actually," he glanced tentatively at the tom, "do you mind if we hunt?"
no opportunity necessary, no experience needed - Artemis
Barracudabite's joke quelled Anispine's restlessness and unease, his gaze dutifully following the tom as he begrudgingly stalked to him and the ginger. It punched a breathy huff out of him, a barely-there chuckle peculiar to him, and his mood lifted minutely. And, not readily witty, Anispine volleyed nothing back. His eyes hovered over the herbs Barracudabite set down on the ground, his mind offering nothing—just noting. He watched as the warrior dug at the earth, the ginger shoots quivering above both their heads at his assault. After a moment, Barracudabite offered just one cluster of ginger, the green shoot jutting ridiculously from one side of his mouth. Anispine stared at him, a scoff bubbling out of his throat.
"Uh-huh, yeah. Great job," he said but pointed his nose at the ground, "but you barely dug anything out."
He didn't mean to sound petulant, but how hard was it to dig out ginger? A voice in the back of his mind told him to piss off, that he should have done it himself instead of pushing it onto Barracudabite. But, the urge to show how it is done suddenly snatched the reigns. Gesturing again at the green shoots, he began, "ginger comes in groups or clusters, and it's better to dig as much around it as you can—as to not leave any behind. Oh, and the green plant-y part indicates how many bunches of ginger you might get."
He examined Barracudabite's work, absently adding, "you'd be surprised how much you can find, especially now in this Starclan-forsaken heat."
Paws dug around the already exposed roots, around the plant, and around any sign of dirty ivory roots. Anispine became so absorbed in the task, he did not notice how he pushed the other tom out of the way, butting into his space thoughtlessly. Once he uncovered more ginger, he cocked his head at his work, a satisfied smile stretching his face.
"See?" With a bite closer to the shoot and a few tentative wiggles, Anispine yanked out a larger root than Barracudabite's. He snorted this time, parroting the tom's words around his grander prize, "this good?"
no opportunity necessary, no experience needed - Artemis
Taking a warrior to collect herbs ranked somewhat low in his priorities as a medicine cat. The quiet of venturing alone had sometimes outweighed the good sense and precaution of an accompanying warrior. But his mentor—and even Lightningclaw to a degree—always urged him to think outside himself, think about his safety first rather than his childish desire for independence. So, the first warrior to catch his eye he asked. Well, it wasn't so much a request as it was a perfunctory, reflexive demand. "Come with me." A statement so baldly said he didn't even wait to hear the silver tom's answer. If the deputy hadn't assigned him to a patrol of any kind, he was free, right?
The sun barely climbed above the horizon, but the heat sapped all the moon's cool and his energy. Anispine walked close to his accomplice Barracudabite—a youngish warrior who shared the same angular physique as he—throughout their trek despite himself, maybe a deep-seated dark part of him enjoying the company—but he couldn't tell otherwise. He stopped frequently, enough to be annoying, as herbs of all kinds caught his eye; he had looked through his stores, yes, but it was like he completely forgot about this herb or that. Specifically, how could he forget about chervil or even poppy? The latter was prickly, making it hard to harvest, but he persevered; the former was everywhere.
Once they reached the creek that separated mainland from the Rainbow Estuary, Anispine hesitated. That moment of hesitation, his mind flickered to his mentor—just for a moment—before he strode across the creek in meaningful steps. He did not think about his hesitation, just shooting a glance to his partner and saying, "watch your footing."
He had been eyeing a ginger plant by then, exhaustion finally catching up to him and his patience wearing thin. Digging up the plant was his best bet, but he hastily decided to bite at the stems and pull. "Here, can you hold these?" He meowed around the plants he already held in his mouth. He dropped them in front of the warrior and turned to the ginger plants. His plan yielded nothing but a mouthful of leaves. He hissed lowly at the plant, offended. That is, when he glanced at Barracudabite and his mind offered an idea.
"Can..." He couldn't just tell him to do it, do his serving, but he didn't want to waste anymore energy. "Can you help me dig this out?" He gestured a little wildly at the few sprouts of ginger behind him—head quirked and tail flicking toward it—hoping to get his mission across.
no opportunity necessary, no experience needed - Artemis
Your Name: Seppi Your Current Characters: Anispine Do you have any high ranks? If yes, would you like to relinquish any? Anispine, MC of Jungleclan. I'd like to keep him. Do you wish to archive any characters/threads you have on the go? I believe this thread can be archived. oh and this one too?
Anispine nodded shy of overwhelmed and slightly dubious at her continued offers. It was hard enough to admit he needed help, and mentoring stuck out in his mind the moment Orchidbloom mentioned her help. His expressionless face shifted to a small smile, out of courtesy, and he said, "Of course."
Orchidbloom jumped straight to her original idea, and Anispine was more than happy for it. He shook his head at the idea of waiting until morning, now fully awake despite the aging night. He stood from where he sat, his smile disappearing into a serious scowl, and perused his herb supply on the cave wall absently. "I'd like to start now."
He spotted the ever-reliable poppy seeds and the rarer spider lilies, already unsure where to actually start; he hummed an "uh" as he realized he had no clue just like with his apprentice. Chewing on his cheek, he glanced at Orchidbloom.
"We'll start with the, uh, basics," he muttered the rest, "maybe simple travel herbs--oh, but you said something about thorns? Yeah, I can teach how to take them off, and maybe what to put on it after..."
He trailed off, fully expecting Orchidbloom to follow along.
----
Teaching another cat about herbs had been a blessing and a curse; Orchidbloom delivered on her promise, as did Anispine, but he still fumbled around his explanations. Maybe it was his terse nature, or his inability to recognize how medicine can be a breeze for him but completely eluding to others, but he had always needed to clarify himself despite his ignorance. He tried his hardest and he could see Orchidbloom doing the same--which only encouraged him more. Every other evening, Orchidbloom dutifully arrived at his den, already making headway into Anispine's cherished art. The little arrangement amused his apprentice and--in some way--also amused Anispine. Whatever Orchidbloom had in mind paid off; it delighted Anispine to divert his attention from seriously teaching the future medicine cat to a warrior who enjoyed some skill building all in the name of the clan.
