sablefrost of creekclan

the first thing one notices upon coming across sablefrost is that he is a very large cat. he's built strong, with broad, muscled shoulders and powerful hind legs. his thick fur does little to hide these features: even through the padding of his pelt his muscles ripple in the greenleaf moons. his body is covered in a lush blanketing of long, soft fur, a rich sable color after which he was named. it is thickest at his long, plume-like tail, and along his belly and the backs of his hindlegs, shorter and dense around his face and paws. he is a lovely rosy brown across most of his body, his face, ears, tail, and feet deepening to a rich brown-black tone and his underbelly and sides lightening into a creamy gold. this smooth gradient is broken up by smatterings of white markings as though he were dipped in paint: it marks along his paws and underbelly, all the way up to a streak along the bridge of his nose like a horse's blaze. his face is fairly handsome: broad, with strong cheekbones and small, widely-spaced ears, marked with distinctively pale whiskers. his eyes are undoubtedly his strongest facial feature, however: almond-shaped and a pale, clear blue, they have a habit of seeming to look clean through everything, sharp and intelligent. his pelt and face are marked with numerous small scars that heal and are quickly replaced in skirmishes, though none are particularly memorable.


















fleck and maple had known each other for their entire lives, and then some, it seemed: both as products of a long, long line of shadowclan cats, Fleck's mother even claiming that his line could be traced back to shadow herself. their families had stayed close after the fall of the clans, and when the time came the two cats were expected to beget the next generation of what was considered by their families to be the only viable line of shadowclan cats in existence any longer. whether there was any real attraction between the two in the first place is unknown to their son, and really rather irrelevant to the story in general: fleck spoke of his mate fondly and was aggrieved when she died, so there must have been love enough at some point, whether or not it came around before or after they became mates.

the litter was healthy: two kits, both of them sharing their mother's lovely siamese patterning. they were named mink and sable, to reflect their fur. sable was outright the bigger, stronger sibling, though also the quieter one: he played with his brother like was expected for a kitten, but he would also sit at the edge of the nest and stare off into space to the point where it disturbed his parents. there was nothing wrong with him, however. he was simply thinking, observing his surroundings in periods of extended silence that he is still noted for doing to this day. mink was much more playful and excitable, often to the point of sheer stupidity. regardless of their clear traits, positive or negative, they were loved very dearly by their parents, though they didn't have both of them for very long.

mink and sable were barely four moons of age when their mother was slaughtered. it is far enough behind him in his past that sablefrost has very little memory of the event outside of the hatred he still feels deep in his heart, but it was a gruesome spectacle for the kits to endure. maple left them with their father to hunt for food: in the dead of leafbare prey was scarce, and she traveled far, to the outskirts of twoleg nests in the hope of finding food for herself and her family. she was set upon, then, by older twoleg children - not quite kits, but not adults, perhaps apprentices - with sticks and heavy objects. she was unable to escape, and the furious, horrified yowls of the parents came too late to save her. fleck found her body among the twoleg trash when he traced her scent, worried after she never returned home. this event, though hazy in sablefrost's mind now, has spurned a blind hatred for twolegs and everything they associate with: even the cats that they care for.

left as a single father caring for two kits, fleck set about instilling the warrior ideals in their heads that their mother had been indifferent on. it was a life of nobility and strength, and it filled young sable's head with the stories of broad, sleek shoulder and proud heads, sharp claws catching prey and defending territory. he was in love with the concept from the start; mink, however, was not so captivated. he much preferred to create his own stories than to listen to the ones his father told. this is the first rift, among many, that forms between the two brothers. sable begins to gravitate towards the concept of clan life, while mink begins to turn his back on it.

fleck spent many moons training his sons as though they are apprentices, teaching them the hunting and fighting techniques that his parents taught him and their parents before them taught them. this is the second rift between mink and sable. sable delighted in learning the techniques and honed skills of his ancestors, and thus excelled at anything he was put towards. mink, however, showed little interest. "if i can catch a mouse," he reasoned, "and i can hold my own in a fight, why should i learn this nonsense?" sable was not satisfied with such meager expectations. he wanted to be the best from the beginning, and in his eyes, shadowclan was the embodiment of the best.

