Owlpaw
Feb 19, 2014 21:10:27 GMT -6
Post by Deleted on Feb 19, 2014 21:10:27 GMT -6
Name(s):
Gender:
Male
Age:
six moons
Clan:
Windclan
Rank:
Apprentice
Appearance:
Long black and white fur
Tangerine eyes
Slender, petite frame
Gentle expression
Silvery scar along shoulder blades
Does a rose go by any other name? An exotic flower, dainty and exquisite, draped in gossamer wings. A late blooming rose he is, petals translucent and pale, just beginning to unfurl, constructed of spun glass reflecting the light of rising sun. Stand before the mirror my dear, hear words proclaiming beauty unmatched. Your a priceless gem; an Arkenstone. Unique and flawless, baring numerous facets, holding an inner star within chambers of carbon. A treasure to be held in greedy clutches of lustful kings.
A precious stone does not need to be titanic in size to be considered beautiful. The most priceless, the most flawless, are those found in tilting scale, in one, two carats. Minute and detailed, etchings sprawl its surface, drawing together to creature something marvellous and unique. Owlpaw is one such gem. Beautiful, his elegance drawn from features that scatter body, fur, eyes. Smile.
The first facet is not one that can be seen from the surface. Its an inner panel that reflects outward, seen in subtle shifts of the stone. He's an elegant feline, possessing a pose not often seen in his age or experience. Dainty does his foot steps fall upon earth, leaving not a trace of sound to be tracked. A skilled hunter he will one day become. With that slight form, and dappled pelt, he thrives in those early morning and late evening prowls. An owl by any other name?
His countenance holds much in the ways of gentle sweeping lines. Of babbling waterfalls of fine tuned rivers. His fur is long, bushy and containing split silk. Unhampered and pure, with only the silver cord upon shoulder to halt its endless strokes. He does much in its care. Black on white. Monochrome. The typical colouring matched with the untypical. His eyes, though of those chroma found in cats, are quite different from the rest. His eyes are orange. Burning orange. Matching the rising sun on clear cut days. Tangerine gems to be sure.
He's of a small stature. Almost too small. His back in adulthood would probably only meet mid shoulder to most other felines. But he is flexible and agile, more so due to that small size. He slips into hard to reach areas with ease, his cloud of fur protecting delicate flesh from tears. He's all lean muscle and hollow bones. A bird of the land he is. How fitting, those luminous eyes of an owl and darting flight of a sparrow.
Personality:
Compassionate
Warmhearted
Curious
Quiet
Intelligent
A fragile brush of delicate petals; a soft cashmere scarf caressing cheek. An unforgettable kindness, sweet and tender, are shown in your ways. The radiant sun you are, casting down your warming presence on others. Valiant, so helpful to those you meet, always with an out stretched hand. Never should you give into the harmful word, hurtful action, or cruel outcome. Bring forth your bright and merry smile, sweep away the dark corners of my heart. One truly brave and gentle soul. Envy cannot bury its talons in such pure intentions.
Hes a loving soul, a treasuring heart. Such kindness he possesses, indiscriminate towards his giving self. Such a strange warrior he is; how unusual and opposing to his parents one track mind to the prospering wind. It does not matter to him. He had long since given up on finding acceptance in his clansmens minds. For when one is given widening gap for so long, you stop looking out across the void. H'es so very gentle. Its a mystery as to why he joined in training to be a warrior, and not a medicine cat. Maybe the thought of being alone forever chased him off that path.
Quiet by nature, Owlpaw personifies his namesake in such large, unblinking eyes. He's shy, finding his place instead at the fringes of his people. A place he does not much mind. It gives him the space to take in the bigger picture. To observe things about those he lives with. To see the missing link in the mystery of the day. A curious soul, he tends to snoop in things, some things not much his business. But whatever the fact, his intrusion on privacy is done with the gentlest of intentions. A kit at heart some may say.
