༺ to fall or fly v2 - wc d+f

[KasperKat]

I'm also so sorry that I was offline for a while!! Irl life has been crazy and I feel exactly the same as rey...I get so anxious trying to make something worth reading that I psych (or syke, perhaps...?) myself out and then skulk away. But I'm back in!!

[selasphorys]

I finally posted! Sorry again for the wait. I'll get Ryepiper and Rumblespout out of their stuck interactions later, once I find a good place to put them. They are open to tags!

Swiftwind and Fogwhisper have been removed for inactivity.

Since Snakepaw no longer has a mentor, her new mentor will be Froststrike. (@ColonelHamster and @TheClockmaker - hope this is okay! their personalities are very different.)

@KasperKat
No worries! I'm so glad you're back. Burntleaf's posts feel like a warm blanket. He's such a great queen. I'm not sure what the rustling is intended to be, but maybe it could be Ryepiper checking in on the nursery? He would like to see his friend and play with the kits. It's alright if not, I wouldn't want to intrude on your conversation (@rey skywalker - would love to hear your thoughts too!) ^^

[stingmynettle]

⠀

basic information
name;; sorrelstorm
- sorrel; her soft red belly
- paw; the apprentice suffix
- storm; her tenacious will
gender;; molly
- pronouns;; she / her
age;; twenty-two moons
rank;; warrior
- desired rank; content
sexuality;; lesbian
- crush;; none yet
clan;; fallsclan
- apprentice; undecided

sorrelstorm is a clever and capable young warrior. she finds little trouble in defending herself against stronger warriors, using her smaller stature and remarkable speed to her advantage. she is kind but aloof as she enjoys her own company, and it takes a while for her to feel at ease around someone new. you know you’ve bonded when she throws witty and playful remarks around. She isn’t afraid to speak her mind and will defend her beliefs harshly. she may feel guilty afterwards, but never truely regrets it.

skills & capabilities
agility;; ✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✧✧
climbing;; ✦✦✦✦✦✦✧✧✧✧
stealth;; ✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✧✧ ✧
swimming;; ✦✦✦✦✧✧✧✧✧✧
speed;; ✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦
hunting;; ✦✦✦✦✦✦✧✧✧✧
intellect;; ✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✧✧
leaping;; ✦✦✦✦✦✦✧✧✧✧
instinct;; ✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✧ ✧
tracking;; ✦✦✦✦✦✧✧✧✧✧
strength;; ✦✦✦✦✦✦✧✧✧✧

sorrelstorm is a silver molly with a soft red underbelly. she has darker markings both above and below her amber eyes. she also has large ears. sorrelstorm is slightly below average size for a cat her age, but her athletic, lithe build makes up for her height.

sorrelstorm had a fairly average kithood. she spent most of her time trying to escape the nursery and explore camp, and was often fairly successful. her apprentice moons were spent similarly; eager to leave the camp whenever possible. she especially enjoyed patrols and hunting. sorrelpaw had only minor problems during her training, notably when she attempted to catch a bird for her mentor by leaping from a tall tree. Her ankle eventually healed, but sometimes aches in cold weather. This didn’t hold her back, and when it came time for her apprentice trials she passed with ease.
⠀

@all hello! are you still accepting new members?

⠀

[selasphorys]

@stingmynettle
Hello and welcome! Sorrelstorm is accepted. She can stay at camp for tonight. Feel free to have her join any of the conversations around camp. My cats Rumblespout and Ryepiper are open for interaction as well.

The recap is updated on the front page! Let me know if I missed anything.

[peachpit.]

hi all!

i apologize ever so deeply for falling off of the face of the earth, i have been dealing with some health issues and had to undergo a surgery unexpectedly and with little notice. i am recovering well, but not quite of of the woods yet. i missed writing with you all terribly, and would love to get back to it if y'all will have me!

going to unpack everything i missed and go from there, i might bring in completely different cats, who knows!

so happy to see y'all again! c:

[peachpit.]

