Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2017 14:12:58 GMT -5
Name: Poppythorn
Age: 38 Moons
Gender: She-cat
Clan: LightningClan
Rank: Senior Warrior
Picture:
Description: Poppythorn is, in short, a beautiful she-cat. She has a gorgeous blue-black pelt with short but thick fur. There is a patch of white hair on her chest that matches the shade of her whiskers. Her vivid orange eyes stand out against her pelt almost eerily. She has a lean build, not as powerful as some cats but her paws are still capable of delivering a nasty blow if you aren't careful. She has a broad muzzle, a very long, bushy tail and large ears, accompanied with large paws. Her shoulders and hindquarters are muscular, aiding in her hunting along with her unusually long front claws - for which she earned her suffix.
Description Summary:
A beautiful blue-black she-cat with bright orange eyes.
Personality:
Outwardly, Poppythorn is a very calm, patient she-cat with wisdom that seems beyond her moons. Most cats like to be near her because she gives off an almost motherly aura, providing comfort and encouragement willingly. She has a soft sense of humor and loves to laugh, although hers is more of a soft chuckle. Every Lightningclan cat knows that she loves her family dearly and she doesn't suffer the fools that insult them gladly. Poppythorn appears to have a soft spot for apprentices, kits and their queens. Although she listens to her leader willingly, her strongest sense of respect is for the medicine cats - whom had helped her greatly throughout her life.
Inwardly, Poppythorn is plagued by paranoia and a cold, terrifying hatred for liars. Although, hating liars by itself is not a bad thing - what she does, and desires to do, to them certainly is. In short, murder. A constant stream of heartbreak fed a strong streak of paranoia, which eventually poisoned her heart into believing the only way to help others was to get rid of those hurting them. A chilliness has seeped under fur and has grabbed her heart by the claws. Thankfully, she has yet to unleash this anger on a second cat but secretly is dreading and is excited for the day she will have to.
History:
In Lightningclan, there was a fierce she-cat called Mottledclaw who became mates with an ebony tom called Shadewing. Unlike most mates, the two bickered, wrestled and scrapped in order to show their bond; both coming out of a fight purring. The two cats valued their ranks within the clan, so Mottledclaw’s grouchy behaviour towards becoming a queen wasn’t entirely unexpected. She and Shadewing argued more frequently during her pregnancy - Mottledclaw longing for the freedom she had as a warrior and Shadewing, feeling strongly protective of his mate, ordering her to stay in the nursery.
Despite their conflicting opinions, the two’s hard exteriors melted when three kits were born at the start of Greenleaf. The eldest was a tom that had his mother’s golden-spotted pelt, he was called Spottedkit. The middle kit was a she-cat with a pelt as black-blue as her father’s, she was called Poppykit. The third was a scrawny ginger tabby she-cat called Sandkit. During the first few moons of their lives, Mottledclaw’s and Shadewing’s arguments softened considerably - much to the amusement of the other warriors.
The kits personalities developed rapidly during the moons to come. Spottedkit was a very blunt and energetic kit, sometimes overly so. Poppykit was quieter, almost seeming wiser, than her siblings but was no less fierce than Spottedkit. Sandkit was shyer than her older siblings and prefered to follow them around, flinching away from her parents whenever they tried to convince her to have a backbone. The three got along as well as most siblings, with the exception Poppykit and Spottedkit rolling their eyes whenever Sandkit got upset over a game.
The three became apprentices near the end of Leaf-fall. Poppypaw was given to an senior tom known as Owltalon. The two were very similar in personality, which is probably why they were put together. Patient and quiet, Owltalon would answer any and all of Poppypaw’s questions; never flinching from the grisly details of a battle.
Poppythorn’s strongest and most treasured memory of her mentor was when they were walking back from one of their many battle sessions.
“Owltalon… will I ever have to kill someone?” The black she-cat asked, glancing to the taller tom. There was no fear or apprehension in her eyes, merely pure curiosity. Staring down at his apprentice, Owltalon paused in front of a large black beetle.
“Death is a strange thing, Poppypaw.” He spoke slowly and softly, his voice reminding her of a snake sliding through leaves. “It seems untouchable but -” His white paw slowly crushed down on the beetle until its legs stopped wriggling and its shell cracked. “- we have the power to control it.”
Owltalon turned his head to Poppypaw, his eyes hardened into a stern stare. “However, death is permanent. Never take a life that does not deserve to be taken, Poppypaw. Never.”
Poppypaw, Spottedpaw and Sandpaw weren’t the only apprentices in Lightningclan. There were two others; a scruffy brown tom called Oakpaw and a lithe white she-cat called Snowpaw. Although she got along with Snowpaw fine, her brother Oakpaw always brushed Poppypaw’s fur the wrong way. His arrogant smirk whenever he saw her struggling to remember a battle move, his little swagger when he walked into camp with a piece of freshkill. It was infuriating and it didn’t help that he seemed intent on bothering her with idle chatter whenever they were together.
The black she-cat had swatted at her siblings and her father more than once for making fun of all the time she and Oakpaw spent together. She hated him! The way he’d be soft on her during battle training, like she was some kit needing protecting. The way he’d offer her his freshkill as if she weren’t competent enough to get it herself. The way he’d push himself next to her when it was cold out. Even the way he smiled at her caused her pelt to burn with rage. It was rage, right?
The three’s training was going very well. Poppypaw and Spottedpaw were proving to be very talented at battle training, Mottledclaw boasting that they took after their mother. Sandpaw, on the other hand, had become incredibly light-footed - able to sneak up on the jumpiest rabbit until she was practically on top of it. Her family were amazed when she once returned to camp with a hare larger than she was, her mentor Swallowtail helping her carry it, and an even larger grin on her face.