He went over the no-go's of flora--onion, acacia, any suspicious berry that an apprentice or young warrior would carelessly plop onto their tongue. Aloe vera and chervil also came up, for surface wounds and general infection, though the latter was not as important. He also briefly explained how moss or tree fern could soak up blood and hinder bleeding. Anispine wondered how much Orchidbloom would be able to use as a mentor and warrior, but he liked to believe it made the she-cat a much better prepared warrior than most.
"Hello, Orchidbloom." He fumbled the words around a sprig of lavender, setting it down to fully turn to platinum she-cat who arrive, yet again, on time. An elusive, hidden glint of playfulness sprang across his eyes as he challenged her, "you wanna test your knowledge on me, maybe? I think you know enough now."
What Orchidbloom explained was completely understandable, and Anispine wondered if that had been collective worry for most warriors. Actually, he wondered why the thought hadn't crossed most warrior's minds, and why they never reached him for help. Anispine would dislike any interruptions amid a hunting trip, maybe out of his own concentration but mostly out of annoyance; a thorn in a pad certainly seemed like something a young warrior would disrupt a whole patrol over. But his clan mates ushered these small problems onto Anispine--who quickly absolved any issues as diligently as he could--and rarely if ever considered healing on their own. He was of the type to become wrapped up on one singular thing--the reason why he actively anticipated any greater injuries like some selfish fiend--and mechanically wrapped up any minor inconveniences as swiftly as his attention allowed. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he couldn't wait for Skinkpaw to wield her new skills as expertly as him as to leave Anispine with only the major cases--though that hadn't been the only reason why he picked an apprentice.
His unfettered, stony face did not flinch at Orchidbloom's interest in simple medicine, but Anispine did doubt his ability to teach another cat his craft. Throughout his youth and even a good chunk of his adulthood, Anispine worked under a mentor, perfecting his abilities. To now being a mentor himself, he had enough trouble and enough cluelessness when it came to teaching stout Skinkpaw, but he made an effort to gauge her opinions on his teach style--which had been completely lacking. A learning experience, he had assured himself, no one's perfect the first time. His time may be a little strained, too, if he accepts. But Orchidbloom's interest was made even more tempting once she offered her own knowledge on anything he would like. An idea of his own popped into his head. Though, a small thought crossed his head; Anispine would have agreed 'freely', despite begrudgingly, and wondered Orchidbloom's purpose to her offer. Was that how favors worked for her, maybe?
"Um," he automatically hummed once she finished. Would it be weird to ask for mentoring advice? It did not hold a light to her request, he realized. But he thought, what harm could come from that?
"I... don't know if I have been doing anything right..." Anispine winced at how oddly vulnerable that seemed, so he quickly added, "regarding mentoring, that is."
"If I teach you some things, I'd appreciate some of your advice on that--it'd be incredibly helpful to me."
Anispine mused, a lesser tom would let this cat go, agreeing and accepting her apology. Stupidly encouraged to actually see Orchidbloom leave, the tom kept his mouth shut. Whatever she had in mind could wait to morning. But the sleepy tendrils of his nap slithered off his eye, brow, and shoulders. His decision wavered; he wondered what Orchidbloom had in mind. And like he observed before, he might not sleep until much later into the evening. And he'd only clean up and organize around his den, something he can mitigate to his apprentice--which would leave him useless in his own domain. Lying back and forcing himself to sleep also made him restless even thinking about it. Maybe he'd venture some midnight hunting? Toucanstar and most of his clan mates would cringe and rather hope Anispine's wise enough to not do something so endangering. That thought almost pushed him to actually hunt at the moon's light.
Realizing he practically left his visitor hanging in his non-answer, Anispine considered Orchidbloom's offer and finally shook his head, conceding. Better the both stay out of boredom, Anispine decided, he hoped Orchidbloom brought something interesting. The black tom inched closer to the she-cat, settling on his haunches, ears perked and a curious expression amid his face--interest almost ostensibly obvious. He assured, "Oh, no, you're fine, you didn't disturb me. And I'm not time-pressed either, so."
And he guessed that wasn't so much a prompt as it was a simple acknowledgement of what she had said. He chewed at his cheek, scavenging for more of a starter. He settled on, "What was your idea?"
Anispine wrapped his skinny tail around his paws as a show of finality to his choice, head just quirked in attentive regard. Though his eyes still drooped in the vanishing affect of a nap, the tom intended to clearly demonstrate his interest.
Faint, drowsing breaths alluded a slumbering state—nodded off a moment unspent after the hot-bleached sun sank below an oceanic curve. Schism-like shadows caged a chamber bored into mountain and tree roots, sequestered charcoal fur in cool and tranquility. Spindly tail wrapped delicately across a sleek expanse of sugarcane-long legs, body propped on a tiny perch in a quaint, slate cave. Heavy eyelids closed, appeared lost in transient dreams and catnap, though truthfully oscillating in concentration. Anispine took a nap, but just awoke. His left ear laid flat on the ground, an inquisitive frown notched on his face. Yet to be restless—an all too common condition—he remained on his plateaued bed, ready to jolt to his feet given a newcomer to his den. But his mind mused, instead; the scent of aloe flesh, his paws soaked in honey, a working bee’s proboscis slurping prickly poppy, the tart of lime. Jumbled, at first, he tried organizing his thoughts into a curriculum, something valuable to share to his new apprentice Skinkpaw or even his friend Lightningclaw. He wondered whether the young she-cat had stuck around their den, though the silence answered his question. He tentatively wondered what Lightningclaw was doing; the flash of brilliant red tabby and white flooded his head, a fluttering stomach as evidence, and he pushed the thought away.
