Runningthorn [Shadowclan]
Sept 24, 2013 10:15:15 GMT -6
Post by wish. on Sept 24, 2013 10:15:15 GMT -6
runningthorn
she-cat ● eighteen moons ● shadowclan ● warrior
lithe tabby with orange eyes
A P P E A R A N C E
She's a pretty little thing, all angles and long limbs. Runningthorn has a long body and slim bones. Her features are small, but her legs are long. She's tall for a she-cat. Most toms barely tower over her and few she surpasses herself. Still, she could easily be described as small, due to her thin frame. Her legs are fairly muscular due to her excessive running and physical exertion. Her fur can be described as 'almost' beautiful. On her spine and near the roots, it's immaculately sleek. But the ends are disheveled and split, giving her pelt a shabbier appearance. The length of her fur isn't short, but isn't quite long either; it sits somewhere in between.
Runningthorn is your classic tabby. She has light brown, tan-ish fur with dark, sultry brown stripes. They spiral across her body in a 'marble' pattern. Her chest, paws, and muzzle are a light, creamy brown. The fur on her chin is stained an almost white. While her ears are capped in an almost black. The she-cat has small white claws, and soft pink paw-pads.
Her face is more rounded than the rest of her body. It could easily be described as 'apple-shaped' - round at the top, and curved at the bottom. She has large triangular ears that sit perched at the crown of her head. Her nose is a delicate rose color capped in black. Lastly, her eyes are a bright, iridescent orange - large and captivating, like little ominous moons.
She's a pretty little thing, all angles and long limbs. Runningthorn has a long body and slim bones. Her features are small, but her legs are long. She's tall for a she-cat. Most toms barely tower over her and few she surpasses herself. Still, she could easily be described as small, due to her thin frame. Her legs are fairly muscular due to her excessive running and physical exertion. Her fur can be described as 'almost' beautiful. On her spine and near the roots, it's immaculately sleek. But the ends are disheveled and split, giving her pelt a shabbier appearance. The length of her fur isn't short, but isn't quite long either; it sits somewhere in between.
Runningthorn is your classic tabby. She has light brown, tan-ish fur with dark, sultry brown stripes. They spiral across her body in a 'marble' pattern. Her chest, paws, and muzzle are a light, creamy brown. The fur on her chin is stained an almost white. While her ears are capped in an almost black. The she-cat has small white claws, and soft pink paw-pads.
Her face is more rounded than the rest of her body. It could easily be described as 'apple-shaped' - round at the top, and curved at the bottom. She has large triangular ears that sit perched at the crown of her head. Her nose is a delicate rose color capped in black. Lastly, her eyes are a bright, iridescent orange - large and captivating, like little ominous moons.
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Despite the thorn in her name, Runningthorn is an easy-going she-cat with a friendly heart. She loves to laugh and enjoys humor. She adores conversation and doesn't find solace in silence. She wants noise; she wants action. As her name suggests she's a fast cat - and this doesn't particularly cover physical actions. She's fast at everything. Whether it's talking or thinking, Runningthorn is sure to get it out first. Although a nice cat, she's highly competitive and will always try to come out top dog.
Not only is she competitive, but she's confident. She's not particularly arrogant - she just knows her strengths and weaknesses fairly well. She's the type of cat who'll agree with your compliment. If you say she's good at hunting; she'll reply with a grin, "I know.".
Runningthorn knows that her denmates like her - she just has issues justifying it. She's constantly second-guessing her relationships; which is why she's always so nice. She doesn't want people to hate her - she doesn't want them to be annoyed by her. So if she ignores you for awhile, don't take it personally - she just thinks you hate her.
There's something off about her - for such a nice cat, what's with the frown? Runningthorn's face is stuck in a perpetual frown. Although she's always in a good mood everyone thinks she's pissed. If you don't know her personally, then you aren't going to talk to her - that's that. Her brows are slightly arched, giving her an angry appearance. On top of that her maw curves downward, creating the illusion that's she pissed. For the most part - she doesn't get mad, but when she does she becomes unbearable. The she-cat doesn't scream, she doesn't throw a temper tantrum. Instead she becomes highly irritable and curt. The cold shoulder doesn't give her justice.
