#quiverpelt

[catsofwillowclan]

"An Apprentice By Any Other Name"

"Pipitstar stands above the clan and proclaims that Thriftpaw shall now be known as Thrifteye, honoring their zeal"

Thriftpaw asks Rueprance a very important question.

-----

"Hey, Rueprance... could I ask you a question?"

"Mmm... sure, what's up?" Rueprance hums, still focused intently on the river rushes she's been weaving together into a small makeshift basket for the fresh kill they'd caught earlier. She's been fiddling with them for half an hour now, braiding the fibers together while she and Thriftpaw sat on the warm river stones to soak their feet in the cool, clear water.

There's a long pause. The river burbles to fill the space.

"It's... sort of a big thing to ask. You don't have to listen, if you don't want to," The boy says, much more nervously than usual. The odd tone makes her look up from her work to see Thriftpaw's big silver eyes were looking at her more seriously than she thinks he's ever been, at least as long as she's known him, and she shifts to sit up straight.

"No, no, you can ask!" she says quickly, trying to reassure him from whatever doubts that must be racing through his mind and setting the basket aside. "We have plenty of time til they'll need us back home."

Thriftpaw scrunches his nose and looks back at the rushing water, his silver eyes tracing the shape of the far bank and trying to avoid catching Rueprance's gaze again.

"Well..." he starts, toes fidgeting with the loose stone in the riverbed, "My warrior ceremony is coming up soon, y'know, and... I'm gonna need someone to give me my new name. Lilacspeck and Oakshade scare me, and Pipitstar is really busy, so I don't want to bother her - and she'd probably give me something weird, anyway," He laughs. Nervously, which sounded wrong coming out of Thriftpaw's mouth. "And you're, like, the closest to my age, and we hang out a lot, so I thought that maybe..."

"Of course!!" Rueprance exclaims, interrupting before he can even formally ask the question. She can't contain the rapid butterflies growing in her stomach - her big blue eyes are wide as the moon, the basket laying entirely forgotten by the cottontail rabbits they'd caught as she leans forward.

He's asking her to name him? Her? The biggest question an apprentice can ask, and he isn't picking his mentor - does that mean she was his best friend? Or, well, best warrior friend, she supposes, giving a sly thought to Auburnpaw, but that doesn't matter, because only a warrior can name an apprentice anyway.

"Of course, I'd be honored to, Thriftpaw!" She says again, scooting to sit right next to Thriftpaw, who's now looking at her with surprise and a not-insignificant amount of relief plastered all over his face. "I can't believe you'd ask me, this means so much... do you have any ideas? I'm sure you've thought about it. I mean, who hasn't thought about what they want their warrior name to be?"

"No, I haven't - didn't. I don't want to tell you what to do for it or anything," Thriftpaw says quickly as his gaze darts away, tucking his hands under his legs. "I mean, isn't the point that you get to pick it?"

Rueprance shrugs. "I mean, yeah, but also no. Sometimes people ask because they have something in mind and it's really just a formality. One of my friends back in Tarnclan wanted to be named Eaglewing so bad she got her mentor to do it in exchange for taking their night watch duties for a whole year."

Thriftpaw snickers. "That's stupid," he says, and his shoulders are much further away from his ears now. "Cool name, but like... is it worth double night watch for a year?" He fakes a grimace, but Rueprance raises an eyebrow.

"Hey, with some of the names people get stuck with, you better believe she'd put up with no sleep. So you better be grateful when I give you something that's not stupid." She turns up her nose, mock-haughtiness cracked with a playful grin, and Thriftpaw scoffs, his eyes flashing with mischief.

"If you give me a stupid name, I'm gonna tell Pipitstar about every time you dodged patrol to go hang out by the lake instead."

"As if! Then I'll just snitch about how many times you took extra cloudberries from Quiverpelt's stash."

"They're good!" He exclaims, throwing up his hands and splashing Rueprance in a shower of river water.

She squeals, trying to turn away against the watery attack while splashing her feet in retaliation. Thriftpaw laughs, ducking away from Rueprance's own barrage, but she doesn't care if she gets wet - not when she's been entrusted with such an important job.

"Don't think just because I asked you to name me that you get a free pass from water fights!" he says, his eyes glinting sharp in the midday sun.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Rueprance replies, warm as the sun on the rocks, before she dumps another splash of water right on his head.