Sadly, near the end of that leaf-fall, a terrible bought of greencough hit all the clans. Many cats became sick, including Snowheart, one of the medicine cats, and Sandpaw. Feeling her heartbreak at watching her sick sister struggle so feebly against the illness, Poppypaw would sneak into the medicine cat den whenever she could to whisper words of encouragement to Sandpaw whilst she rested. Oakpaw found out what Poppypaw was doing and confronted her about it, saying that she was putting herself at risk. Of course, Poppypaw did not like that one bit and snapped at him - yelling about how she wouldn’t care if she caught the sickness, as long as her sister got better. The tom snarled back, claiming that even if Poppypaw wouldn’t care if she got sick, he would, and stalked off; leaving Poppypaw even angry and confused than before.
Oakpaw’s warning proved true, and Poppypaw soon fell sick with whitecough which quickly developed into greencough - much to her annoyance. Near delirious with sickness, Poppypaw couldn’t tell if it was night or day, nor could she tell how many days had passed. The she-cat could remember her mother and father coming in, Mottledclaw near having to hold Shadewing back by the scruff as he yowled for his daughters. Her mentor had come in a few times to give her the same words of encouragement she gave Sandpaw - but when he came into the den for the final time, he was reeking of the sickness himself. She remembered her brother coming in to bring she and Sandpaw freshkill that he had caught himself. Spottedpaw told her stories of the prey he had hunted and the battle moves he had learned and he always smiled - yet somehow the smile didn’t quite reached his eyes. During one of his visits, the tom could only choke out a few words before quickly curling up next to his sisters - a kit-like mewl escaping his throat as he wailed over their illness.
One of her clearer memories was of Oakpaw. The brown tom had walked over to her nest and curled up next to her, burying his nose in her fur. She tried to rasp out a question, asking him what he was doing here, but he flicked his tail against her muzzle to quiet her. His chest heaved heavily and she could hear him mutter. “I told you you would get sick. I told you but you’re too caring for your own good.” Poppypaw had let out a sore purr before sinking back into her wavering moments of consciousness.
What seemed like seasons passed and one day Poppypaw woke up, her head and chest feeling clearer than they had in awhile. She looked around, uncertain of where everyone was and shakily rose to her paws, which felt weak and wobbly. Stumbling like a newborn, Poppypaw reached the entrance of the medicine cat den - wincing as her eyes got used to the light. As her eyes adjusted, they widened as she saw nearly the whole clan gathered in the center of the camp.
“H-Hello?” She broke off into quiet coughing, her voice rusty from neglect. Suddenly, Spottedpaw was at her side, a choked purr coming from his throat in broken spurts.
“It’s fine Poppypaw, we’re all fine.” He muttered, his voice sounding dull, and he tried to push her back into the medicine cat den.
Despite being as weak as she was, Poppypaw knew that something was up and she shoved past her brother, who meekly followed her. Her pawsteps slowed as she walked through the cluster of cats, feeling uneasy by the looks filled with sorrow and sympathy that she saw. Both her heart and paws stopped as she saw a familiar ginger tabby pelt lying next to Snowheart, Owltalon and a few others. Mottledclaw lifted her head from the pelt and blinked unseeingly at Poppypaw, turning to press her face back into the pelt. Unable to move, Poppypaw stared at her sister’s body - vaguely aware of her brother pressing his face into her shoulder and Oakpaw silently pushing himself into her other side. There was a large flash of black fur and the she-cat became aware of Shadewing grabbed his remaining kits and pulled them in close - Oakpaw stumbling backwards to grant the three some privacy to grieve as a family.
Several moons passed and the pain of Sandpaw’s death began to ebb into a dull ache. Poppypaw, Spottedpaw, Oakpaw and Snowpaw were granted their warrior names; Poppythorn, Spottednose, Oakspot and Snowhawk. Poppythorn and Spottednose purred to each other and then locked eyes with their beaming parents, a brief flicker of sadness linking them together as they grieved for Sandpaw, who never received her warrior name. Oakspot nudged Poppythorn, his eyes glinting with pride and merriment and he grinned to his sister, who had her chin held as high as she could.
The four remained close as warriors, Poppythorn and Oakspot gradually growing closer until the elders started asking them when the kits were due - much to their embarrassment. Oakspot took this thought of kits very seriously and even began trying to discuss kit names with Poppythorn until she begged him to stop, amusement in her eyes.
As with all mates, Poppythorn eventually became pregnant with a litter during Greenleaf. She had a hunch when her belly began to swell and it felt as though she had swallowed a bunch of worms. After meeting with Rookfrost and his apprentice Kindleflare, it was confirmed that she was indeed carrying kits. Scared but excited, Poppythorn left the medicine cat den and walked over to Oakspot to give him the good news. The black she-cat regretted it that instant because the tom practically jumped into the air with a jovial yowl and raced around the camp, bragging and yelling about the kits to any cat he saw. Spottednose was more calm and gave his sister a loving lick between the ears, although she could see an excitement that matched her mate’s flickering in his eyes at the thought of being an uncle.
As protective of Poppythorn as Shadewing had been to Mottledclaw, Oakspot refused to let her step foot outside of camp, near forcing her to sleep in the nursery despite only being a moon pregnant. Sighing, Poppythorn eventually agreed to do as she asked - wondering how she would spend the next few weeks trapped in the camp.
Sadly, the wait for the kits was cut short.