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Rabbitkit, Rabbitpaw, Rabbitsong | Tom | Deputy | 45 moons | Anxious and Well spoken | Given the prefix rabbit for his timid nature and suffix song for his silver tongue | Bisexual
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: ̗̀➛ Rabbitsong is an abnormally tall and lanky tom, the only feature about the tom that remotely signifies any sort of power at all. He carries himself with a sort of hunched and cowering demeanor, as if not to stand out in the crowd of clanmates around him. His pelt most similarly represents patterns of a lynx-point, with cold grey stripes most concentrated on his paw and legs, tail, and a unique display of them framing his crystalline blue eyes and rose colored nose. He is rather short-furred, which conceals little of his skinny body and long legs beneath it.
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: ̗̀➛Mind constantly abuzz with worry and impending-doom, Rabbitsong is a high-strung and nervous tom. His demeanor is riddled with anxiety, though when he parts his maw to speak you would never know. He is silver-tongued and eloquently spoken, spinning spools of gold with only his voice. The tom is preferably introverted, constantly battling the inner turmoil with his anxiety that seems to take up any space he has for socializing. He has a rather glass half empty view on life and the future of his clan, doing the best he can to make his situation comfortable. He was promoted to deputy by Sykestar due to his ability to never offend others with his words and cautious approach to problem solving. He is riddled with insecurity that he isn’t cut out for the role, but gives it his all as it’s what Fallsclan deserves.
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: ̗̀➛ Rabbitkit was born to mother Minnowgazer and father Stagtail, accompanied by his brothers Ratkit and Spiderkit. His upbringing was filled with the soft comforts of his loving parents and the pleasure and freedom of being a kit. It wasn’t until he was of apprentice age did Rabbitpaw experience familial turbulence. He had not been growing at the same pace as his bulky brothers, stunted and skinny they left him behind. He was subjected to bullying from his brothers, resentment from his father and pitied looks from his mentor. Anxiety had settled early in Rabbitpaw early on, which further stunted his eating habits and made him frail and thin. It was only through the help of his mother Minnowgazer did the turbulence become more manageable for him. With unwavering empathy and understanding, his mother stared at him with stars in her eyes. He did it all for her, he began eating, he threw himself into his training, he grew and grew and grew. By the time he was Rabbitsong, the tom had grown to tower over even his own father. Although the weight never seemed to stick, his brothers and father stood in his shadow. The bullying quickly resided of course, though the resentment that ran through his father and brothers had only seemed to grow. He had become an incredibly powerful fighter, not one to ever lose a spar and come out unscathed. In recent times, he has been promoted to deputy. His mother passed from greencough moons before his deputy ceremony, and his father Stagtail and brother Ratwatcher fled from the clan when he was appointed deputy. Only his brother Spiderwatcher remains in Fallsclan, to which the brothers have reconciled and grown closer to one another during the period of current turmoil in Fallsclan.
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[peachpit.]

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Goosekit, Goosepaw, Goosechase | Tom | Apprentice | 9 moons | Gluttonous and Goofy | Given the prefix goose for his resembling pelt and suffix paw as is tradition | Bisexual
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: ̗̀➛ With a pelt of pristine alabaster, Goosepaw would be a rather handsome tom if not for his generously cushioned physique. He weighs that of two apprentices his own age, highly credited to his adoration of overconsumption. His frame is roundly, squat and stubby. His dense, downy coat is often victim to his adventures through the dirt and often sports a rather grime-filled appearance. Most arresting are his heterochromatic eyes—one a piercing cerulean, the other a burnished topaz—quick to brighten at any simple mention of meal time. A delicate pink nose punctuates his cherubic face, the same pink that graces the inside of his ears and paws.
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: ̗̀➛ Goosepaw may be a glutton, but don’t be fooled—this apprentice earns his extra mouthfuls. With a nose like a hound and a stomach that never seems full, he’s oddly food-motivated in all the right ways. Hunting is his passion, not out of duty, but because it means he gets first pick of the catch. He bounds through the forest with ungraceful but effective energy, often returning to camp with prey dangling proudly from his jaws and dirt smudges on his whiskers. Rebellious by nature, he tends to ignore boundaries and training schedules, preferring to “accidentally” go on solo hunting trips or turn patrols into snack-seeking missions. Goofy, loud, and always cracking jokes—even at his own expense- Goosepaw's a constant source of amusement and exasperation. Still, his heart is in the right place, and no one can deny that when it comes to filling the fresh-kill pile, he's one of the best paws in training.
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: ̗̀➛ From the moment he opened his eyes, Goosekit lived a life of luxury—at least by Clan standards. Born to mother Troutpelt and father Stonebrook, Goosekit had always had it easy. The only surviving kit of a long-anticipated litter, he was the pride of his parents, who spoiled him rotten. His mother never let a single breeze touch his fur without a layer of moss, and his father treated his every pounce like a warrior-worthy feat. While the other kits wrestled and tumbled, Goosekit lounged on sun-warmed rocks, nibbling the tastiest scraps and mewing dramatically for attention. He quickly learned that a tilt of the head or a fake cough could get him out of chores and into someone’s nest.