He grumbled, his eyelids cracking open but unbranded by any harsh light; the night sky hungrily swallowed the jungle trees and the mouth of the cave. Distant chatter reached his ears, a low hum louder than late-night bird melodies, cricket cries, or enthusiastic bellows of tireless kits. The second-to-last patrol must have arrived, Anispine guessed. Not too late, but a waning day nevertheless. A nap out the way, he might sleep until much later into the night. He cursed his ancestors; he dozed off, unexpectedly. A chilly day among many humid-warm days lulled him to sleep, like an opium poppy. His project, phantasms in his sleep, of dicing aloe laid forgotten across from his cocked head. He grumbled again, finally stirring and resting on his haunches, a yawn yanked out his maw. Anispine promised himself a quick snooze, but closing his eyes proved fatal.
A platinum figure entered his periphery, and he glanced toward it. How long had it been there? Mortification swirled in his chest, a sheepish huff as he realized the figure to be a cat—Orchidbloom, a warrior, light-furred, true-blue. At his most vulnerable asleep, a natural world would have torn him to pieces. In his hierarchical milieu, perhaps he was impregnable; that didn’t mean a cat had to see him just out of sleep. Wincing, he dipped his head, standing to attention, lethargy still clinging to his eyelids.
“Orchidbloom,” he prompted, in between an inquiry and statement. “Do you need anything?”
History: Please go into detail about your character's history here. There is no minimum for kits, however any character that is apprentice or warrior age and holding no high ranks is required to have at least 200 words minimum in this section. If you are holding a high rank, you should have a minimum of 400 words minimum for your character's history.
Other Notes
Shop Purchases: If you have purchased any items for the shop for this character, please add them here!
Other: Any other notes or anything else you'd like to add goes here, such as tags if you are adopting a character from someone, etc!
Artemis I can definitely see them getting along fine, even if it might be a little slow-moving on both their parts. though, yeah, it will be interesting to see if they don't initially get along; maybe even bicker a bit, throw some hands, insult each other in their special way to warm up to each other lol and all in good-nature, don't get me wrong heh. and ani would respect him too, especially his loyalty and duty to his clan--something that ani completely shares. would love to see how their friendship develops :o
ANI X ORCHID
nifty hmm, that'd be an interesting dynamic; ani loves to learn, despite himself, so he would def be intrigued by anything orchid proposes. he might be a little reluctant to teach her some things about medicine, but if it's the basics, he'd whip up a little lesson--though the effectiveness may vary, since he's a little on the brief/concise side and may explain things poorly lmao. they are pretty similar, practical and and down-to-earth, so i see them becoming friendly definitely. thought there might be some tension due to her by-the-book attitude, seeing as he is more of a rule-bender if anything. might be interesting to explore that maybe?
ani's stilted, brief, and quite shy-presenting; naturally, he's not the best with other cats--quite socially lost under normal circumstances. he usually has very little to say so he is much rather a listener than a conversationalist. he also offers rational advice when asked, though that can be hit or miss if one is looking for his honest opinion or emotional support. anispine is a also cat to be very choosy of the cats he does make friends. but he appreciates the few friends whom he makes and gradually opens up to them, showing his more talkative (quite actually verbose) and humorous side around good friends.
[attr="class","stormtitle"]enemies
anispine much rather neutralize problems immediately so as to not allow them to fester and eat him up. when he is upset, he does not think much about his actions or what he says--making him an ugly insulter or fighter. generally, it is difficult to rile this tom up but some things do get under his skin, especially when others doubt his skills or needlessly order him around. though he will not quickly call another an enemy or ever hold a vendetta.
[attr="class","stormtitle"]lovers
yeah, despite never agreeing to his rank, he respects his ancestors enough to keep his affections to himself. currently, however, he has steadily realized how attracted he is to a particular best friend--and he can't really do anything about it without risking his position. soo, there's that. some cats may catch his attention, but he would prefer not pursue anything.
[attr="class","stormtitle"]other
open to anythinggg, give mee yourr ideass. oh, his adopts are open, in need of his brothers and his personal grinch kapokstorm.
Anispine's brothers are pretty similar to one another, in that they are quite reserved and a bit shy. gracklepool is the least likely to keep things bottled up, however, and i imagine him being more outgoing than his two brothers. he's a fairly open slate, maybe a little temperamental, but that is up to the adopter. he can also have a mate or kits, completely up to the adopter though!
Caracarafrost is the most austere and withdrawn of the brothers. his name reflects his sort of cool demeanor ("frost") but he is a pretty talented warrior due to his level-headedness. he's an open slate too, open to having mates or kits, that's up to the adopter!
now, kapokstorm sorta almost attacked anispine when he was an apprentice, and sorta kinda actually murdered paleleaf. i have a LOT planned for this character and anispine, and she's a bit of a wild card if you do adopt her. i imagine her as volatile yet extremely dedicated to her clan and goals. it was her goal to become deputy but, in her eyes, anispine ruined her dream. she has a revenge plot, i'm thinking, and she'll do anything to bring it to fruition. her history is pretty open before anispine, and her personality will have gravitate toward what i have on her already. i will love anyone who adopts her, and i will offer to make a posting template for her! adopt her please.
she framed her previous mate of having been involved in the disappearance of a she-cat many moons ago. she then went and whipped up a relationship with his brother. other than that, she's honestly a sweet, mild-mannered she-cat and has a wonderful sense of loyalty in her clan. i imagine she is a bit distant from her son Anispine but I can see them rebuild their relationship a bit. I also have a few plots in mind for her, if one of you is willing to adopt her ;^) her history before the whole framing business is up to the adopter, and her personality is somewhat open, just have to include the above details. recommended set here. i've got the perms if you decide to adopt!