One night, Poppythorn awoke to strong pains in her abdomen. Looking up, her sleepiness evaporated instantly as she saw her hindquarters soaked in blood. She heaved herself to her paws, gasping as the pain got even worse as she moved. The queen limped out of the nursery and half-ran, half-hobbled to the medicine cat den - quietly yowling for Rookfrost and Kindleflare. Whimpering and confused, Poppythorn listened to their instructions blindly, taking heavy laboured breaths as she lay down on the nest. Hearing footsteps, she looked to the den’s entrance, expecting Oakspot but finding Spottednose instead. Her brother was bleeding from the ear and seemed out of breath, although she didn’t know why. She mewled pitifully at her brother and he rushed down to her, staring at the blood in pure shock and fear. The ginger tom snapped at the two medicine cats, demanding they help Poppythorn at once - glaring at them as they gave her juniper berries to help her breathing, poppy seeds to ease the pain and thyme to help her with the shock. Speechless, Poppythorn ate the herbs without question and rested her head on her paws - eyes misty as she felt in her heart that she had lost the precious lives inside of her.
She stayed in the medicine cat den for a week afterwards, Kindleflare gently giving her the news that she had suspected all along - that she had lost her kits. Numb from shock and heartbreak, Poppythorn merely nodded to the medicine cat, murmuring a “thank you” where most queens would’ve wailed or screamed for the lives they had lost. Thankfully, the medicine cats didn’t rush to force Poppythorn out of the medicine cat den. It was nearing the end of Greenleaf but there were no outbreaks of illness yet. Mottledclaw visited Poppythorn whilst she was recovering but no words were shared, her mother curling up with her daughter and purring soft songs to comfort the heartbroken she-cat.
With Spottednose’s help, Poppythorn moved back into her nest at the start of Leaf-fall. The first thing she noticed was Oakspot’s scent. Or lack thereof. Blinking in confusion, the ebony she-cat found out Oakspot’s nest had been moved away from hers. She asked Spottednose about it but the tom shook his head in silence, the anger blazing in his eyes giving her more questions than answers.
Over the next few days, Poppythorn rarely saw Oakspot but it was clear he was ignoring her whenever she saw him and she noticed a fresh set of scars around his left eye. Confused and hurt, Poppythorn stayed near her brother most of the time - finding comfort in his presence. One day, Snowhawk approached Poppythorn with sadness in her eyes. The two friends quickly settled back into their previous relationship, Snowhawk expressing sorrow over the loss of Poppythorn’s kits as the ebony she-cat merely nodded - not keen to remember the ordeal. Eventually, Poppythorn started to question Snowhawk about Oakspot’s sudden avoidance. The white she-cat was clearly uncomfortable and seemed almost angry about something and finally, she told Poppythorn what had happened.
“When you lost your kits, he was devastated.” Snowhawk started to explain on a hunting patrol the two had gone on together. “He snapped at anyone who wanted to visit you, including me, when you were in the medicine cat den.” She paused in her path and sat down, ashamed of her brother’s actions. “He even tried to stop Spottednose from visiting, but your brother wrestled him to the ground and near bit his face off. Mottledclaw too, but he quickly backed down when he saw how, uh, angry she was.”
Poppythorn frowned at what she assumed was Oakspot’s protectiveness. “Well, I appreciate his concern but that seems a bit overboard-” She started to speak, trailing off as she saw the look on Snowhawk’s face. “...What is it?”
Snowhawk flinched inwardly but stuttered out a response. “H-He wasn’t protecting you.” A look of disgust crossed the she-cat’s features and she spat out the next few words angrily. “H-He said that you d-deserved to be lonely, without y-your family and your kits. Like you lost them on purpose!” The white she-cat shoved herself against Poppythorn, her gesture of kindness a bit rough due to her anger. “Everyone knows their loss wasn’t your fault! He’s gone mad!”
Poppythorn remained silent as Snowhawk ranted about Oakspot, shock once again taking over her mind. “Wasn’t it my fault?” She whispered, Oakspot’s words settling into her wounded heart like an infection.
The ebony she-cat flinched backwards as Snowhawk’s face was suddenly in hers, the fellow warrior’s green eyes burning like a furnace. “Of course it wasn’t! Oakspot is j-j-just… he’s being a foxheart!” Poppythorn blinked in surprise at Snowhawk’s ferocity over her brother.
A whisper from the back of her mind echoed Snowhawk’s words, giving them a tone of doubt. She’s just saying that, of course it was your fault… They were yours. The warrior shook her head harshly to clear the strange thoughts and stood up. “Come on, we should keep hunting.” She said, her tone of voice inviting no further discussion.
Two seasons passed and it was soon Newleaf. Thankfully, there had been no epidemic during that leafbare and the lack of loss had put a hopeful vibe into the camp. However, Poppythorn still felt lost. The fellow warriors of her clan had given her words of comfort about the loss of her kits, arguing against Oakspot’s view if he came up, and Poppythorn accepted their words graciously. Except for the one’s about Oakspot. Was that a flicker of disbelief in their eyes when they say it was an accident? Did they nod slight agreements when Oakspot muttered about the kits’ deaths being on purpose? Paranoia had set into her mind like a rot and each word she heard would echo “liars, liars, liars!” in the back of her head.
Greencough hit the clan suddenly and powerfully. Mottledclaw had passed due to the sickness, the loss of their mother cutting Poppythorn and Spottednose deeply and the two were given fresh grief overlaying the scars of Sandpaw and the unborn kits. Shadewing especially felt as though he couldn’t carry on and retired to the elders den, whimpering for his dead mate during his sleep and staying silent throughout the day.
Only a few days passed before another loss was suffered. Poppythorn and Snowhawk had gone on another hunting patrol, the ebony and ivory she-cats having become close friends since their discussion about Oakspot.