[catsofwillowclan]

Mark of a Mentor

"Oakshade and Mossyrush take a late night patrol out of camp to watch the sun rise."

After Dustypaw's apprentice ceremony, Oakshade feels listless, and Mossyshade thinks he knows what might help.

---

It had only been a few hours since Dustypaw's ceremony, but luckily the boy seemed a bit more comfortable with the clan's attention by the end of it all than he had at the start, running around with the other apprentices and causing havoc around the great fire as the adults talked and drank elderberry wine.

There had been so many congratulations from every side... to Oakshade it felt like the attention would never end or give her a chance to breathe. She nodded and said thank you to the wishes of good luck, the offers of advice and enthusiasm, and the few well-placed works of advice from the other older warriors. But as confident as she tried to seem for them, it was still only her first apprentice -back home, it would have been seen as a monumental step in her warrior path to guide another along their own. Here, it seemed to unremarkable, as if it were just another expectation... the idea of it being that simple sat poorly with her.

---

It's been hours since that initial celebration, and an hour more since the weary, now-snoring apprentices were ushered to the apprentices den by Lilacspeck. The fire is burning low, the moon sinking down towards the horizon, and most of the revelers have since gone to bed. Only Quiverpelt was still awake, tending the ritual fire until daybreak, the crackle of popping logs occasionally punctuating the late-night-early-morning quiet.

Oakshade sighs and leans against a nearby tree, thumb rubbing the old smooth wood absently. She's so lost in her own thoughts, her own feeling of listlessness at the new chapter she's stepping foot into, that the gentle tap on her shoulder almost goes unnoticed - almost. She's far too skilled a warrior for that. She turns to see Mossyrush's familiar face, glowing red-gold with what's left of the firelight, and his familiar hands holding a small wrapped bundle in a basket.

"It was a big night for you," he starts, quietly. "You'll do well as a mentor."

He'd already offered his good luck congratulations at the end of the ceremony, but this was different. Deeper. It was from a place far beyond the willow boughs, where the heather grew between boulders and Starclan swam in crystal-clear lake pools.

"Thank you. That means a lot, from you," she says, genuinely. Mossyrush just shrugs.

"Well, it's true. Dustypaw couldn't ask for a better one, and you'll learn be an excellent guide."

The two sit in the comfortable quiet of pre-dawn with those words for a moment, breathing in the cold spring evening air. The stars shiver a little, like they can feel the last of winter's chill in the wind. Somewhere an owl makes its lonely cry, hollow through the night.

"Oakshade," Mossyrush says after a while, and Oakshade inclines her head to him in acknowledgement. "We may not be in Tarnclan anymore, but I brought a kit with me today, for your marks. If you'd still like to do them." He lifts the small basket, the bundle inside clearly stained with smudges of ink and dye.

Oakshade exhales. With the rush of things, she hadn't even thought to plan a time to do them. It wasn't their clan, after all, she had to remind herself. They did things differently here. There was no built-in time for something like a marking ceremony here like there were back home... no time for a new mentor to sit with their whole new role to the clan.

It's what she'd been missing, and Mossyrush knew it.

She smiles and nods. "I would, very much."

---

It doesn't take long to make it from the ceremony grounds to the Great Willow Tree itself - they're close together for a reason, after all. The Willow has a particularly potent connection to Starclan, which makes it the perfect place to do something like this.

Mossyrush and Oakshade don't speak much during the walk over. Oakshade tries to keep her mind on her markings, pondering what kind of design Mossyrush might do with so little time to prepare, and what kind of a mentor it makes her if she didn't even plan on having her mentor marks done in the first place.

It's funny, she thinks to herself as she steps over a particularly large root, how going to a different place with different people and different customs can make you feel so disconnected from your home, even when you wear your commitment to it like a mantle on your shoulders. Even when there were others there with the same expectations inked into theirs.

The lake under the willow was calm and serene, smooth as glass like the tarns back home. It reflected the stars almost perfectly, a whole second sky below their feet with its own tiny sliver of silvery moon suspended like magic. It was... nostalgic, save for the waving of the Great Willow's boughs overhead and the smell of bogwood instead of peat moss. Oakshade inhales deeply, and hears Mossyrush do the same.

"Feeling alright?" he says from behind her. She sighs.

"Better than most of tonight, actually."