But even spoiled kits get bored—and that’s where Hopperkit came in.

Hopperkit, energetic and quick-witted, was everything Goosekit wasn’t: restless, lean, and always looking for trouble to leap into. The two struck up an odd friendship in the nursery—Hopperkit taught Goosekit how to sneak past snoring elders, and Goosekit taught Hopperkit how to charm prey from unsuspecting warriors. They were inseparable: where one went, the other followed, often laughing, arguing, or dragging stolen moss across camp for makeshift “feasts.”

When they became apprentices, reality arrived with claws out. Goosepaw quickly realized no one was going to baby him anymore. He whined, he resisted, he slept through his first training session—but Hopperpaw refused to let him flounder. Though the smaller apprentice teased him relentlessly, he also challenged him, pushed him, and never let him wallow for long.

It was Hopperpaw who dared him to hunt alone at dawn. It was Hopperpaw who laughed the hardest when Goosepaw returned covered in feathers and mud, proudly clutching a plump thrush. From that day on, hunting became Goosepaw’s secret passion—not out of Clan duty, but because it meant he could impress his best friend and get first dibs on the tastiest prey.

Together, they are chaos incarnate: Goosepaw with his lazy swagger and clever schemes, Hopperpaw with his boundless energy and sharp tongue. Clanmates often say they’re like two sides of the same mouse-brain—one never knows what nonsense they’ll cook up next. But behind the jokes and antics is an unshakable bond, and if you mess with one of them, the other will be at your throat before you can say “mouse-dung.”
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[peachpit.]

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Pumpkinkit, Pumpkinpaw, Pumpkinpatch | Molly | Warrior | 25 moons | Soft-spoken and Kind-hearted | Given the prefix pumpkin for the color of her eyes and suffix patch for the spot on her back | Lesbian
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: ̗̀➛ Pumpkinpatch is a predominantly white molly whose striking appearance is defined by the bold mask of ginger that adorns her face, framing her features with warmth and character. This rich, fiery hue extends across her long, flowing pelt, draping her neck and settling in a prominent, saddle-like patch across her back, creating a contrast that is as captivating as it is unique. Her eyes, a piercing and intense shade of orange, are the reason behind her fitting prefix, “Pumpkin,” capturing the essence of autumn’s fiery glow. Long, expressive whiskers stretch from her rounded cheeks, and tufts of white fur curl outward from her ears like delicate spirals, adding an almost whimsical touch to her otherwise dignified appearance. Though she stands at an average weight for her age, there is a certain compactness to her frame—her stature is notably squat when compared to the more lithe mollies of her age, giving her an endearing, sturdy presence.
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: ̗̀➛Pumpkinpatch is often regarded as an “old soul,” a molly whose quiet presence belies a depth of understanding that resonates with those around her. She effortlessly forms bonds with even the most cantankerous elders, her soft-spoken and compassionate nature soothing even the most weathered of hearts. Her gentle demeanor and agreeable temperament render her highly malleable to the needs of others, rarely expressing dissent or challenging the status quo. A creature of serene acquiescence, she drifts through life with a go-with-the-flow attitude, seldom questioning or opposing the flow of the Clan’s expectations.

Though her temperament may be seen as passive, Pumpkinpatch harbors an immense well of empathy and a heart that is as vast as it is tender. Her capacity for deep emotional connection often leads others to dub her a "crybaby," yet in truth, her tears are not born of weakness, but of an overwhelming sensitivity to the pain and joys of others. Her innate ability to feel for those around her is both her greatest strength and her greatest vulnerability. She follows the dictates of her kind heart, often to her own detriment, as her unyielding empathy can lead her into situations where her trust and warmth are exploited.
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: ̗̀➛ Born to the proud molly Flamefoot and the steadfast tom Bearsnarl in the heart of FallsClan, Pumpkinpatch was raised within the bounds of her mother’s traditional beliefs. Alongside her sisters, Doekit and Pansykit, she was carefully shaped by Flamefoot into a reflection of her own values—a life dedicated to supporting a mate and raising a family. Flamefoot, a molly of unyielding pride, believed that the ultimate purpose of a she-cat’s life was to nurture and care for her family, to be a mother who upheld her mate’s honor and bore kits to continue the family line. These ideals were non-negotiable, and Pumpkinpatch was raised in their shadow, with her mother emphasizing that when the time came, she would abandon her warrior duties to fulfill this sacred role.