“Look! Rabbit.” Snowhawk hissed quietly, her belly dropping like a stone into the hunting crouch - much to Poppythorn’s amusement. The white she-cat edged forward, closer and closer until she got within pouncing distance.
A thud of paws and a startled squeak signaled a successful hunt and Poppythorn began to walk over to Snowhawk when a strong, sour scent hit her nose. Pausing in confusion, she glanced over her shoulder and then back to Snowhawk. “Hey! Can you smell bad-” She started to yowl but paused in horror as a large black and white shape slammed into Snowhawk, the she-cat’s eyes wide with surprise.
Screeching in pure fury, Poppythorn gave a tremendous leap and landed square on the badger’s back - leaning down and grabbing one of the badger’s ears, tearing it off with several ferocious jerks of her head. The badger roared in anger and pain, rolling over in an attempt to crush Poppythorn. Gasping heavily as she felt her ribcage being squeezed by the weight, Poppythorn barely heard the second yowl as Spottednose jumped in out of nowhere and sliced his claw’s across the badger’s exposed belly. With another roar, the badger jumped up as quick as it could and began to back away, hissing at Spottednose as the tom snarled like a tiger, his tail lashing back and forth.
Poppythorn took in several large gasps and spun around, spotting Snowhawk’s white, unsettlingly still pelt lying down on the grass. Stumbling over to her best friend, the black she-cat lay a gentle paw on the fellow cat’s shoulder, shaking her. “S-Snowhawk? Snowhawk!” She yelled, biting her tongue as she saw the unnatural angle of the she-cat’s neck and the strange peaceful look in her eyes. Spottednose rested his tail on Poppythorn’s shoulder, trying to draw her closer. She shrugged him off and patted Snowhawk’s body, barely able to get words out. “S-Snow.. We have to get her to c-camp.” With a slight pause, Spottednose nodded his agreement and wriggled his larger body under Snowhawk’s smaller frame. Poppythorn cast a fearful look at Snowhawk before leading the way, her pawsteps heavy with grief.
As the two laid Snowhawk’s body down in the center of camp, Poppythorn glanced up as a yowl cut through the shocked murmurs of their clanmates. A few seconds later, she was shoved aside as Oakspot staggered to his sister’s body. He whirled around in anger, glaring at Poppythorn with a hatred she had never seen before.
“You! You did this! Was taking our kits not enough?!” He screamed at her, an ominous hardness in his eyes. Spottednose hissed angrily and stood up beside Poppythorn. Oakspot shot him a look of anger but took a few steps back, spinning his head around to his clanmates. “Do you not see that she is a curse?! She’s the reason my kits died! Sandpaw, Mottledclaw and now my sister, who will be next?”
Although her clanmates glared at Oakspot with a mixture of shock, horror and anger, Poppythorn’s eyes were trained on her paws. The whisper came back, repeating Oakspot’s words intensely, forcing paranoia to rear its ugly head like a beast from the void. Shaking her head in fear, Poppythorn backed away from Snowhawk’s body and raced out of camp - the last thing she heard was Spottednose screeching at Oakspot.
Lurking alone with herself and her thoughts, Poppythorn’s thoughts flickered between all the deaths of her loved ones. T-They can’t have been her fault. She cannot control greencough, or badgers. She couldn’t control the death of her kits. ”He’s a liar.” She stammered out. “He’s a liar but they believe him.” She growled,, grief and fear clouding the visions of her clanmates until they jeered and hissed with the voices of snakes. An anger filled her veins, filling them with an icy chill unlike the fire she had felt before.
“He’s a liar, liars must be dealt with.”
It was Greenleaf. It was night when Oakspot went hunting by himself near the Stoneclan border. It was night when an ebony cat followed him as silent as a shadow. The murderer tracked him to a spot near the border, where there were no other cats - not this late at night, surely.
The shadow-cloaked cat stalked Oakspot like a rabbit, pouncing on the tom and silencing him before he could utter a sound. Staring down at him, she felt a strange sense of triumph as she saw the look of fear and recognition before his eyes dulled.
She heard something, glancing up just in time to lock eyes with a brown tabby apprentice who was staring down at the murder scene. Tilting her head, she took a few steps towards the apprentice, who spun and fled back into Stoneclan territory the second she moved.
The murderer looked back down at their quarry, expecting to feel some sort of sorrow, yet, she didn’t. She felt powerful. Triumphant. A poisonous liar had been removed from the clan, making it stronger. Maybe this is what she was meant to do.
“Yes,” The murderer murmured to the cooling corpse, “I must dispose of the liars.”
It wasn’t until in the very early morning that Poppythorn arrived back in camp, dragging with her two rabbits. Dropping her freshkill, the ebony she-cat laughed as Spottednose came up to greet her before flinching backwards as his nose was assaulted by the smell of garlic. She explained that she had slipped in a patch of it whilst catching one of the rabbits, her brother leaning down to sniff the prey with a look of disgust.
Her tail twitching in amusement, Poppythorn retreated to her nest - exhausted from her hunt. She didn’t awake until sunhigh, drawn out by loud murmuring and shocked gasps. Leaving the warrior burrow, she spotted the brown pelt of Oakspot lying in the center of camp.
Sitting down, Poppythorn stayed where she was - staring up at the clouds with a strange peacefulness in her heart. Today seemed like a good day for hunting.