'just friends' lightningclaw was once paleleaf's apprentice and now good friend to anispine. he helped around the medicine cat den a bit after paleleaf's den and developed a strong relationship to anispine because of it. i described him as a bit coy and charming, as well as persuasive. other than that, his personality is largely open. his history is somewhat open, too, he would have just been the medicine cat apprentice for around six moons after he was six moons old; the reason he became a medicine cat apprentice is sorta along the lines of him misbehaving as a kit and paleleaf offering to help his behavior--like he did with anispine. i have some juicy plots waiting for whoever adopts him ;;^] recommended set here. i've got the perms if you decide to adopt!
Description sentence: a willowy, sleek-furred solid black tom with green eyes
Appearance:
He is long-legged, willowy, athletic, and has a certain grace to his long lines and angular face. Once before, Anispine looked awkward underneath too-large ears and buggy eyes and downturned snout, but he grew into his small figure—now a bit of a force to be reckoned with. Granted, it looks like a strong gust could topple him but, rest assured, he can pack a punch where it counts. He is short-furred, Starclan-sent when traversing through the thick undergrowth of the jungle but abysmal at keeping his warmth. When light catches in his fur, a dark brown burns his inky black fur—a halo to a black smear. He does not have the typical smudge of white on his face, genetic to his whole family—arguably the black sheep, in that case. Anispine walks in a confident gait, never slouched or trembled, neither shy or explosive; though sometimes his disquiet shows in the form of pacing and shifting his weight frequently. His scent is like he was dunked into a vat of delicious-smelling herbs—strong but oddly charming.
One immediately notices the dispassionate barely-there grin of Anispine; it's like he forgets he can use his face to express himself, and when he does, it's like a grimace. He values practicality and ease of understanding, a tom not likely to dwell in hidden meanings or vague explanations; he would not play games, would not beat around the bush, and would just tell it how it is. This lends to his brevity, a user of scarcity in words and a lover of direct accurate words; this lends to his plain unexpressive face and the easygoing almost carefree aura around him. He appears cool-headed, maybe even stoic and removed from his emotions.
It may be accurate to assume that not a whole bunch spins around his mind other than medicine, sleep, hunting, maybe one or two ideas, or a spar he particularly enjoyed; he also rarely ponders about the future, more of a down-to-earth live-in-the-moment type of tom. You should assume he forgot you existed, now merely remembering because you sat in his den or talked to him. He doesn't make many strides to know others, more on his own world and on his own well-being than others. What catches his attention is a well-oiled and interesting system, maybe even a slightest interest into what he does, maybe a worthwhile problem that affects him personally, maybe someone who charms his whiskers off--any way, it is difficult to bring him out of his near constant detachment and his head.
Anispine is a bodily learner, keen in learning through the concrete and readily available. He enjoys breaking down problems, a tom to really grasp at new information and deconstruct it wholly. It is what made him a great warrior apprentice, it is what made him an excellent medicine cat. Surprisingly, Anispine can snap into observational mode, noticing little changes in others or his environment; it hits him quite suddenly, as well, as he fully indulges in his five senses. Unfortunately, he is given to indulge far too much in his physical desires and thus frequently hunts prey or picks fights with the warriors of his clan. He also tastes nearly all of the herbs that come into the medicine cat den, a terrible idea he masks as a way to taste an herb's efficacy (pretty reasonable, right?).
His drive for accuracy and excellence in his medicine can come across as obsession or single-mindedness to most; one can reliably say that Anispine adores medicine and loves healing others. To Anispine, mastering a skill is noble and truly shows how capable a cat is. He readily appreciates senior warriors who perfected their hunting or combat, and values their opinions to better his own skills. He thrived in Paleleaf's instruction in part because the tom allowed sufficient amount of freedom, but also the absolute depth of knowledge he had to share.
He has had issues with authority from an early age. His pursuit of self-sufficiency and independence has made him too dependent on his abilities and capabilities; he rarely asks for help, and only does so when he has exhausted all of his ideas. This independence also portrays in the way of his shyness or his reticent attitude; it is difficult to get to know Anispine, even more difficult to squeeze a laugh or genuine show of happiness out of him. He rarely realizes how removed he is from his feelings, and can become uncomfortable when confronted with outright displays of it; Anispine actually just shoos them away, and never ruminates why he feels a particular way. An easier emotion--despite its rarity as well--for him to come across is anger or aggression; when his independence is encroached on, or someone questions his adequacy, he becomes argumentative or physically aggressive.
It was unseasonably warm—so warm, in fact, that the burn of the day still clung deep into the night. A rather inopportune time for a she-cat to give birth, Paleleaf thought dryly, a rather inopportune time for Heronfeather, of all she-cats, to give birth.
Her mate dabbed soaked moss on her forehead, a reflexive effort to slake the looming risk of heat stroke or exhaustion. Paleleaf spectated from a distance; his heart would have swollen in fondness but only Starclan knew his hesitance of sympathy for the peculiar family. There were god-fearing, too, but that hardly meant they were good cats. No, as Paleleaf stared regrettably at the black-and-white she-cat, Heronfeather dragged him into her business—threatened his position—all for that tom who continued to dab that piteous ball of moss on her forehead.
The moonlight filtered through the cracks and hairlines of the nursery, kindling Paleleaf's blanched fur in angelic glow. Both parents looked at him as he robotically examined their newborns; he had been Starclan-sent, in their eyes, a tom who kept his word and healed their many plights. They breathed an affected sigh of relief once Paleleaf determined all three kits were healthy yet small.
The next morning, Heronfeather well-rested and Newtclaw rather proud, they christened their three boys—Anikit, Caracarakit, and Gracklekit—and celebrated in the crowded nursery. Paleleaf wished he could celebrate their births—delivered by his paw, no less—but his thoughts crept around the family, crept to Heronfeather's intentions and actions, crept to her paws and what they had done. Go figure he would be haunted by this she-cat, of all she-cats. He prayed to his nightly ancestors come that night, hoping she was a test of his faith—Starclan-sent.