Mossyrush hums. "Well, that's good to hear."

She stands on the edge of the water while Mossyrush lays out his tools, the gentle clatter of the bone needles and grinding of the ink pigments combined with the gentle lapping of water on her feet soothing her mind somewhat already.

Eventually she makes her way over to the spot Mossyrush has chosen by the willow - a hollow of the large roots close to the trunk, one root looped up in a high arc that makes a comfortable back rest for her to lay her head against. His tools are laid out of a woven rush mat, stained with ink from past marks he'd performed before leaving Tarnclan all those months ago.

"I'm going to apologize in advance for getting stiff hands," Mossyrush says as Oakshade lays back against the roots, letting her head lay on the rolled up bag for his kit. "I haven't done this in a few months. But if I cramp, I'll work through it, so don't worry."

Oakshade snorts. "If I'm worried about anyone with this, it's me."

When the man looks doubtful she says, "I mean it! I haven't been marked in dozens of moons, and we have nothing to smoke for the pain. Just you, me, and the elderberry wine... it'll be a wonder if I don't pass out."

That gets a laugh now. Mossyrush smiles despite himself, reaching for a small cloth to wipe down his hands as Oakshade settles in with a grin.

"Seriously though, Oakshade. You feel alright to do this? We can always wait and do it another time, if you're feeling rocky. See if Quiverpelt has anything we can use. I just wanted to offer now, since it felt the most... appropriate, I suppose."

Oakshade shakes her head. "No, no... no. I want to do it now. I... I don't think I would feel right, teaching Dustypaw without having earned my marks."

"Very true," he says, setting aside his cloth and picking up the ink bowl and a fine needle.

"In that case, how about we get started?"

---

Oakshade gets lost in her head.

Wether it's the overindulgence in elderberry wine, the lack of ceremony herbs to dull the pain, the tension she's been stewing in all day, or Starclan sending her visions from beyond, her mind goes into a state she's only been in once before.

Things feel hazy and soft, blurry like a second world has been layered on top.

She sees flickers of things out of the corner of her eye, in the lake, hears voices she doesn't recognize in between Mossyrush's prayers to Starclan and words of encouragement.

At one point she thinks she sees a pale young boy watching them in the branches of the willow, his hair full of stars and his eyes the same blue as the glaciers in the mountains back home.

Most of the hours they spend beneath that tree are a wispy memory.

By the time the sun rises early in the morning, fingers of orange and gold peeking over the horizon and bleeding through the glass-smooth sky on the lake, Oakshade's marks are complete.

Mossyrush gives a loud sigh as he leans back from making the final line. His hands are visibly shaking, like he said they might, but despite what must have been great strain he never faltered once. Oakshade can feel her own body shaking too, from the pain and adrenaline in equal measure, and can't fathom how he's keeping it together.

"...May the stars watch you and guide your path, and all the paths you guide in turn," he says, finally, after laying his tools back on their rush mat to be cleaned.

"May I do my duty to them well," she returns, and opens her eyes.

Part of her can't bear to see them yet for fear of what she might think - not that she might hate it, but that she might not be ready to become the person staring back at her. But another, louder part of her knows she already has, and she needs to see her reflection to really understand who that might be.

She tries to push herself up but stumbles, her knees and legs stiff from sitting so long without moving. Mossyrush catches her arm and helps her up instead, letting her lean on his shoulder as she steadies herself on her feet.

"...Thank you," she says, her voice hoarse from being quiet for so long.

"Take it easy," he says back, as she leans her weight back into her own two legs and keeps walking towards the water. "Don't hurt yourself."

"I'll be fine."

Oakshade raises an eyebrow, but doesn't argue - this part is for her to do, however fast or slow she wants to do it. Usually they would be in a ceremonial space, with a bowl of ritual water to cleanse her face and see her reflection in, but with the ritual so short notice they don't have anything like that right now.

Just the willow lake, it's surface growing more and more bright as the sun begins to rise.

They make their way to the lake's edge, Oakshade only hesitating a moment before letting her feet slip into the ice-cold clear water and the soft mud below. She gasps grits her teeth against the cold, clutching on to Mossyrush's tense arm as her legs try to give out again, but she won't let them. Step after step they wade deeper, until she's up to her knees in the lake and able to stand on her own.