However, Pumpkinpatch’s heart harbored other aspirations. As a young kit, she felt an undeniable pull toward the ways of the medicine cats—their deep connection with the natural world, their quiet wisdom, and their ability to heal. But these dreams were quickly extinguished by Flamefoot, who forbade her from pursuing such a path. Medicine cats, in Flamefoot’s eyes, were a break from tradition, a role that undermined the role of mothers and warriors. Pumpkinpatch, with her gentle soul and nurturing heart, was not meant to take on such a solitary, independent duty; instead, her purpose was to bear kits and support a mate.

Despite her mother’s decree, Pumpkinpatch felt a quiet yearning for the role she was denied. The pull toward healing remained within her, like a secret seed buried deep, though she dutifully followed her mother’s expectations, becoming a warrior. Her amiable nature—marked by a soft-spoken and agreeable temperament—rendered her an ideal daughter in the eyes of Flamefoot, but beneath her docile exterior lay a quiet rebellion, an unspoken longing for a different life. Pumpkinpatch never revealed to her mother or sisters that she was a lesbian, a truth that further separated her from their traditional views. She knew that revealing her feelings would only lead to rejection, so she tucked away this piece of her heart, choosing to live with the quiet ache of unspoken truths.

Though Pumpkinpatch struggles with the limitations placed upon her, she continues to uphold the values of devotion and family, even as she dreams of a life that might never come to pass. She yearns to bear kits, to create the family her mother envisioned, but she also feels the weight of the life she was never allowed to choose. In the silence of her heart, Pumpkinpatch wishes she could be more than what her mother made her, yet she moves forward, ever the loving daughter, ever the loyal warrior—her true self hidden away in the quiet corners of her heart.
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[peachpit.]

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Silkkit, Silkpaw, Silkwail | Molly | Warrior | 44 moons | Aloof and Fiercely Loyal | Given the prefix silk for her soft voice and suffix wail for her outward aloofness | Pansexual
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: ̗̀➛ Silkwail is a striking silver tabby whose sleek, glistening coat shimmers in the light like moonlight filtering through the canopy. The cool, argent sheen of her fur is marked with dark, swirling stripes that trace across her lithe frame in a pattern as fluid and intricate as a river’s course, each marking sharp and well-defined. Her fur, impossibly soft to the touch, feels like the finest silk, its luxurious texture rippling with every movement, almost as if it were woven from the very mist of the falls she calls home. Her eyes, a penetrating shade of emerald green, gleam with a quiet intensity, bright and vivid against the subtle coolness of her pelage. They seem to shimmer with an inner fire, a window to a mind that is as sharp as the rocks that line the waters beneath her home. Her face is finely sculpted, with angular features that lend her a regal, almost ethereal appearance, while her ears stand tall, framed by tufts of silver fur that give her an air of both grace and alertness. Her slender build, though elegant, is tempered by an undeniable strength, as if each muscle was honed through years of precise movement. She carries herself with quiet dignity, her every step as fluid and calculated as the flow of water over smooth stones.
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: ̗̀➛Silkwail is a quiet, unsettling presence—aloof and unreadable, with a gaze that lingers just a moment too long. She carries an air of mystery, like the forest at twilight, and yet there’s an odd sense of comfort in her stillness. She speaks little, but when she does, her words are calm and precise, grounding those around her. In moments of chaos, others often find themselves unconsciously seeking her out—not for warmth, but for the steady certainty she provides.

Her loyalty is fierce, but not universal. Silkwail gives herself only to those she truly holds dear, and for them, there is nothing she wouldn’t do. Her devotion is not performative or loud—it is absolute, dangerous in its depth, and rarely given. Those few who have earned it know she would defend them without hesitation, without mercy.

But Silkwail has a past—one no one knows. Beneath her composed exterior lies a dark secret, a shadow that she keeps hidden from even the closest of her Clanmates. Villain and violent, infant and innocent—the truth of her is a twisted contradiction, buried deep and never spoken of. She carries the weight of it silently, allowing the silence to be her only confession. While her Clanmates may see her as a steady, grounded warrior, none can truly know the burden she bears.