NEWT
The skies bellowed in grey storms, cold rain, and hissing breeze—the nursery gathered closer together that day, like they do as an island-designated storm consumed their territory. Warriors also roamed their camp cautiously, eyes trained at the sky in a silent threat. Anikit understood their apprehension as soon as spine-numbing lightning cackled haphazardly above them. Heronfeather curled her skinny tail around him and his brothers, ears flush against her head.
Their father wandered into the nursery some time after the first lightning strikes illuminated the gunmetal clouds, a weary expression strewn on his face, brows knitted together. He purred, caressing his snout into mother's cheek before turning to his three boys.
He sat across from them and begun a tale so enrapturing Anikit, Caracarakit, and Gracklekit ignored the snarls of the storm. Newtclaw assured them, a warrior must do what is best for his clan in the face of danger. His tales complemented his point well; a prodigious battle against a wicked bird of prey, the scar running down across his face a testament to his words, and his glimpse at Starclan. A hawk swooped from the heavens, wingspan the size of two—no, three—cats, screeching as his tooth-like talons snatched a helpless queen up. His three boys were overawed, maybe given to the idealism their father portrayed so eloquently. Newtclaw continued, detailing how he jumped and clawed the wretched thing's back, bite down on its spine as they crashed back onto earth; other warriors assaulted the bird, as the idea of a dead mother insulted them dearly. He reiterated to his boys that they should help the helpless even if it meant their safety. He concluded his epic in a fitting encouragement: be the best warrior you can be, no matter what others say.
Anikit and his brothers took his words to heart, as the appearance of their father was a treat all on its own. Truthfully, their mother scolded Newtclaw for his exaggerated tale afterwards, worried it might leave the wrong impression on their children; the tom just laughed it off, justifying that it had been a story his own father told him—and look how great he turned out! Heronfeather narrowed her eyes, exasperated, but conceded his point.
Nevertheless, Newtclaw's advice emboldened the quite small Anikit, who had been susceptible to Gracklekit's jests. Maybe his rebellious nature stemmed from his father and the first signs blossomed in the form of his own curious insults at Gracklekit. The two nearly fought tooth and nail one day after the storms cleared and the sun breathed a sigh of recollected warmth. The biggest kit Gracklekit spared little venom in his voice as he declared Anikit, the smallest kit, only fit to be a medicine cat. He shouted the words, actually, diabolical glee in his voice, a mirthless glint of his gappy mouth, as he glared down at his brother. Anikit predictably swiped unsheathed claws at his face, tearing skin and injuring feelings. He felt some guilt as his brother rolled around in agonized pain but Anikit nearly told him to suck it up. He realized later, as his parents harshly reprimanded him, that he had little reason to feel belittled by the prospect of medicine. Paleleaf visited the family once in a while and he seemed an all right tom. Actually, he was rather warm toward the boys, always sharing small tidbits of his life, coddling them even with sweet-tasting herbs and words. Anikit supposed the way in which Gracklekit berated him set him off.
Gracklekit still had a swollen gash on his head once the day of their apprentice ceremony arrived. Anikit shared a feigned sympathetic glance which Gracklekit saw right through. Caracarakit, the quietest of the two, took the uncharacteristic opportunity to tease Gracklekit, saying he looked like a split coconut. Anikit suppressed his chuckle until Gracklekit himself giggled. Their small sniggers soon turned into roars of mirth. Gracklekit would apologize to Anikit, prompting Anikit to do the same.
KAPOK
His heart beat fast, rain slapping his face in controlled harmony. The overcast days stretched long and for moons, pregnant in cold rain and thunder, before it finally collapsed under its weight. Thunder loomed as it did his first few moons alive but its attitude had changed, the rain no longer a chasmic keen but a blood-pumping motivation. One more lap and Anipaw could drink feverishly at the stream, dangerously parched and lethargic. One more lap and Anipaw could satisfy his mentor's ridiculous orders. One more lap and, by Starclan's grace, he could too collapse under his weight. He rounded the small lake's corners, kicked up pebbled sand and gravel, and he squealed as he almost slipped in mud. He regained his footing nearing the end of his race—Kapokstorm's sneer his last wretched motivation. Maybe Anipaw would have joyfully embraced relief if Kapokstorm didn't order another set of laps—faster and more precise this time, Anipaw. He bit his tongue but all he wished for was to insult her face.
The next day, they hunted until indigo replaced the sky's azure, until Anipaw's limbs and eyes ached in fatigue. Kapokstorm listed all his victories and failures that day, quite indignantly; first a squirrel, then a vole, then several species of birds, then what he thought was a gecko but turned out to be a stick—Kapokstorm gave him a hard time after that embarrassment. The day retired in another sore clamber to his bed and rest. Terrifyingly, he dreamt of his mentor, multiple times at that point, ordering him to run another lap. She greeted him even in sleep, what kind of specialized agony was that? Kapokstorm roused him not even bright but early, earlier than his siblings, Anipaw noticed sorely. All he wished for was to sleep and insult Kapokstorm's face.
"You know, my mentor organizes picnics with mom and dad!" Caracarapaw once mentioned in passing, his wide, toothy grin scintillating. Anipaw grumbled once again, specialized agony that Kapokstorm was... Said mentor shooed him off his sun-baking rock, intolerant of a simple chat with his brother. Actually, she was intolerant of anything Anipaw did in his downtime; it seemed like she had no concept of rest or reward, just drilling, perfunctory duty and commands. And to think his parents handpicked her for him, a bright and shining example of a stoic Jungleclanner, to teach him and to run him like a machine. What was her problem? Where were his picnics with mom and dad?