History:
Owlpaw, for such a petite cat, reigns from a bloodline of surprising strength, making many felines believe that he is a product of infidelity. But that is mere talk amongst cats that know nothing. His parents loved deep and hard and long like few did in this day and age. His mother, Swiftstalk, was a beauty; an amazonian queen, taking up sword of moulded gold and a crown of wrought iron. She was a fearsome warrior, a mighty she demon that few lived to tell of when facing her claws. It was amazing to many to ponder the possibility that this raging storm could be tamed. Could be settled enough to bare new life into this world. But somehow, Riverrush managed. That broad, silver tom swept into her life, stirring up that light of domestic life never expected from her.
They were a duo. A undefeated force in windclans arsenal. Every cat from any clan knew of them. Feared the possibility of facing them. Dreamed of the glory that might be theirs should they ever lay sword to breast of two headed guard. But they were of the sort that did not needlessly throw self into battle. They fought to protect their homeland; nothing more. Nothing less. For moons they did so, holding down the borders of their home by that tranquil lake, until blessing of the stars were theirs. Children.
It wasn't unheard of for cats to bare young at their age; a mere 25 moons. It was just, unexpected. Especially with these two. Nonetheless, it was a celebration of new life that was met by these warriors announcement, and for many, a joy. For surely a litter of young warriors would be joining them. The day of the birth however, the clan was shocked. Swiftstalk, their unflappable she-cat, was failing in her birth. She was dying. The complications of the labour stealing her life. The medicine cat, Brownwhisker knew that the only way to save the kits would be to cut them out, an act she begged for when given choice. Save my kits, she snarled, her bravery leering through at the prospect of saving the little lives she so desperately wished to bring into this world.
Out of the four, only one survived, the other dead even before they left the womb. He was a puny kit. Tiny and insignificant. His mother loved him upon sight. In her final moments, Swiftstalk gazed upon her son, purring long and low as bright, unseeing orange eyes rolled in their sockets, cleaning off her child for the first and last time. His eyes are like that of an owl don't you think love?
~
Riverrush named his only child after those words his mate purred out in her last breathe. Owlkit. The smallest kit born to Windclan in known memory. The clan was sure he wouldn't survive. The night. The moon. The year. But the love of a father who adores his child like none other is a force to be reckoned with. He cared for his child, Froststar, their leader at the time, giving the time he needed to give special attention to his fragile son, and the nursing queen who had taken him in. The only sign of that impossible entrance into the world upon the kit was that of a long silver scar, marking his shoulders where claws had cut him when pulled from mothers belly. But for one so small, he sure was a big personality.
His misgivings did not stop Owlkit from thriving in a world of cats so much bigger. He jumped ahead, worrying his father often in wild and bizarre adventures he concocted, head always in the clouds. He was always sneaking off, abandoning the games his litter mates played in favour of viewing their home from upon the nurseries room. A gifted climber. His flexible, small limbs giving fine detailed grip upon his dancing.
Some could say he was favoured. From the moment he could walk, Owlkit was at his fathers side, a gentle shadow over his shoulder, teaching him things that should wait until apprenticeship. But Riverrush knew his mate would have taught him young; why not follow through with her plan? So he took him out on little excursions from the camp site; never far, just enough to get a taste of the world. To frolic in the cattails at the lakes edge. To tease frisky mice in the meadows. To wage war upon coiling serpent of fathers tail.
It may have been this favouritism. It may have been his size. But for whatever reason, the young kit was often left out by his peers, tossed to the fringe of their little community at the nursery. It made him quiet. It made him observant. It made him.... clingy. Not in that annoying way mind you. More, when cats showed him a kindness, he tended to latch on. It also forged his habit of preferring company of the older generations to his own. Whatever the fact may be, he enjoyed his childhood. It may have been different from most kits, but then, so was everything else about him.
~
Apprenticeship.
Characters: Bengalstorm, Owlpaw