"Don't catch a cold either, Oakshade," Mossyrush warns, stopping her from going any deeper. "Quiverpelt will have me doing gathering for a week if you catch a cold because of something I suggested." Oakshade snorts.

"I won't," she says, but her chattering teeth say otherwise. "Can you help me wash my face?"

"Only if you promise to get right back to camp afterwards," Mossyrush says, but he's already dampening a cloth to wipe across her face, hands practiced and gentle against the raw skin.

Oakshade exhales shakily as the cold water stings her new marks, but says nothing as Mossyrush pushes her hair back and pats her brows dry.

"...I can go back to the Willow, if you want to look by yourself."

"You can stay," she says, opening her eyes shakily to look at Mossyrush's worried face, "I might fall on my way back if you don't - joking, joking." She clarifies as a look of genuine concern flashes across the mans face.

And then, she looks down.

The marks on her brow are like a crown of leaves. They blend with her own apprentice marks like a mask, swirling gracefully between one and the other until it's unclear where one starts and the other begins. The color match is almost flawless, the work pristine. Despite her hair having already been peppered with silver and grey, it's like she finally looks her age... it's shocking, in the best way. In a way that she can finally feel like a mentor with.

She feels something welling up inside her, almost an indescribable fullness, before her knees try to give out again and Mossyrush catches her by the shoulders.

"Okay, normally I'd let you process this longer, but not in a lake like this. Let's get you back to camp," he whispers, not wanting to interrupt her thought, but he stops whatever he's about to say next when he sees Oakshade's expression.

She glances up at him and looks about a half a second away from crying, her green eyes big and shiny like the lake water.

"Thank you," she says. Her voice is stronger than it's been all night. "Thank you. This, you... this means a lot, Mossyrush. I don't know if you know how much, but-"

"I do," he says, and he means it. "I did this for many, many warriors back in Tarnclan, and I know. It's... important. And I didn't want you to not have that for yourself just because you were far away from home."

Oakshade sniffles - though wether from the chill from the water, or the genuine emotion, she'll probably never say.

"Thank you."

"...now. Can I get you out of this lake? It might be emotional, but you also need to be healthy to heal, and Quiverpelt'll kill me if I let you catch a cold doing this."

Oakshade blinks, her brain re-registering where they are and what time it is.

"Oh. Right, yes. We should get out of the lake. And do the things."

Mossyrush laughs. "Yes, the things. Like ointments for your face. And sleeping," he emphasizes, holding up a hand against the light and looking towards where the sun is shining from its early morning point along the horizon. "Is it alright if I carry you back up?"

"Oh, my hero," Oakshade says sarcastically, looping her arm over Mossyrush's shoulder and letting Mossyrush scoop her up - which, to be fair, is nothing for someone his height - and wade through the water, back to shore and the waiting, watchful boughs of the Great Willow as Starclan's watchful eyes fade away into the pale blue of the early morning sky.

[catsofwillowclan]

Dustypaw's Darkness

"Oakshade sees how nervous Dustypaw is and whispers a quiet encouragement to them as they touch noses, promising to be a good mentor to them."

Dustykit has been nervous about his naming ceremony all week, and now that it's finally here, he's even more terrified. Will Starclan accept him as an apprentice?

---

Dustykit shuffles his feet at the edge of the ceremony grounds, trying not to cough at the acrid smell of the fire smoke mixed with the ceremonial herbs as Quiverpelt does her communing with Starclan. He's been nervous all day about this ceremony, his stomach tied up in a pile of tangles and knots like the braids Brownfur wove into his long hair just hours before. What if he's not really good enough to become an apprentice? What if Starclan rejects him? What if his new mentor hates him?! The thoughts swirl wildly into one another, blurring into a general sense of anxiety as he gazes across the ceremony grounds at all the clan members who have gathered to see him off.

They're all dressed in their fine naming shirts from the various clans they came from, an eclectic rainbow of shells and bone beads and embroidery that catch the light of the bonfire like stars. Thriftpaw and Auburnpaw watch on from the shadows by their mentors, waving excitedly at him when he catches their eyes. Soon they'll all be peers, apprentices going on patrol and training, having adventures together and becoming mighty warriors... unless he can't do it. Unless he can't become a warrior, and messes it all up, and then--

"Great Starclan!" Quiverpelt's voice booms across the clearing. Despite her older age, the medicine woman looks as formidable as any of the warriors, her dark skin glowing in the bonfire light. "We have called upon you and heard your words, and in return, we ask that you hear our own.