Lastly Runningthorn doesn't believe in Starclan. The idea of 'magical' cats just seems ridiculous to her. It's too much to wrap her mind around. She's never had a spiritual experience, and the few times she's prayed - nothing happened. It's just hard to believe in something you've never seen.
Despite the thorn in her name, Runningthorn is an easy-going she-cat with a friendly heart. She loves to laugh and enjoys humor. She adores conversation and doesn't find solace in silence. She wants noise; she wants action. As her name suggests she's a fast cat - and this doesn't particularly cover physical actions. She's fast at everything. Whether it's talking or thinking, Runningthorn is sure to get it out first. Although a nice cat, she's highly competitive and will always try to come out top dog.
Not only is she competitive, but she's confident. She's not particularly arrogant - she just knows her strengths and weaknesses fairly well. She's the type of cat who'll agree with your compliment. If you say she's good at hunting; she'll reply with a grin, "I know.".
Runningthorn knows that her denmates like her - she just has issues justifying it. She's constantly second-guessing her relationships; which is why she's always so nice. She doesn't want people to hate her - she doesn't want them to be annoyed by her. So if she ignores you for awhile, don't take it personally - she just thinks you hate her.
There's something off about her - for such a nice cat, what's with the frown? Runningthorn's face is stuck in a perpetual frown. Although she's always in a good mood everyone thinks she's pissed. If you don't know her personally, then you aren't going to talk to her - that's that. Her brows are slightly arched, giving her an angry appearance. On top of that her maw curves downward, creating the illusion that's she pissed. For the most part - she doesn't get mad, but when she does she becomes unbearable. The she-cat doesn't scream, she doesn't throw a temper tantrum. Instead she becomes highly irritable and curt. The cold shoulder doesn't give her justice.
Lastly Runningthorn doesn't believe in Starclan. The idea of 'magical' cats just seems ridiculous to her. It's too much to wrap her mind around. She's never had a spiritual experience, and the few times she's prayed - nothing happened. It's just hard to believe in something you've never seen.
H I S T O R Y
She was raised by boys.
Her father was a son of five. It was hard to find love in a clan when everyone was either taken or your sister. It was reckless and against the code but he did it anyway; he fell in love with an outsider. The two-legs had named her Crystal - a pretty little thing with bright orange eyes. She had long tabby fur and a thin, delicate frame. She wanted adventure, freedom; and Thornheart gave her that.
It was only a moon before Crystal was expecting kits. She was elated, excited beyond explanation. Thornheart should've known it wouldn't last. The warning signs were all there, but he never paid any attention to them. He lived blissfully unaware.
There were three of them. A she-cat and two toms. They all got her bright, iridescent orange eyes - and it haunted Thornheart in his sleep. Crystal gave them kitty-pet names Delilah, Wyatt, and Jackson. Two dusty brown tabbies and a ginger tom. The first two moons of their life were spent hidden beneath a two-leg porch. Crystal was a forgetful mother. She would leave for nights at a time, meeting other toms, and spending time with her friends. She wasn't fit to be a mother, and Thornheart was determined to take them to Shadowclan as his own.
It was easier than he had expected. The kits were alone and frightened. Thornheart was a large, comforting smile. It was easy to trust him. On a warm summer night three tiny kits padded into Shadowclan. They never saw Crystal again.
The clan was hesitant - they weren't fond of outsiders, but Thornheart was a diligent warrior. Everyone in the clan adored him. So they welcomed his children into the clan, but there were conditions. They weren't aloud to become apprentices until they were eight moons old, and they had to take warrior names.
They became Runningkit, Foxkit, and Bramblekit.