Another rainy afternoon, Kapokstorm pushed Anipaw back to camp once she discovered he had forgotten to throw out his old bedding. Inexplicably, and without much provocation, she shrilled grievance after grievance, smothering Anipaw in disgusted disappointment and insult. A lump formed in his throat as cats glanced at the commotion, a sob threatening to escape his mouth. But the she-cat took an already demoralized Anipaw and said his brothers were better, more prepared for warriorhood than he. Suddenly, a white searing anger roiled in Anipaw's chest, racked his body in an enraged tremor, and spat ridiculous curses in his head. Staring back at his mentor, Anipaw silently challenged Kapokstorm; once sure her tirade ceased, the young tom marched back to the apprentice den and sat on his 'old' bedding, ignoring his mentor's snarl. Anipaw relaxed further into a nap, her sermon like rainfall on jungle trees and humming streams. -- Anipaw shifted from paw to paw excitedly, an ecstatic look of pride on his face. Starclan graced that day in a warm escape of overcast and fog, the sun bathing the skies in baby blue and relaxing sunshine. He witnessed both his brothers, as elated as they could be, receive their warrior names—Gracklepool and Caracarafrost. They stepped down into the crowd of congratulations and praise, Anipaw last to say his. Bittersweet happiness swelled in the three boys, as their littlest brother still donned his apprentice name— and the voice of a particular Kapokstorm interrupted their shared moment. But, at that point, Anipaw ignored his mentor's orders and waited for his brothers at vigil's end, looking forward to promised hunt. -- An unhealthy resentment clung to Anispine the moon after his brothers' promotion—the looming, oppressive figure of Kapokstorm a black stain in his apprenticeship. Emboldened again—this time by his brothers' success—he danced around his mentor like a matador to a bull. She would demand, sermonize, marshal his free time into work and duty—no rest for the tom who failed to listen the first time. And not the only time, as Anipaw dodged the she-cat like the plague. He would camp out by the warrior den early into the morning and once his mentor awoke, would slip out on a solitary hunt—all in effort to annoy his toad-faced mentor. Anipaw would humor her and occasionally followed her instruction, though half-hearted and blithely.
This back and forth inevitably culminated.
Anipaw idly fiddled his claws into the dry moss of his bedding, his mind thoughtless. His tail curled leisurely behind him, watching as batch after batch of too-eager apprentices followed their mentor into a day full of arduous training. Peculiarly, Kapokstorm was a no-show; instead of giddy relief, dread saturated Anipaw's bones. Typically, his mentor would pester him for a while then leave after Anipaw made it clear he wasn't moving. That day, however, she showed up not after the first round of patrols in the morning, not after the sun peaked in the sky, not after dusk crept and darkened the sky, but after Anipaw voluntarily exited his den. Eyes followed him to the kill pile, watched him eat, followed him walk back to the apprentice den. The young tom chanced a glance at his mentor and immediately regretted it; Kapokstorm, waif-like and pallid under the moonlight, leered at him. They stood in a tableau, the two in a heated staring contest. Anipaw lost first as he continued into the den, not prepared for whatever Kapokstorm had in mind.
He barely had a paw on his bedding before he heard a hiss of command—which Anipaw willfully ignored. He sneered at the she-cat, shaking his head dramatically. As he turned his head, teeth clamped down on his nape, unforgiving and sharp, a growl reverberating onto his skin. Anipaw saw red.
Twisting his whole body, Anipaw caught his unsheathed paw on the she-cat's ear, intent on tearing it to pieces. Kapokstorm momentarily slackened her jaw but enough so Anipaw could swipe another paw at her portly, dumb face; she let go of him, then. An uncharacteristic snarl escaped Anipaw, one he did not know he was capable of, and slapped claws on his mentor once more. She snarled, too, hers much more threatening than Anipaw's, and nearly attacked him before a few cats stepped in.
Their leader reprimanded both, Kapokstorm for her temper and Anipaw for his insolence. She suggested, quite severely, that the two should cooperate in the future. Right then, the leader demoted the she-cat, assigning her to apprentice duties, and suspended Anipaw's apprenticeship until he reconciled with Kapokstorm.
A sense of relief washed over Anipaw as he saw his hellish mentor for one last time.
PALE
Quirked-brow, apathetic-faced, conniving Paleleaf kept an eye on Anipaw throughout his apprenticeship. He half-worried Kapokstorm would be too strong a character to shape Anipaw into his parents' picture of perfection, and his apprehension fought the winning side: Kapokstorm had been demoted for (nearly) attacking Anipaw. Useless, useless, useless that she-cat was, thinking she'd a chance at leadership—her tempter the size of a newborn kit's claw. He discovered opportunity under all the guilty soot and mortar of Kapokstorm's shameful downfall: Anipaw, albeit insolent and fiercely independent, soaked up new material like a sponge. Paleleaf realized how steadily Anipaw stood at Kapokstorm's torrent of onerous training, receiving the brunt and manipulating new knowledge at quick, lightning-fast speed, though his own desire for freedom weakened his workability. Paleleaf reminisced on his previous apprentice, however, and remembered how unworkable he was too; in six moons, he straightened him out and Paleleaf grudgingly released him like a recuperated butterfly, despite the apprentice's pleas to stay.
He'd work Anipaw's parents into borrowing him, Paleleaf hoped, he had talent. Talent like that deserved an exalted position like his, praised for his intelligence and wit and holiness. Any cat would want that lavish promise, and he hoped Anipaw was that type of cat.
Paleleaf approached his parents and the leader with a singular request: Anipaw deserved better, and medicine would be a way to help his behavior. Though, obviously, Newtclaw vehemently denied the request—the tom a stoic and proud warrior—and his mate as well, but the leader saw Paleleaf's vision. And that was the one opinion he actually cared about, anyway. Later that night, however, he reminded Heronfeather and Newtclaw of their debt, reminded the former of her actions. They cutely backed off as Anipaw entered his medicine cat den for the first time as his apprentice.
Anipaw had a wide look of dismay and despair as the leader announced his new position, which sent a pang of hurt in Paleleaf. His hoping did not suffice, he blamed his own hubris for that, but Anipaw's attitude was nothing he couldn't change. In fact, Anipaw respected him wholly, he just saw himself unfit to become a medicine cat. Thankfully, the leader and his parents patted him in the back and wished him good luck.
