[murk]

Name: Littleclaw
Age: 40
Gender: she-cat
Clan: GorgeClan (formerly TreeClan)
Rank: Queen

Picture: link

Description:

Littleclaw bears few of the traits of your typical warrior. Her thick, soft fur, plump cheeks, and lack of musculature make her look more like a kittypet than a Clan cat. Her diminutive size combined with round, innocent green eyes give her a young, almost kittenlike appearance that she has failed to grow out of with the passing seasons. Perhaps growing up with so little to eat in a terrible leaf-bare stunted her growth early, or perhaps it was having kits so soon after becoming a warrior.

Littleclaw has always been very well-taken-care-of. Her pelt is soft, lush, and lacking in scars, with a thick undercoat and a lighter brown body with tabby ticking. Her ears are small and round, as are most of her facial features. A small nose, short muzzle, and short whiskers finish her face, and there are no signs of past hardship in her mild, placid expression. As a permanent nursery queen, she has always had access to fresh-kill whenever she needed it, and it shows. That said, wear and tear has taken its toll on her body and her belly flap sags low to the ground, hanging low enough that it swishes against the grass when she walks.

Description Summary: A diminutive light brown she-cat with a round face and green eyes.

Personality: "Did you say your name was Littleclaw? Not Littlecloud, or Littleflower? You're absolutely sure?"

Docile, compliant, and soft to the core, the way Littleclaw earned her so-called warrior name is a mystery. As far as anyone knows, she has never lifted a claw in battle, or even against a fellow Clanmate in an argument. She always seems to back down rather than ever actually speaking her mind, she seems to have no skills except for giving birth, and she has been a queen so long that her clanmates expect her to remain so indefinitely.

Despite raising many different litters of kits over the seasons, Littleclaw has never been a particularly caring or attentive mate or mother. She seems resigned or even numb to her fate in the nursery. For seasons, her "role" in the Clan has been popping out the next generation of loyal warriors without issue or complaint. While she has never been cruel or abusive to her kits, she can be seen as sort of a "robot" parent, so used to the kit-rearing process that there is little actual thought or feeling put into it.

The problem is that Littleclaw is almost never not rearing kits. She's been on "autopilot" so long that there's nothing left to switch back to, so she goes through her days in a kind of haze, distantly going through the motions. Truthfully, Littleclaw knows she never wanted this life, but lacks the willpower and confidence to rejoin her "real" warrior clanmates after so long away from real duties.

Littleclaw tries to be helpful in her own dull, domestic way. She cleans out soiled bedding, repairs dens, and quietly does "apprentice" chores around camp without being asked. When she's not nursing a litter, she tries to keep a low profile and keep her head down in camp, distantly hoping no one will take notice of her and accuse her of being a useless burden. Well, almost useless.

The idea of taking another mate after the earthquake finally freed her from her last one fills Littleclaw with a deep dread. She feels it's finally time to make a change in her life, and take her paws in a new direction. But where does she even begin?

History:

For a cat who has brought so many siblings into the world, Littlekit was born alone, the single kit of her litter in a bitter leaf-bare that tested TreeClan at every turn. There were concerns when she was born about her size making her a poor warrior, but most of these concerns relaxed when she survived the terrible winter and began her apprenticeship that greenleaf under Dartfur, a capable young warrior who'd earned the trust of his Clan.

Dartfur was very taken with Littlepaw. His fondness for the adorable young she-cat he'd taken under his wing grew deeper, becoming an obsession. He began to abuse his position as her mentor to have her close to him, turning her into his waking shadow. Dartfur doted on Littlepaw. Hunting patrols turned into "watch me while I hunt, I don't want you to get your paws dirty." Battle training turned into long grooming and cuddling sessions where he apologized for laying a claw on her and swore to never do it again, even when she wasn't hurt at all. Worst of all, he bragged about her, boasting to the other warriors about her fighting prowess to cover up what he'd never taught her.

Another cat might have snuck away, sought out other training, tried to teach themselves. But Littlepaw felt that she had to be grateful. She had no right to stand up to her mentor. Surely he knew what was best. How could she betray what he was doing when he was doing it all for her sake?

She didn't have the courage to tell anyone what was happening. Not even when Dartfur lied about her passing her assessment, when he'd taken her to a beautiful meadow of flowers and confessed his love instead. Not even when the TreeClan leader at the time looked proudly down on her and gave her her warrior name, Littleclaw, in honor of the battle skills she reportedly hid within such a tiny body. What was she supposed to do when a real battle came along?

She couldn't take that shame. She couldn't take that chance.

It all fell into place. Dartfur became her mate out of necessity and guilt, not love. And when that battle finally did reach TreeClan's borders, Littleclaw was already tucked away safely in the nursery, protected by brave warriors sworn to protect the unborn kits in her belly. No cat ever knew. No cat would ever know.

So years passed. She gave birth many times. Dartfur was eager to expand his family-- he wanted to protect her, as he always had. Her kits came and went. Some of them died young. Some of them made it through their apprenticeships. Some of them didn't. The life of a warrior was cruel, and Littlecloud was spared time and time again from facing it.

It was the earthquake, at last, that sent a tremor through their dull, comfortable routine. An earthquake that uprooted the Clans and killed countless cats-- including Dartfur. She was surprised to feel no grief-- and no fear, either, as she had felt in the past when she'd wondered how she'd find another mate to continue her lifestyle if he ever left her.

The Clans were changing. The world was changing.

Maybe it was finally time for Littleclaw to change too.


Other: she's a housewife having a midlife crisis lmao