RP Example:
n/a
Other:
Were You Referred?
nah
Age: 38 Moons
Gender: She-cat
Clan: LightningClan
Rank: Senior Warrior
Picture:
Description: Poppythorn is, in short, a beautiful she-cat. She has a gorgeous blue-black pelt with short but thick fur. There is a patch of white hair on her chest that matches the shade of her whiskers. Her vivid orange eyes stand out against her pelt almost eerily. She has a lean build, not as powerful as some cats but her paws are still capable of delivering a nasty blow if you aren't careful. She has a broad muzzle, a very long, bushy tail and large ears, accompanied with large paws. Her shoulders and hindquarters are muscular, aiding in her hunting along with her unusually long front claws - for which she earned her suffix.
Description Summary:
A beautiful blue-black she-cat with bright orange eyes.
Personality:
Outwardly, Poppythorn is a very calm, patient she-cat with wisdom that seems beyond her moons. Most cats like to be near her because she gives off an almost motherly aura, providing comfort and encouragement willingly. She has a soft sense of humor and loves to laugh, although hers is more of a soft chuckle. Every Lightningclan cat knows that she loves her family dearly and she doesn't suffer the fools that insult them gladly. Poppythorn appears to have a soft spot for apprentices, kits and their queens. Although she listens to her leader willingly, her strongest sense of respect is for the medicine cats - whom had helped her greatly throughout her life.
Inwardly, Poppythorn is plagued by paranoia and a cold, terrifying hatred for liars. Although, hating liars by itself is not a bad thing - what she does, and desires to do, to them certainly is. In short, murder. A constant stream of heartbreak fed a strong streak of paranoia, which eventually poisoned her heart into believing the only way to help others was to get rid of those hurting them. A chilliness has seeped under fur and has grabbed her heart by the claws. Thankfully, she has yet to unleash this anger on a second cat but secretly is dreading and is excited for the day she will have to.
History:
In Lightningclan, there was a fierce she-cat called Mottledclaw who became mates with an ebony tom called Shadewing. Unlike most mates, the two bickered, wrestled and scrapped in order to show their bond; both coming out of a fight purring. The two cats valued their ranks within the clan, so Mottledclaw’s grouchy behaviour towards becoming a queen wasn’t entirely unexpected. She and Shadewing argued more frequently during her pregnancy - Mottledclaw longing for the freedom she had as a warrior and Shadewing, feeling strongly protective of his mate, ordering her to stay in the nursery.
Despite their conflicting opinions, the two’s hard exteriors melted when three kits were born at the start of Greenleaf. The eldest was a tom that had his mother’s golden-spotted pelt, he was called Spottedkit. The middle kit was a she-cat with a pelt as black-blue as her father’s, she was called Poppykit. The third was a scrawny ginger tabby she-cat called Sandkit. During the first few moons of their lives, Mottledclaw’s and Shadewing’s arguments softened considerably - much to the amusement of the other warriors.
The kits personalities developed rapidly during the moons to come. Spottedkit was a very blunt and energetic kit, sometimes overly so. Poppykit was quieter, almost seeming wiser, than her siblings but was no less fierce than Spottedkit. Sandkit was shyer than her older siblings and prefered to follow them around, flinching away from her parents whenever they tried to convince her to have a backbone. The three got along as well as most siblings, with the exception Poppykit and Spottedkit rolling their eyes whenever Sandkit got upset over a game.
The three became apprentices near the end of Leaf-fall. Poppypaw was given to an senior tom known as Owltalon. The two were very similar in personality, which is probably why they were put together. Patient and quiet, Owltalon would answer any and all of Poppypaw’s questions; never flinching from the grisly details of a battle.
Poppythorn’s strongest and most treasured memory of her mentor was when they were walking back from one of their many battle sessions.
“Owltalon… will I ever have to kill someone?” The black she-cat asked, glancing to the taller tom. There was no fear or apprehension in her eyes, merely pure curiosity. Staring down at his apprentice, Owltalon paused in front of a large black beetle.
“Death is a strange thing, Poppypaw.” He spoke slowly and softly, his voice reminding her of a snake sliding through leaves. “It seems untouchable but -” His white paw slowly crushed down on the beetle until its legs stopped wriggling and its shell cracked. “- we have the power to control it.”
Owltalon turned his head to Poppypaw, his eyes hardened into a stern stare. “However, death is permanent. Never take a life that does not deserve to be taken, Poppypaw. Never.”
Poppypaw, Spottedpaw and Sandpaw weren’t the only apprentices in Lightningclan. There were two others; a scruffy brown tom called Oakpaw and a lithe white she-cat called Snowpaw. Although she got along with Snowpaw fine, her brother Oakpaw always brushed Poppypaw’s fur the wrong way. His arrogant smirk whenever he saw her struggling to remember a battle move, his little swagger when he walked into camp with a piece of freshkill. It was infuriating and it didn’t help that he seemed intent on bothering her with idle chatter whenever they were together.
The black she-cat had swatted at her siblings and her father more than once for making fun of all the time she and Oakpaw spent together. She hated him! The way he’d be soft on her during battle training, like she was some kit needing protecting. The way he’d offer her his freshkill as if she weren’t competent enough to get it herself. The way he’d push himself next to her when it was cold out. Even the way he smiled at her caused her pelt to burn with rage. It was rage, right?
The three’s training was going very well. Poppypaw and Spottedpaw were proving to be very talented at battle training, Mottledclaw boasting that they took after their mother. Sandpaw, on the other hand, had become incredibly light-footed - able to sneak up on the jumpiest rabbit until she was practically on top of it. Her family were amazed when she once returned to camp with a hare larger than she was, her mentor Swallowtail helping her carry it, and an even larger grin on her face.