A few, short moons of subtle coaxing and Anipaw already showed his inherent drive for knowledge. The young tom had been annoyingly terse throughout, something Paleleaf knew of his personality but never got used to. His very short, one-worded responses still surprised him. Even as he recited most of the important herbs exactly, Anipaw would only ever speak to him if it involved herbs or a question about medicine. No tangents or absent-mindedness, like his previous apprentices, plagued this small tom. And, even if Anipaw was given to long bouts of quietness, he would answer immediately after prompted. Though this readiness to answer lent to his bluntness; a few times the tom accidentally shared too much to his patients, listing every possible thing wrong with them. Paleleaf would shoo him away, occasionally, afraid he'd scare the younger of his patients.
But a lull in Paleleaf's success came in the form of boredom. He witnessed Anipaw aimlessly pace in their den, picking at the herbs, reorganizing them, cleaning dead moss and ferns, avoiding eye contact with his patients that led to small talk—he even started to muck around, mischief in his expression as he set up little pranks around the the medicine cat den. It had been innocuous at first, like pill bugs in Paleleaf's bedding, but evolved into hidden batches of herbs that Paleleaf had to fervently search for. He knew a stern talking down would only disillusion the young tom so he offered him a deal instead. Every completed task meant a hunting trip with his brothers, and, oh, did Anipaw's face light up like the first signs of morning. It had been the first bright smile in a while, Paleleaf guessed, as Anipaw quickly hid his expression and nonchalantly accepted his deal. -- Anipaw had arrived late, again, for the fifth time that moon. Not a word of apology, either, as he strolled across their den and plopped down on his bedding. A sickly she-cat checked in earlier that day and, while Paleleaf had confidence in his ability, it may have been an excellent learning opportunity for Anipaw. Actually, Paleleaf could count the many times Anipaw had shirked his duties in past two moons, taking his time out hunting. He enjoyed being reasonable, liked offering chances to those who genuinely deserve second chances. But the moment one takes advantage of Paleleaf's good intentions, his mood soured and his empathy vanished. He was no Kapokstorm, his patience vast like the ocean. What he would do was speak in his language. No, not a language, but a fight.
Normally composed, withheld, intelligent Paleleaf last fought many moons ago, his mentor teaching him the basics of self-defense and hunting. His claws extended only to clip flowers and herbs, like his teeth, so he became rusty in anything involving physical exertion or activity. Anipaw frequently hunted, brought back prey for his clan despite his position, and filled his duties in clipping flowers and herbs. But, Paleleaf needed to ground Anipaw—even one last time. His attention rarely wandered but Paleleaf witnessed his interest dip, and he couldn't imagine a cat better as his apprentice than Anipaw. No, he had to challenge him, even in such an unorthodox way.
Wind overtook the jungle, hissing through the canopied foliage like a river through land. The air stung his nose in warmth, exasperated his throat and eyes, but his mission was still thumbtacked in his head. He invited Anipaw to collect herbs with him, right about the time he set out for another hunting trip. A crestfallen frown followed Anipaw the whole time Paleleaf leisurely picked at the intense-smelling flora littered across their territory. A tremor of restlessness also overtook Anipaw, Paleleaf noted, as he barely participated in Paleleaf's conversation and paced solemnly when Paleleaf examined his newly collected supply.
Stopping, enough to catch Anipaw's attention, Paleleaf set his herbs down and faced the younger tom. He detailed grievance after grievance but refrained from insulting or belittling his apprentice. Kapokstorm made the mistake of disrespecting Anipaw and Paleleaf knew that that was a reliable way to completely lose Anipaw's interest. He concluded his speech in a deal, like he had before, like he had to many cats he wished to persuade to his side, like he knew would force Anipaw's paw. If the apprentice won, the leader would reinstate him back to warriorhood, back to the dream he half-longed for. If the mentor won, Anipaw would just have to follow Paleleaf's orders more closely. A terribly mismatched and downright unfair wage but Paleleaf needed to pique Anipaw's interest. And like how he had hoped, Anipaw agreed to the deal.
Anipaw capitalized his already deft skills and displayed great determination as he toppled Paleleaf over for the third time since their fight began. Paleleaf sucked in a pained breath, his forehead kissed the jungle floor, before he stood himself up. A scoff emanated from his apprentice, and a taunt jabbed Paleleaf's pride. However, Paleleaf was not Kapokstorm, or the boy's parents; he knew how to swallow his hurt and bruised pride.
The walk back to camp was pleasantly quiet; Paleleaf saw none of the smug elation he expected from Anipaw, now that he had a real chance at warriorhood once more. A sense of victory waded through Paleleaf's chest—in spite of losing to Anipaw to the brawl, he had not lost him entirely. Paleleaf stalked up to the leader's den before Anipaw stopped him, promising to stick to his duties despite his boredom and impulse.
In a couple of moons, Anipaw would become Anispine, venturing into the Cave of Stars as an apprentice and exiting as a certified medicine cat.
Paleleaf congratulated him, victorious.
LIGHTNING
Green eyes wandered tentatively to sweet-smelling chamomile—it sat just outside Jungleclan. A voice filtered through his head—collect some white-petalled goodness, it prompted. Behind territory borders and beyond grasping reach, the bush swayed temptingly in the cool soothing-skies breeze. Its delicious scent permeated the air and the tom's mouth salivated. Their supply lacked any sprigs of the flower, and no greater opportunity presented itself like this one.
Anispine scooted closer to the boundary, his body kissing the lush floor in a crouch.
Paleleaf confirmed healer-types as extensions of their ancestors or gods, and thus, removed from clan politics or sanctions—or, in this case, borders. He never met a Tidalclanner before, and, optimistically, never would meet one. Again, he skimmed his eyes across the dark, waxy foliage blanketing this portion of their respective territories. Anticipation fueled him enough to cross into Tidalclan.