Dustykit feels a push on his shoulders from Brownfur, ushering him to step forwards to meet his fate. He gulps.

The walk to the bonfire from the edge of the circle feels like an eternity. Every single eye is on him, watching him, judging his worthiness... or at least it feels like that, anyway, all dressed up and the center of attention. His footfalls feel heavy as he gets closer and closer to the fire's blazing heat, stopping just short of the stones on the border of the firepit. It feels like an oven, heat radiating into his face, and as he peers across the bright light the only thing he can make out is Quiverpelt's stern face and the faint, ghostly pale shadows of Pipitstar and Lilacspeck beyond.

"Dustykit," she says, less booming but no less heavy with ceremony. "You stand before us today to receive your mentor, and take your first step on the path to becoming a warrior. Do you accept this responsibility to support and defend your clan, and to learn and revere the warrior code always?"

"Y-yes," he says, but it's shaky, and he stiffens hearing his own weak voice. Quiverpelt's brow softens and she inclines her head to him.

"Try again, child," she offers, soft enough that the gathered crowd won't hear it.

"Yes, I do!" he practically shouts, jarring but better than no one being able to hear him at all, and there are a few stray cheers from the other apprentices before the warriors shush them.

Quiverpelt smiles. "Then let your mentor step forwards to accept you."

He can make out Oakshade now across the way, stepping out of the shadows where Pipitstar and Lilacspeck are standing to join Quiverpelt on the opposite side of the fire. Her naming motifs swirl like her tattoos, the tunic and belt covered in polished acorn shells and patterns of oak leaves and her headband stitched with constellations of stars that Dustykit can't recognize. She watches him cooly from across the fire, her green eyes betraying nothing of whatever she might think. Quiverpelt nods as the warrior settles into her place, and pulls out a small handful of herbs that were prepared for the ceremony.

"Ancestors in the stars above us," she calls, this time up towards the darkened night sky where a million twinkling stars shine down from overhead. "This new apprentice has sworn to learn the path of the warrior. We ask you to offer him guidance so that he may walk this path with clear eyes and a strong heart."

A thick pale smoke rises from where the herbs start to burn as she casts them into the fire, filling the air with the scent of camphor and dried leaves. Dustykit squints and holds his breath, trying not to breathe too much of it in. He desperately searches the smoke for any sign that Starclan might be mad at him, for something that says Oakshadow should abandon him as an apprentice... Quiverpelt is silent for what feels like a long time, watching the swirls of smoke disappear up into the sky, and Dustykit's heartbeat feels like a thundering drum in his chest.

But after an eternity, she speaks.

"You will face a darkness, young apprentice."

Dustykit's blood runs cold. A hush falls over the already silent crowd, drowning out everything but Dustykit's own racing thoughts. Is this it? Is this what finally does it? Is he doomed forever because of this omen? Is he--

"Darkness that lingers even when the land is covered in light. A darkness that comes from inside yourself." She points, directly at his chest. "It will try to consume you and drive you from your path, but you must not let it. You must stand up to your fears, even if it hurts at first. Even if you feel you cannot stand against it any more, you must look to the light around you instead of the darkness within."

Dustykit inhales. His hands are shaking. Everyone is still so quiet, but Quiverpelt just looks... sad.

"Starclan has spoken," she says, finally, after watching Dustykit take in the prophecy. "You will face great trials from within, but where there is darkness there must always be light. Those who walk the warrior path will always be able to guide you, should you seek their help." she pauses, letting him take in her own advice, before continuing.

"You may cross the fire and receive your name."

He bows his head to Quiverpelt, and his feet move like he's in a dream. He's surprised he doesn't fall over, given how weak his knees feel, but he manages to stumble his way to where Oakshade is standing with a small bowl and stand up to look her in the eye. She has an odd expression, as if she's finally looking at him for the first time as more than just a child.

"You must trust others, and above all trust yourself," she says, dipping two fingers into the dye in her hand and leaning down to mark his cheeks and nose. "Keep that in mind, and you'll go far, Dustypaw. I'll make sure of it."

Dustypaw nods, silently, shakily, but he can tell he's smiling now - though wether its from nerves or true excitement for the future, it's hard to say - and she smiles back at him. Quiverpelt's staff rattles, cutting through the sounds of the crackling fire and murmuring crowd.