Runningkit couldn't remember much of her mother. She remembered her large orange eyes and her distant voice. She never remembered any love - but her father made up for it. He did everything he could to make sure his children grew up loved. He was the greatest cat she ever knew - and to this day he remains so.
She was the first-born and she used this to her advantage. Runningkit had to be the best. She had to prove that girls weren't weak. Her competitiveness derived from this. Her brothers were living, breathing play-things for her. They'd spend afternoons reeking havoc. Her face would stretch until it hurt - their smiles were contagious. To fit in she'd play 'boy' games and roll in the dirt. Nothing was off limits.
The road to her apprenticeship was long and agonizingly slow. Runningkit watched with envy as all of her denmates were promoted. She spent those two extra months proving herself to the clan's leader - she wanted this more than anything. At eight moon she became Runningpaw, her mentor was the patient and kind Robingsong. She was different - kind and quiet - unusual for a Shadowclan warrior.
She brought out the best in Runningpaw.
Because of Robinsong, she began to connect with her clanmates on a personal level. The apprentice dropped her walls and let others in. She became extroverted and friendly. Robingsong hadn't taught her in the traditional sense, and perhaps it was better this way.
At fourteen moons she became Runningthorn - in honor of her father.
She was raised by boys.
Her father was a son of five. It was hard to find love in a clan when everyone was either taken or your sister. It was reckless and against the code but he did it anyway; he fell in love with an outsider. The two-legs had named her Crystal - a pretty little thing with bright orange eyes. She had long tabby fur and a thin, delicate frame. She wanted adventure, freedom; and Thornheart gave her that.
It was only a moon before Crystal was expecting kits. She was elated, excited beyond explanation. Thornheart should've known it wouldn't last. The warning signs were all there, but he never paid any attention to them. He lived blissfully unaware.
There were three of them. A she-cat and two toms. They all got her bright, iridescent orange eyes - and it haunted Thornheart in his sleep. Crystal gave them kitty-pet names Delilah, Wyatt, and Jackson. Two dusty brown tabbies and a ginger tom. The first two moons of their life were spent hidden beneath a two-leg porch. Crystal was a forgetful mother. She would leave for nights at a time, meeting other toms, and spending time with her friends. She wasn't fit to be a mother, and Thornheart was determined to take them to Shadowclan as his own.
It was easier than he had expected. The kits were alone and frightened. Thornheart was a large, comforting smile. It was easy to trust him. On a warm summer night three tiny kits padded into Shadowclan. They never saw Crystal again.
The clan was hesitant - they weren't fond of outsiders, but Thornheart was a diligent warrior. Everyone in the clan adored him. So they welcomed his children into the clan, but there were conditions. They weren't aloud to become apprentices until they were eight moons old, and they had to take warrior names.
They became Runningkit, Foxkit, and Bramblekit.
Runningkit couldn't remember much of her mother. She remembered her large orange eyes and her distant voice. She never remembered any love - but her father made up for it. He did everything he could to make sure his children grew up loved. He was the greatest cat she ever knew - and to this day he remains so.
She was the first-born and she used this to her advantage. Runningkit had to be the best. She had to prove that girls weren't weak. Her competitiveness derived from this. Her brothers were living, breathing play-things for her. They'd spend afternoons reeking havoc. Her face would stretch until it hurt - their smiles were contagious. To fit in she'd play 'boy' games and roll in the dirt. Nothing was off limits.
The road to her apprenticeship was long and agonizingly slow. Runningkit watched with envy as all of her denmates were promoted. She spent those two extra months proving herself to the clan's leader - she wanted this more than anything. At eight moon she became Runningpaw, her mentor was the patient and kind Robingsong. She was different - kind and quiet - unusual for a Shadowclan warrior.
She brought out the best in Runningpaw.
Because of Robinsong, she began to connect with her clanmates on a personal level. The apprentice dropped her walls and let others in. She became extroverted and friendly. Robingsong hadn't taught her in the traditional sense, and perhaps it was better this way.
At fourteen moons she became Runningthorn - in honor of her father.