Her past is locked away, and she has no intention of revealing it—yet it shapes every decision she makes, every relationship she holds dear.
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: ̗̀➛ From the very moment she opened her eyes, Silkwail’s life seemed destined to be a fragile one. Born into a litter of five, she was the middle kit, and her early days were spent trying to find a sense of security in a world full of uncertainty. Her mother, Dawnwhisper, was a proud and gentle queen, though Silkwail always sensed a quiet desperation in her eyes. Dawnwhisper's affection toward Silkwail and her littermates was deep, but there was always something heavy beneath her love—perhaps fear, perhaps regret. Still, Silkwail cherished her mother’s presence, even when others might have seen weakness in the older she-cat. Silkwail grew up quickly, learning the ways of the clan and earning the respect of her peers for her grace, speed, and calm demeanor. But when she became a warrior, things took an unexpected turn. Silkwail’s life became forever altered when she gave birth to her own kits—four healthy, strong bundles of fur and one, weak and sickly, who struggled to survive. This kit, named Minnowkit, would mark the beginning of Silkwail’s downfall.

Dawnwhisper had always been a practical cat, and in her desperation to save the rest of Silkwail's litter, she began to push her daughter toward a horrifying decision. Late one evening, as Silkwail nursed her newborns, her mother approached her with a quiet, sorrowful plea.

“Silkwail… you have to rid yourself of Minnowkit,” Dawnwhisper urged, her voice shaky with suppressed grief. “His poor health—his weakness… it could spread to the others. You must be strong. Let the rest survive.”

Silkwail, still reeling from the overwhelming rush of motherhood, stared at her sickly kit with tear-filled eyes. She couldn't bring herself to let go. She refused to consider it. But her mother’s words had planted a seed of doubt, and in those moments, her mind became clouded with fear for her other kits’ lives. Dawnwhisper’s logic echoed in her ears: for the sake of the four, one must be sacrificed. Yet Silkwail couldn’t bring herself to do it.

But soon, just as Dawnwhisper had feared, Minnowkit’s sickness spread. One by one, the other kits began to weaken, each coughing and shaking with fever. Panic gripped Silkwail’s heart as she watched her beloved kittens fight for their lives. Dawnwhisper, helpless and heartbroken, finally cracked. In her grief and desperation, she made a decision that would haunt Silkwail forever. She moved toward Minnowkit, her face hardened with grim resolve.

“I’ll do it,” she whispered to herself, her eyes distant. She tried to drag the sickly kit from Silkwail’s nest, intent on ending his life to save the others. But Silkwail’s love for her kits overcame her mother’s cold practicality, and rage like she had never known filled her heart.

“No!” Silkwail snarled, lunging forward and sinking her claws into Dawnwhisper’s shoulder. “You won’t take any of my kits.”

The two cats wrestled, the sounds of their struggle faded beneath the sound of the falls. In the heat of the moment, Silkwail's heart pounded in her chest like a thunderstorm. Her fury eclipsed any other emotion, and before she realized it, her claws found their mark. In one, final, violent motion, Silkwail struck Dawnwhisper down. The queen's eyes grew wide, the breath leaving her in a shocked gasp. When the weight of the action hit Silkwail, it was too late. Her mother was gone.

As the days passed, the rest of Silkwail’s litter faded away, succumbing to the sickness that had spread from Minnowkit. Despite her desperate attempts to save them, the other kits—those she had loved and cared for—died in her paws. And only Minnowkit remained. But he was not the healthy kit Silkwail had once hoped for; he was a broken, sickly creature that would never truly recover. And so, Silkwail’s grief was doubled. The clan rallied around her, offering sympathy, but they were unaware of the dark truth—the horror that had unfolded beneath the falls that night. They saw Silkwail as the brave, grieving mother who had lost so much.

While Silkwail's strength and demeanor did not falter in the clan’s eyes, the Medicine Cat, Fogfern, had a different view. Fogfern, old and wise, saw the shadows in Silkwail’s heart. The suspicion lingered in her eyes, and though she never said a word, she knew the truth. She thought Silkwail's desperation and hatred toward her mother was what had led to her disappearance—she suspected that it was no accident. Fogfern passed soon there after.

Silkwail, for her part, carried the weight of her secret with stoic silence. She never spoke of her mother, never mentioned her lost kits. In the presence of others, Silkwail was a calm, confident warrior. Yet, each day, the guilt gnawed at her insides. She could feel the crushing weight of her actions—the lives she had ended, the bond she had destroyed.

Now, with Minnowpaw in her care, Silkwail has a chance to raise the only thing tying her to her past—one that reminds her of what she lost and the terrible cost of her actions. She keeps her troubled history locked away, hiding it behind the facade of a strong, capable warrior. No one knows the full truth of what happened to her mother or her kits, and Silkwail would rather let that pain eat her alive than admit the truth. The secret is too heavy, the shame too great.
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[peachpit.]