Picking at the flowers enthusiastically, he hardly noticed another presence before it slapped him straight on the face. His hackles rose reflexively, jumping back to distance himself from the threat.
A youngish-faced Tidalclan fighter(?) dug her claws into the grassy ground, a frown deep in her expression, a warning clear on her tongue. Anispine forced himself to back off though his body screamed to at least have one scratch in—as the she-cat had. He managed, despite his voice wavering in withheld indignation, an explanation of his occupation and why he had been picking at a bush. But the she-cat called him an idiot and approached him again, dangerous intent woven into her small frame. Anispine narrowed his eyes, dropping his collected chamomile and calm, his own dangerous intent woven into his own small frame.
Another body shoved Anispine back, a pleasant yet pleading voice halting the she-cat in her tracks. It spoke fast and decidedly, persuasion deftly handled and convincing the Tidalclan warrior to yield. When she did, Anispine glanced at the cat, ready to chew them out for butting in, but one look and a name gleamed inside the medicine cat's mind—Lightningclaw, Paleleaf's previous apprentice. But the tom already marched back into Jungleclan before Anispine could say anything. -- Anispine lay languidly on a freshly made bed, new moss and ferns and scent. However, Paleleaf cut his leisure short, assigning him to a new arrival in their den. He grumbled indignantly despite clambering off his bedding.
His brows shot to the moon once he recognized the patient—Lightningclaw, again, looking him up and down. Anispine shook his surprise off, slipping into his gentle, prodding questions to gauge the patient's condition. Lightningclaw dodged and averted a lot of what Anispine tried asking—almost coyly, Anispine noted. The medicine cat chewed at his cheek but annoyance refused to prickle in his chest. Instead, he bit back short retorts, coaxing the warrior to answer truthfully.
Their encounters did not cease there. No, the two continued to stumble into each other in various situations—at camp, territory, dens, and even picking at the kill pile. Somehow, in someway, Anispine would spot the pale red tabby in his peripherals, and he could not refrain from glancing at him again and again. Their conversations would seesaw between guarded and revealing; the tom was inexplicably magnetic, Anispine concluded grudgingly, and he had no clue how to approach his conclusion.
One morning, Anispine asked him out—well, er, wrong choice of words, Paleleaf would have his head for that—he meant asked him to accompany him in collecting herbs for the herb supply. Yes. But Lightningclaw sensed the implication of his request and mercilessly—Anispine almost didn't mind—teased him.
Lightningclaw was inexplicably pleasant, too—walking for hours seemed like heartbeats in his presence Anispine shooed that thought as quickly as it reared its ugly head. Completely professional, their relationship ought to be. Many a time Anispine theorized Paleleaf to have some sort of weird crush on his mom—gross—because he mentioned her constantly. But he knew Paleleaf would never breach his marriage with Starclan. Anispine was also married to Starclan in that case, he realized with a cringe. Yes, Lightningclaw would just be a friend Anispine tolerated and invited him on herb runs. Just friends. -- He formally met his half-siblings one afternoon, Lightningclaw being the mediator. Caciquebeak, Orioleheart, and Towheefeather—all warm faces and understanding gazes—greeted him wholeheartedly. Anispine knew them, spoke to them in passing, but never held a more-than-one-word conversation with them. Their meeting extended well into the night, his own brothers joining the chat, musing over their pasts and futures. Towheefeather shushed the group suddenly, severity pooling into her face. She explained the situation that which their mother kept closely guarded; their fathers were siblings, and Newtclaw's brother killed a she-cat. Anispine kept quiet as her voice wavered, not sure what to say—his brothers a similar state of apprehension.
All siblings retired to bed, heavy-hearted. -- It rained the day Paleleaf died.
Glum gray rain softly stroked the earth, a low chime of pit-pat on the faceless jungle trees above their camp and cave. Anispine curled into the farthest corner of his den, one paw slowly tapping the pool of murky water he got to know. He had set a sprig of chamomile and rain lilies on his flank as a goodbye, warriors carrying him off to be buried. His heart twisted painfully; he looked away, unable to witness his lifeless mentor anymore.
He drowned in the lake, Anispine heard, maybe in the afternoon or morning, he didn't know. But his death left a hole in Anispine still couldn't patch today. -- Lightningclaw had been a blessing the few moons after Paleleaf's death; he still possessed a fair bit of knowledge about herbs to be useful, and Anispine needed the help. Their friendship blossomed, maybe into something Palealeaf would scorn. However, Anispine kept his loyalty to Starclan—no matter how tempting the opposite seemed.
Epilogue
Lightning struck across Jungleclan in random intervals, frightening prey and predator alike. Anispine, along with his just-friends Lightningclaw, were out collecting herbs but a storm caught up to them. They noticed the darkening skies, the sun shining desperately as pregnant clouds swallowed its path. Thunder grumbled but no lightning cackled, at first. Soon, it rained in torrents, and flashes of white marred the earth.
Both toms hastily jogged back to camp as the rain soaked their pelts to the bone. The sequestered hole-in-the-wall camp came into view before a massive shot of blinding light struck too close. A ringing overwhelmed Anispine's ears, his eyelids scrunched close as it dug deep into his skull. He bumped into LIghtningclaw, who had been in a similar state of sensory loss, and clung to him, leading their disoriented way back to camp.
They made it, somehow, a few warriors ushering them into the caves and boulder and tree roots. The ringing never fully faded, Anispine noticed, but he has not realized how his hearing has muffled or how he has to ask others to repeat themselves occasionally. He still thinks his hearing is fine, despite that. -- Now, Anispine works by himself in the medicine cat den, sending Lightningclaw off before his temptation becomes to great—Starclan, bless him. He does not know of his mother's true intentions. He does not know the foul play in Paleleaf's death. Something lurks omnipresently behind him, however, and he has yet to notice.