"Let us all greet Willowclan's newest apprentice!" she shouts triumphantly, and the crowd erupts into cheers. Dustypaw turns to face the crowd, to face Pipitstar, to face everyone - they all seem so happy for him, shouting and celebrating his new name. It almost doesn't feel real.

"May Starclan watch you along your path, young warrior," Pipitstar calls over the roaring of the crowd as Thriftpaw and Auburnpaw break away from the edges to race in and hug their new fellow apprentice, and Dustypaw beams in reply.

[catsofwillowclan]

Clan Origins

The founding cats of Willowclan all hail from different backgrounds, bringing with them the customs and traditions of the clans they're from and places they've been.

Pipitstar, Quiverpelt, and Lilacspeck are from Locustclan in the forests to the south - a clan that no longer exists. Wiped out by misfortune and disease, they left after burying the dead to find a new start in the wilds to the north.

Oakshade, Mossyrush, and Rueprance all came together from Tarnclan in the glacial foothills to the north. They were called by visions to head off together and find a clan under the weeping willows in the wilds to the south.

Thriftpaw and Auburnpaw were both from Mouseclan in the grasslands to the west. They were lost during a dust storm and wandered their way to the eastern woods before being found.

Brownfur was a wandering rogue with no allegiance, making her way from clan to clan and territory to territory in an attempt to scrape by.

Dustypaw was an abandoned rogue kit, taken in to be raised communally by the adults of the clan after being found by Brownfur.

Russetpaw was a previous apprentice of the clan that had lived in Willowclan's territory. He died young many, many moons ago, and his spirit was interred in the willow tree.

[catsofwillowclan]

Cat Guide

A total guide of every single cat in the clan, all their current and previous names, and their general appearance - skin tone, markings, hair, and eye colors - in order to help you keep track of them all at a glance.

Cats are added in the order they joined the clan.

Italics indicate a deceased cat.

RUSSETPAW - Willowclan's permanent Starclan guide. Perpetually 12 years old in appearance. Pale skin with dark freckles, black hair worn shaggy around the shoulders and tied back on the top, bright blue eyes like sunlit glacier ice.

---

PIPITSTAR - She/her. Leader. 9/9 lives. Short, slim, with pale freckled skin, ashy blonde shoulder length hair, and bronze brown eyes. She has many moles scattered across her body.

LILACSPECKLE - He/him. Deputy. Shorter than average, fit, with light tan skin, ash blonde long hair, and heterochromatic eyes - one heather blue and one emerald green. A large scar cuts across his face.

QUIVERPELT - She/her. Medicine cat. Average height, with dark skin that has light vitiligo patches, natural black hair that's silver at the roots, and pale yellow eyes.

OAKSHADE - She/her. Warrior. Very short, curvy, with tan skin that is heavily tattooed across her face, shoulders, and back, long salt and pepper black hair, and sage green eyes.

BROWNFUR - She/her. Warrior. Average height, muscular, with warm brown skin, dark brown hair cropped short, and red-copper eyes. Her features are delicate.

MOSSYRUSH - He/him. Warrior. Tall, built like a strongman, with tan skin with tattoos running along his face, shoulders, chest, and full back, medium length black hair, and shadowed hazel eyes.

RUEPRANCE - She/her. Short, with a dancer's build, with tan skin covered in tattoos on her face and shoulders, long dark silver hair, and vivid blue eyes.

THRIFTEYE/PAW - He/him. Short, fit, with dark skin tattooed on the face and lower back, black shoulder length locs, and silver eyes.

AUBURNPAW - He/him. Average height and frail build, with light fair skin, short sandy blonde hair, and cobalt blue eyes.

DUSTYPAW/DUSTYKIT - He/him. Average height, chubby, with light tan freckled skin, long dusty brown hair, and green-yellow eyes.

[catsofwillowclan]

Willowclan: Origins

Pipitstar, the leader, is charismatic, confident, and quick. She is determined to help her clan make a fresh start in this new world, and will lead them to a prosperous future.

She is 28, slight and small, standing under 5', but makes up for it with spunk, personality, and an unwavering conviction in herself. She has very pale fair skin, shoulder-length silver hair, and big brown eyes with a bronze tone. She has many moles.