Sadly, near the end of that leaf-fall, a terrible bought of greencough hit all the clans. Many cats became sick, including Snowheart, one of the medicine cats, and Sandpaw. Feeling her heartbreak at watching her sick sister struggle so feebly against the illness, Poppypaw would sneak into the medicine cat den whenever she could to whisper words of encouragement to Sandpaw whilst she rested. Oakpaw found out what Poppypaw was doing and confronted her about it, saying that she was putting herself at risk. Of course, Poppypaw did not like that one bit and snapped at him - yelling about how she wouldn’t care if she caught the sickness, as long as her sister got better. The tom snarled back, claiming that even if Poppypaw wouldn’t care if she got sick, he would, and stalked off; leaving Poppypaw even angry and confused than before.
Oakpaw’s warning proved true, and Poppypaw soon fell sick with whitecough which quickly developed into greencough - much to her annoyance. Near delirious with sickness, Poppypaw couldn’t tell if it was night or day, nor could she tell how many days had passed. The she-cat could remember her mother and father coming in, Mottledclaw near having to hold Shadewing back by the scruff as he yowled for his daughters. Her mentor had come in a few times to give her the same words of encouragement she gave Sandpaw - but when he came into the den for the final time, he was reeking of the sickness himself. She remembered her brother coming in to bring she and Sandpaw freshkill that he had caught himself. Spottedpaw told her stories of the prey he had hunted and the battle moves he had learned and he always smiled - yet somehow the smile didn’t quite reached his eyes. During one of his visits, the tom could only choke out a few words before quickly curling up next to his sisters - a kit-like mewl escaping his throat as he wailed over their illness.
One of her clearer memories was of Oakpaw. The brown tom had walked over to her nest and curled up next to her, burying his nose in her fur. She tried to rasp out a question, asking him what he was doing here, but he flicked his tail against her muzzle to quiet her. His chest heaved heavily and she could hear him mutter. “I told you you would get sick. I told you but you’re too caring for your own good.” Poppypaw had let out a sore purr before sinking back into her wavering moments of consciousness.
What seemed like seasons passed and one day Poppypaw woke up, her head and chest feeling clearer than they had in awhile. She looked around, uncertain of where everyone was and shakily rose to her paws, which felt weak and wobbly. Stumbling like a newborn, Poppypaw reached the entrance of the medicine cat den - wincing as her eyes got used to the light. As her eyes adjusted, they widened as she saw nearly the whole clan gathered in the center of the camp.
“H-Hello?” She broke off into quiet coughing, her voice rusty from neglect. Suddenly, Spottedpaw was at her side, a choked purr coming from his throat in broken spurts.
“It’s fine Poppypaw, we’re all fine.” He muttered, his voice sounding dull, and he tried to push her back into the medicine cat den.
Despite being as weak as she was, Poppypaw knew that something was up and she shoved past her brother, who meekly followed her. Her pawsteps slowed as she walked through the cluster of cats, feeling uneasy by the looks filled with sorrow and sympathy that she saw. Both her heart and paws stopped as she saw a familiar ginger tabby pelt lying next to Snowheart, Owltalon and a few others. Mottledclaw lifted her head from the pelt and blinked unseeingly at Poppypaw, turning to press her face back into the pelt. Unable to move, Poppypaw stared at her sister’s body - vaguely aware of her brother pressing his face into her shoulder and Oakpaw silently pushing himself into her other side. There was a large flash of black fur and the she-cat became aware of Shadewing grabbed his remaining kits and pulled them in close - Oakpaw stumbling backwards to grant the three some privacy to grieve as a family.
Several moons passed and the pain of Sandpaw’s death began to ebb into a dull ache. Poppypaw, Spottedpaw, Oakpaw and Snowpaw were granted their warrior names; Poppythorn, Spottednose, Oakspot and Snowhawk. Poppythorn and Spottednose purred to each other and then locked eyes with their beaming parents, a brief flicker of sadness linking them together as they grieved for Sandpaw, who never received her warrior name. Oakspot nudged Poppythorn, his eyes glinting with pride and merriment and he grinned to his sister, who had her chin held as high as she could.
The four remained close as warriors, Poppythorn and Oakspot gradually growing closer until the elders started asking them when the kits were due - much to their embarrassment. Oakspot took this thought of kits very seriously and even began trying to discuss kit names with Poppythorn until she begged him to stop, amusement in her eyes.
As with all mates, Poppythorn eventually became pregnant with a litter during Greenleaf. She had a hunch when her belly began to swell and it felt as though she had swallowed a bunch of worms. After meeting with Rookfrost and his apprentice Kindleflare, it was confirmed that she was indeed carrying kits. Scared but excited, Poppythorn left the medicine cat den and walked over to Oakspot to give him the good news. The black she-cat regretted it that instant because the tom practically jumped into the air with a jovial yowl and raced around the camp, bragging and yelling about the kits to any cat he saw. Spottednose was more calm and gave his sister a loving lick between the ears, although she could see an excitement that matched her mate’s flickering in his eyes at the thought of being an uncle.
As protective of Poppythorn as Shadewing had been to Mottledclaw, Oakspot refused to let her step foot outside of camp, near forcing her to sleep in the nursery despite only being a moon pregnant. Sighing, Poppythorn eventually agreed to do as she asked - wondering how she would spend the next few weeks trapped in the camp.
Sadly, the wait for the kits was cut short.
