username (cs + site): notwearingsocks
clans: totemclan, the esteemed
list of cats you haven't implemented into your clan(s) yet: none
name of the clan your cats or group is going to: totemclan
which cats or group are you trying out for: waxmelt (mousetail), candlepaw (monellopaw), woodpaw (marepaw)
how will these cats or group fit into your clan?:
mousetail, now waxmelt, didn't wear grief well; in the aftermath of his learning about the death of the majority of his offspring, he became reserved and hostile to most cats who attempted to console him. bitterness plagued him; why him? why his kits? resentment towards their other parent crept in, for not keeping their children safe, though guilt immediately flooded over as he realized he was thinking ill of the dead. he hadn't been particularly close to beachcomb, but there was a particular fondness that came with the knowledge that the children were shared between them. the only cats that could get through to waxmelt were monellopaw, now candlepaw, and marepaw, now woodpaw.
grief drove waxmelt and his two remaining children away from the clan. their journey was arduous, their paws calloused and weary by the time they joined totemclan, and waxmelt's sadness had not subsided. his kits urged him to talk to someone, anyone about his heartache, but the tom stoically refused until he found himself on a patrol with rubblemouse. rubblemouse, with his mute tongue and expressive chirps and purrs, was perhaps the best listener in totemclan - who better to talk to than to someone who will do nothing but listen? waxmelt didn't need advice; advice wouldn't bring back his children. a shoulder to lean on was what he needed, one that wouldn't try to constantly console him verbally, and rubblemouse fit the role without a moment of hesitation.
the toms spent many moons sitting alongside the lake's edge that bordered the totemclan camp, waxmelt murmuring stories of his kits' apprenticeships, or how delighted he'd been when he first found out he'd be a father, or how he'd met beachcomb. as his time in totemclan went on, waxmelt's stories strayed further and further from his grief, and he sat closer and closer to rubblemouse's side, their flanks pressed together and tails intertwined. waxmelt was beginning to heal, and as he did, his heart grew fonder and fonder of the quiet, speckled cat at his side.
candlepaw, after her warrior assessment, would go on to be given the name candleburn, for her passionate, fiery nature. she took swiftly to sharksmile, the former rogue kid with a story for every scar and a knack for getting into danger. candleburn, who matured into a larger molly, fell head over heels for the tall, lanky molly who took her city-sneaking every other night, who taught her how to run away from twoleg dogs in their gardens, who showed her the best places to steal prey from rogue group caches. exhilaration followed candleburn every moment she was with sharksmile; she was fairly certain she would kill for the molly, if the need arose. candleburn became sharksmile's protector, fending off rogues who attempted to thwart their pilfering, determined to protect her from collecting anymore scars.
woodpaw was the son who wished he could fly too close to the sun; the clumsy tomcat was more often at the top boughs of a tree than not, and he watched the sky for birds more often than he watched the ground for walking. he often found himself in the healers' den, drinking another brew from wizard or munching on herbs from fignewt. it was in one such visit that he met batpaw, the tomcat just younger than him who was studying under wizard.
and suddenly, woodpaw wasn't so upset that he was committed to bedrest in the healer den. he became more careless, looking for any excuse to go see batpaw. ("i twisted my paw while hunting," "i sprained my tail in the tree," "candleburn and i were wrestling and i tweaked my neck.")
woodpaw graduated to woodwick, and batpaw received his healer name soon thereafter. (which i haven't decided on yet shh) woodwick, in his elation after his warrior ceremony, paraded into the healers' den, purring up a storm and rubbing his cheeks against a surprise bat, who flushed immediately. they were perhaps the only cats in the clan who didn't know that the feelings were mutual; woodwick's visits to the healers' den became more frequent after that, but with far less injuries and far more trips to bring bat the most delicious prey woodwick could catch.
clans: totemclan, the esteemed
list of cats you haven't implemented into your clan(s) yet: none
name of the clan your cats or group is going to: totemclan
which cats or group are you trying out for: waxmelt (mousetail), candlepaw (monellopaw), woodpaw (marepaw)
how will these cats or group fit into your clan?:
mousetail, now waxmelt, didn't wear grief well; in the aftermath of his learning about the death of the majority of his offspring, he became reserved and hostile to most cats who attempted to console him. bitterness plagued him; why him? why his kits? resentment towards their other parent crept in, for not keeping their children safe, though guilt immediately flooded over as he realized he was thinking ill of the dead. he hadn't been particularly close to beachcomb, but there was a particular fondness that came with the knowledge that the children were shared between them. the only cats that could get through to waxmelt were monellopaw, now candlepaw, and marepaw, now woodpaw.
grief drove waxmelt and his two remaining children away from the clan. their journey was arduous, their paws calloused and weary by the time they joined totemclan, and waxmelt's sadness had not subsided. his kits urged him to talk to someone, anyone about his heartache, but the tom stoically refused until he found himself on a patrol with rubblemouse. rubblemouse, with his mute tongue and expressive chirps and purrs, was perhaps the best listener in totemclan - who better to talk to than to someone who will do nothing but listen? waxmelt didn't need advice; advice wouldn't bring back his children. a shoulder to lean on was what he needed, one that wouldn't try to constantly console him verbally, and rubblemouse fit the role without a moment of hesitation.
the toms spent many moons sitting alongside the lake's edge that bordered the totemclan camp, waxmelt murmuring stories of his kits' apprenticeships, or how delighted he'd been when he first found out he'd be a father, or how he'd met beachcomb. as his time in totemclan went on, waxmelt's stories strayed further and further from his grief, and he sat closer and closer to rubblemouse's side, their flanks pressed together and tails intertwined. waxmelt was beginning to heal, and as he did, his heart grew fonder and fonder of the quiet, speckled cat at his side.
candlepaw, after her warrior assessment, would go on to be given the name candleburn, for her passionate, fiery nature. she took swiftly to sharksmile, the former rogue kid with a story for every scar and a knack for getting into danger. candleburn, who matured into a larger molly, fell head over heels for the tall, lanky molly who took her city-sneaking every other night, who taught her how to run away from twoleg dogs in their gardens, who showed her the best places to steal prey from rogue group caches. exhilaration followed candleburn every moment she was with sharksmile; she was fairly certain she would kill for the molly, if the need arose. candleburn became sharksmile's protector, fending off rogues who attempted to thwart their pilfering, determined to protect her from collecting anymore scars.
woodpaw was the son who wished he could fly too close to the sun; the clumsy tomcat was more often at the top boughs of a tree than not, and he watched the sky for birds more often than he watched the ground for walking. he often found himself in the healers' den, drinking another brew from wizard or munching on herbs from fignewt. it was in one such visit that he met batpaw, the tomcat just younger than him who was studying under wizard.
and suddenly, woodpaw wasn't so upset that he was committed to bedrest in the healer den. he became more careless, looking for any excuse to go see batpaw. ("i twisted my paw while hunting," "i sprained my tail in the tree," "candleburn and i were wrestling and i tweaked my neck.")
woodpaw graduated to woodwick, and batpaw received his healer name soon thereafter. (which i haven't decided on yet shh) woodwick, in his elation after his warrior ceremony, paraded into the healers' den, purring up a storm and rubbing his cheeks against a surprise bat, who flushed immediately. they were perhaps the only cats in the clan who didn't know that the feelings were mutual; woodwick's visits to the healers' den became more frequent after that, but with far less injuries and far more trips to bring bat the most delicious prey woodwick could catch.