Deputy Lilacspeck is more insecure than Pipitstar in his abilities to lead, but is daring and brave and reliable in a fight. He is completely faithful to Pipitstar and will do whatever is asked to support her.

He is 48, 5'7 and fit but lean, holding himself like a fighter even when casually doing tasks around the clan, and his facial scars make him intimidating to some of the younger cats. He has light tan skin, ashy hair worn long and tied back in a low ponytial, and heterochromatic eyes (one a heather blue and the other a vivid emerald green.)

Elder Quiverpelt is insecure, always feeling unappreciated and like she's being overlooked or disliked by the others in the clan despite her great amount of knowledge and her connection to starclan. She is by far the oldest of the group, and isn't confident she can keep up with so many younger cats.

She is 52, 5'6 and stout but healthy, with kind eyes and hands made sharp by time and practice. She has dark skin with lighter patches, short natural black hair going silver at the roots, and vivid pale yellow eyes that seem to pierce the heart and soul of whoever is looking at them.

Oakshade is one of the clan's warriors, and she holds that title with great pride. She can seem uptight, but her charm and genuine care for others means that she can act as a good role model for young kits even when making them run drills or do their chores.

She is 36, and like Pipitstar she is incredibly small, standing under 5', but she is formidable and gives off an aura of authority far larger than she may seem. Her skin is tan and marbled with many dark tribal tattoos, her salt-and-pepper hair is long but worn tightly back out of the way, and her sage green eyes are observant and sharp.

Brownfur is incredibly competitive and jealous, often comparing herself to others in the clan and picking at their flaws to make herself feel better. She hates to lose and will always take a challenge to prove herself to the others, but is grounded and reliable for her clan through and through.

She is 33, standing 5'6 and fairly strong and muscular. Her skin is deep brown, her dark brown hair cropped short in a military style and her red-copper eyes always on the lookout for someone else slipping up. She has very delicate facial features and small hands and feet.

Mossyrush is a lonely fellow, always sticking to the outskirts of the clan and watching from afar. He has a melancholic nature, always quick to moan about the worst possible thing and convinced the universe is conspiring against him, despite his keen observational skills obviously telling him otherwise.

Mossyrush is 32, standing incredibly tall at 6'4 and built like a strongman. He has mid-toned tan skin with a dark tribal tattoo running all the way down his head and back, medium length black hair often worn loose around his face, and hazel eyes that are generally in shadow.

Rueprance is young and still childish, only recently becoming a warrior, and her positivity and playfulness are nigh infectious. People around her can't help but become excited over little things, and she loves to teach kits about everything she's learned and pass on knowledge where she can.

She is 20 years old, standing 5'3 and built like a dancer or acrobat. She has fair skin covered in tribal tattoos on her body and face, long black hair with silvery tones she likes to wear in a long braid, and vivid dark blue eyes like an ocean jewel.

Thriftpaw is a young apprentice of the clan, one of two, and is quite troublesome and a bit insufferable. He's always causing mischief, getting into things he shouldn't or doing things he was told not to and questioning the authority of the warriors and leaders of the clan in that oh-so-classic middle schooler sort of way.

Thriftpaw is young, 12 years old, standing 4'9 but hoping he'll grow much, MUCH taller (he won't, ending up at a final height of 5'1). His skin is dark tan (and will later have tattoos on the face and lower back), his black hair is shaggy and scruffy, and his silver eyes always flash with mischief when Rueprance is around.

Auburnpaw is the charming and sweet second apprentice of the clan, and one with great promise to become a storyteller due to his active imagination. He is incredibly young and still approaches the world with wonder and confidence, much to the joy of his mentor.

He is 9 years old, standing 4'7 (but eventually shooting up to 5'8) and much frailer than his fellow apprentice Thriftpaw. He has light fair skin, sandy blonde hair cut short, and cobalt blue eyes that shine when he's spinning a particularly interesting tall tale.

Dustykit is the youngest of the clan, only a baby, and is doted on by just about everyone. He is a bit insecure and nervous, often requiring reassurance, but the warriors try to boost his confidence by play fighting with him as much as they can and encouraging him to come out of his shell.

While a baby at 7 and a half years old, only 3'11, he will eventually grow up to be 5'11 and incredibly strapping. He has light tan skin, dusty brown hair worn loose and long around his shoulders for ease of running around and playing, and his green-yellow eyes are big and bright.