One night, Poppythorn awoke to strong pains in her abdomen. Looking up, her sleepiness evaporated instantly as she saw her hindquarters soaked in blood. She heaved herself to her paws, gasping as the pain got even worse as she moved. The queen limped out of the nursery and half-ran, half-hobbled to the medicine cat den - quietly yowling for Rookfrost and Kindleflare. Whimpering and confused, Poppythorn listened to their instructions blindly, taking heavy laboured breaths as she lay down on the nest. Hearing footsteps, she looked to the den’s entrance, expecting Oakspot but finding Spottednose instead. Her brother was bleeding from the ear and seemed out of breath, although she didn’t know why. She mewled pitifully at her brother and he rushed down to her, staring at the blood in pure shock and fear. The ginger tom snapped at the two medicine cats, demanding they help Poppythorn at once - glaring at them as they gave her juniper berries to help her breathing, poppy seeds to ease the pain and thyme to help her with the shock. Speechless, Poppythorn ate the herbs without question and rested her head on her paws - eyes misty as she felt in her heart that she had lost the precious lives inside of her.
She stayed in the medicine cat den for a week afterwards, Kindleflare gently giving her the news that she had suspected all along - that she had lost her kits. Numb from shock and heartbreak, Poppythorn merely nodded to the medicine cat, murmuring a “thank you” where most queens would’ve wailed or screamed for the lives they had lost. Thankfully, the medicine cats didn’t rush to force Poppythorn out of the medicine cat den. It was nearing the end of Greenleaf but there were no outbreaks of illness yet. Mottledclaw visited Poppythorn whilst she was recovering but no words were shared, her mother curling up with her daughter and purring soft songs to comfort the heartbroken she-cat.
With Spottednose’s help, Poppythorn moved back into her nest at the start of Leaf-fall. The first thing she noticed was Oakspot’s scent. Or lack thereof. Blinking in confusion, the ebony she-cat found out Oakspot’s nest had been moved away from hers. She asked Spottednose about it but the tom shook his head in silence, the anger blazing in his eyes giving her more questions than answers.
Over the next few days, Poppythorn rarely saw Oakspot but it was clear he was ignoring her whenever she saw him and she noticed a fresh set of scars around his left eye. Confused and hurt, Poppythorn stayed near her brother most of the time - finding comfort in his presence. One day, Snowhawk approached Poppythorn with sadness in her eyes. The two friends quickly settled back into their previous relationship, Snowhawk expressing sorrow over the loss of Poppythorn’s kits as the ebony she-cat merely nodded - not keen to remember the ordeal. Eventually, Poppythorn started to question Snowhawk about Oakspot’s sudden avoidance. The white she-cat was clearly uncomfortable and seemed almost angry about something and finally, she told Poppythorn what had happened.
“When you lost your kits, he was devastated.” Snowhawk started to explain on a hunting patrol the two had gone on together. “He snapped at anyone who wanted to visit you, including me, when you were in the medicine cat den.” She paused in her path and sat down, ashamed of her brother’s actions. “He even tried to stop Spottednose from visiting, but your brother wrestled him to the ground and near bit his face off. Mottledclaw too, but he quickly backed down when he saw how, uh, angry she was.”
Poppythorn frowned at what she assumed was Oakspot’s protectiveness. “Well, I appreciate his concern but that seems a bit overboard-” She started to speak, trailing off as she saw the look on Snowhawk’s face. “...What is it?”
Snowhawk flinched inwardly but stuttered out a response. “H-He wasn’t protecting you.” A look of disgust crossed the she-cat’s features and she spat out the next few words angrily. “H-He said that you d-deserved to be lonely, without y-your family and your kits. Like you lost them on purpose!” The white she-cat shoved herself against Poppythorn, her gesture of kindness a bit rough due to her anger. “Everyone knows their loss wasn’t your fault! He’s gone mad!”
Poppythorn remained silent as Snowhawk ranted about Oakspot, shock once again taking over her mind. “Wasn’t it my fault?” She whispered, Oakspot’s words settling into her wounded heart like an infection.
The ebony she-cat flinched backwards as Snowhawk’s face was suddenly in hers, the fellow warrior’s green eyes burning like a furnace. “Of course it wasn’t! Oakspot is j-j-just… he’s being a foxheart!” Poppythorn blinked in surprise at Snowhawk’s ferocity over her brother.
A whisper from the back of her mind echoed Snowhawk’s words, giving them a tone of doubt. She’s just saying that, of course it was your fault… They were yours. The warrior shook her head harshly to clear the strange thoughts and stood up. “Come on, we should keep hunting.” She said, her tone of voice inviting no further discussion.
Two seasons passed and it was soon Newleaf. Thankfully, there had been no epidemic during that leafbare and the lack of loss had put a hopeful vibe into the camp. However, Poppythorn still felt lost. The fellow warriors of her clan had given her words of comfort about the loss of her kits, arguing against Oakspot’s view if he came up, and Poppythorn accepted their words graciously. Except for the one’s about Oakspot. Was that a flicker of disbelief in their eyes when they say it was an accident? Did they nod slight agreements when Oakspot muttered about the kits’ deaths being on purpose? Paranoia had set into her mind like a rot and each word she heard would echo “liars, liars, liars!” in the back of her head.
Greencough hit the clan suddenly and powerfully. Mottledclaw had passed due to the sickness, the loss of their mother cutting Poppythorn and Spottednose deeply and the two were given fresh grief overlaying the scars of Sandpaw and the unborn kits. Shadewing especially felt as though he couldn’t carry on and retired to the elders den, whimpering for his dead mate during his sleep and staying silent throughout the day.
Only a few days passed before another loss was suffered. Poppythorn and Snowhawk had gone on another hunting patrol, the ebony and ivory she-cats having become close friends since their discussion about Oakspot.
“Look! Rabbit.” Snowhawk hissed quietly, her belly dropping like a stone into the hunting crouch - much to Poppythorn’s amusement. The white she-cat edged forward, closer and closer until she got within pouncing distance.