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Dovekit, Dovepaw, Dovepetal Mourningdove | Molly | Queen | 48 moons | Tenderhearted and gentle | Given the prefix dove for her resemblance and suffix petal for her delicate nature, recently took the prefix "Mourning" to honor her lost mate Silentstep | Heterosexual
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: ̗̀➛ Mourningdove is the picture of gentle femininity, her long, snowy-white fur flowing like silk around her swollen belly, softening every curve with its airy fullness. Her figure, though heavy with the weight of coming life, remains elegant—each movement slow, serene, and laced with maternal grace. Delicate, curling whiskers frame her face like fine threads of silver, adding a whimsical charm to her already tender features. At the center of her soft, rounded muzzle rests a pale pink nose, dainty and sweet, like a petal kissed by morning dew. But it’s her eyes—wide, clear, and a stunning shade of blue—that hold the gaze. Bright as morning skies and filled with quiet emotion, they reflect a soul both gentle and deep. There is a softness to her—an almost ethereal beauty—radiating warmth, vulnerability, and quiet strength in every glance.
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: ̗̀➛Before the loss of her beloved mate Silentstep, Mourningdove was a vision of tenderness and light. She carried a warmth that seemed to wrap around every cat she met—a molly so sweet, so endlessly kind, it was as if gentleness flowed in her blood. She was known throughout the Clan as a soft-spoken nurturer, often found with a ring of kits and apprentices huddled close, listening in awe to her whimsical nursery tales. Even seasoned warriors would pause outside the den, quietly drawn in by the calm melody of her storytelling and the sincerity in her eyes. Mourningdove was the heart of her Clan’s nursery and a natural mother, even before expecting kits of her own.

But since Silentstep’s tragic death, a shadow has fallen over her once-glowing spirit. Now heavy with his unborn kits, she carries more than just physical weight—her heart is burdened with sorrow, her mind clouded by constant worry. The sweetness that once defined her has dulled into a quiet, anxious sadness. She speaks little, her voice soft and faraway when she does, as though she's somewhere else entirely—trapped in memories or fears for the future. Her grief is deep and quiet, and though she still possesses the same loving soul, it flickers now beneath layers of mourning.

Though many still care deeply for her, she often isolates herself, retreating inward as she braces for the arrival of her kits—terrified to face motherhood alone, and unsure if she has enough left of herself to give.
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: ̗̀➛ Born to Softwillow and Brackenleap, Dovekit was the gentlest of her litter, always the first to comfort a crying denmate or share her nest moss with another. Her kindness wasn't loud or showy; it was quiet, instinctive, saint-like. Cats said she had the heart of a queen from the start.

As a kit, she formed a close bond with another kit in the nursery: Silentkit. Where Dovekit was tender and expressive, Silentkit was quiet and reserved. But even in his silence, he looked at her like she was made of something rare and fragile. Their bond grew with each moon, a quiet closeness that needed no words. They trained side by side as apprentices—Dovepaw always fretting over Silentpaw’s wounds, Silentpaw silently protecting her in skirmishes with a calm, unwavering presence.

By the time they earned their warrior names—Doveptel and Silentstep—the Clan spoke of them as one. They were rarely seen apart. While Dovepetal told stories in the nursery, kits curled around her paws, Silentstep would sit just outside, listening in with soft eyes and a rare, private smile.

Their love was not loud, but it was deep. They spoke of kits, of someday raising a family, of a den tucked close to the nursery where laughter would echo under the stars.

But dreams are fragile things.

It happened suddenly. Silentstep, out on a routine patrol, ambushed by a rogue. He fought bravely—he always did—but the wound was fatal. By the time Dovepetal reached him, his life was already slipping away like water through her paws. She cradled him as he died, her breath catching on sobs she hadn't known she could make. Her world unraveled in that moment.

And then came the news: she was carrying his kits.

Now, as she waits for their arrival, Mourningdove is only a shadow of the molly she once was. The sweetness remains, but dulled and distant, buried under layers of sorrow and fear. Where once she laughed, now she is silent. Where once she told stories, now she curls into herself, anxious, grieving, and unsure how to raise her kits in a world where Silentstep no longer walks beside her.

The Clan still calls her kind. Still sees the love in her eyes. But those who knew her best can tell—something precious has been taken. And yet, somewhere deep within her, a flicker remains. A whisper of love, of life, waiting to be reborn through the kits she now carries.
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