A thud of paws and a startled squeak signaled a successful hunt and Poppythorn began to walk over to Snowhawk when a strong, sour scent hit her nose. Pausing in confusion, she glanced over her shoulder and then back to Snowhawk. “Hey! Can you smell bad-” She started to yowl but paused in horror as a large black and white shape slammed into Snowhawk, the she-cat’s eyes wide with surprise.
Screeching in pure fury, Poppythorn gave a tremendous leap and landed square on the badger’s back - leaning down and grabbing one of the badger’s ears, tearing it off with several ferocious jerks of her head. The badger roared in anger and pain, rolling over in an attempt to crush Poppythorn. Gasping heavily as she felt her ribcage being squeezed by the weight, Poppythorn barely heard the second yowl as Spottednose jumped in out of nowhere and sliced his claw’s across the badger’s exposed belly. With another roar, the badger jumped up as quick as it could and began to back away, hissing at Spottednose as the tom snarled like a tiger, his tail lashing back and forth.
Poppythorn took in several large gasps and spun around, spotting Snowhawk’s white, unsettlingly still pelt lying down on the grass. Stumbling over to her best friend, the black she-cat lay a gentle paw on the fellow cat’s shoulder, shaking her. “S-Snowhawk? Snowhawk!” She yelled, biting her tongue as she saw the unnatural angle of the she-cat’s neck and the strange peaceful look in her eyes. Spottednose rested his tail on Poppythorn’s shoulder, trying to draw her closer. She shrugged him off and patted Snowhawk’s body, barely able to get words out. “S-Snow.. We have to get her to c-camp.” With a slight pause, Spottednose nodded his agreement and wriggled his larger body under Snowhawk’s smaller frame. Poppythorn cast a fearful look at Snowhawk before leading the way, her pawsteps heavy with grief.
As the two laid Snowhawk’s body down in the center of camp, Poppythorn glanced up as a yowl cut through the shocked murmurs of their clanmates. A few seconds later, she was shoved aside as Oakspot staggered to his sister’s body. He whirled around in anger, glaring at Poppythorn with a hatred she had never seen before.
“You! You did this! Was taking our kits not enough?!” He screamed at her, an ominous hardness in his eyes. Spottednose hissed angrily and stood up beside Poppythorn. Oakspot shot him a look of anger but took a few steps back, spinning his head around to his clanmates. “Do you not see that she is a curse?! She’s the reason my kits died! Sandpaw, Mottledclaw and now my sister, who will be next?”
Although her clanmates glared at Oakspot with a mixture of shock, horror and anger, Poppythorn’s eyes were trained on her paws. The whisper came back, repeating Oakspot’s words intensely, forcing paranoia to rear its ugly head like a beast from the void. Shaking her head in fear, Poppythorn backed away from Snowhawk’s body and raced out of camp - the last thing she heard was Spottednose screeching at Oakspot.
Lurking alone with herself and her thoughts, Poppythorn’s thoughts flickered between all the deaths of her loved ones. T-They can’t have been her fault. She cannot control greencough, or badgers. She couldn’t control the death of her kits. ”He’s a liar.” She stammered out. “He’s a liar but they believe him.” She growled,, grief and fear clouding the visions of her clanmates until they jeered and hissed with the voices of snakes. An anger filled her veins, filling them with an icy chill unlike the fire she had felt before.
“He’s a liar, liars must be dealt with.”
It was Greenleaf. It was night when Oakspot went hunting by himself near the Stoneclan border. It was night when an ebony cat followed him as silent as a shadow. The murderer tracked him to a spot near the border, where there were no other cats - not this late at night, surely.
The shadow-cloaked cat stalked Oakspot like a rabbit, pouncing on the tom and silencing him before he could utter a sound. Staring down at him, she felt a strange sense of triumph as she saw the look of fear and recognition before his eyes dulled.
She heard something, glancing up just in time to lock eyes with a brown tabby apprentice who was staring down at the murder scene. Tilting her head, she took a few steps towards the apprentice, who spun and fled back into Stoneclan territory the second she moved.
The murderer looked back down at their quarry, expecting to feel some sort of sorrow, yet, she didn’t. She felt powerful. Triumphant. A poisonous liar had been removed from the clan, making it stronger. Maybe this is what she was meant to do.
“Yes,” The murderer murmured to the cooling corpse, “I must dispose of the liars.”
It wasn’t until in the very early morning that Poppythorn arrived back in camp, dragging with her two rabbits. Dropping her freshkill, the ebony she-cat laughed as Spottednose came up to greet her before flinching backwards as his nose was assaulted by the smell of garlic. She explained that she had slipped in a patch of it whilst catching one of the rabbits, her brother leaning down to sniff the prey with a look of disgust.
Her tail twitching in amusement, Poppythorn retreated to her nest - exhausted from her hunt. She didn’t awake until sunhigh, drawn out by loud murmuring and shocked gasps. Leaving the warrior burrow, she spotted the brown pelt of Oakspot lying in the center of camp.
Sitting down, Poppythorn stayed where she was - staring up at the clouds with a strange peacefulness in her heart. Today seemed like a good day for hunting.
RP Example:
n/a
Other:
- Poppythorn is fully willing to kill, even if the liar isn't threatening her, or even her clan. Although she doesn't want to admit it, she wants to feel that rush from the hunt again.
- Sorrelpaw who belongs to williams is the SC apprentice that saw Poppythorn at Oakspot's murder.
- Poppythorn is a fertile, healthy she-cat. The miscarriage of her kits was a tragic accident.
Were You Referred?
nah