fleck was not long with them, either. around sable and mink's fourteenth moon he died of a horrible flurry of symptoms: after drinking a strange, delicious liquid near an abandoned twoleg nest, he began to grow weak and lethargic, vomiting and seizing and unable to focus on or respond to his frightened kits. his death was far too slow for the pain he suffered. left alone with no one else to care for but each other, sable and mink began traveling beyond the place they called home, for once bonded by their mutual loss and loneliness. it was as though their struggles had eliminated their differences. this, however, was short-lived.

while they were nesting in an unknown and unfamiliar territory, they were set upon by a group of curious rogues. at their head was creek, a beautiful and proud she-cat that immediately captivated sable with her words about rebuilding the clans of old. his shadowclan blood, running as thick in his veins as if he were still among those glorious warriors, and his knowledge of their history and techniques made him a viable future warrior. however, the final rift between mink and sable split them apart like a great many cracks in a block of ice, finally separating from the pressure. mink was condescending of their mission, their attempts to live in fairy tales and old elders' stories instead of focusing on what was right in front of them. an infuriated sable made an ultimatum for his brother: come with them and create the clan, or end their travels and relationship together. mink chose the latter.

and so sable went with creek and her cats, leaving the only blood he had left on the earth behind. it was a moment of surprising clarity for him: there was nothing he would put above his desires and passions, not even his own flesh and blood. and he was fine with that. there was little remorse for him. at the creation of creekclan sable was named a warrior, sablefrost, for his cool, sometimes unfeeling exterior and the frost-blue eyes that could spot even the smallest details. his entire life became dedicated to creekclan until he cared about absolutely nothing else. the love he felt for the stories of shadowclan was poured into the world of creekclan, developing into a respect for the warrior code in general and for the two clans that make up his new family. for him, there is nothing else. no mink, no fleck, no maple: they are part of a past that does nothing for his future. and everything that does not help his clan must be cast aside and forgotten.



hawktalon, as was his nature, rarely allowed himself to grieve. when loss came to him, it came to his clan also, and he could not give himself time to cope when shadowclan needed him to be strong. this was the case even now, as the cats around him mourned a fallen leader. it was not that he didn't feel pain: darkstar was far too young to lose all nine of his lives so savagely, and the injustice of it tore at him. but as his clanmates grieved, hawktalon did not give himself time to tend the wounds on his heart; instead he padded from cat to cat, offering soft words of reassurance. the clan would live on, he reassured everyone, and smallstar would lead them well. this continued long into the night, until hawktalon's eyes burned and his stomach ached with hunger, but he only stopped his quiet patrol of his griefstruck clanmates when the brambles at the entrance rustled and smallstar shouldered through, rainpaw on his heels.

hawktalon's whiskers twitched. the she-cat had left the camp utterly devastated, predictably - darkstar had been her mentor, and she'd suffered enough loss in her life that to lose him so soon was simply cruel. but as she followed her father into the camp, rainpaw's eyes were blazing with a new intensity, a new purpose that seemed to fill her with strength. hawktalon could almost feel the ferocity of it pulsing off of her fur. smallstar, too, seemed to have found a new reservoir of strength, and his steps were purposeful as he made his way up the nightstone and summoned his clan to stand before him. the cats all moved so slowly, grief weighing their pawsteps, but there was hope in their eyes; hawktalon seated himself behind them, ears perked to listen.

smallstar began, to his mild surprise, with a different sort of ceremony: sootpaw, heronpaw, and rainpaw stood before him to receive their warrior names. hawktalon was disappointed, though not surprised, to see that jaypaw did not join his siblings - the young tom would need further polishing before receiving his full name, the older cat knew. perhaps he would speak to him later; this would not be a particularly kind experience on the young apprentice, he knew. each cat received their name with delight, and he called out with his clan as they welcomed their new warriors with increasing fervor. sootwhisker. heronflight. rainsky. cats born anew with the thrill of serving their clan, fresh and able - the next generation of warriors. the sentimentality of it nearly took hawktalon's breath away. he watched, half-stricken, as smallstar stepped forward to the curled body of darkstar, the scent of death smothered with lavender.

"i say these words before starclan, so that the spirits of our ancestors may hear and approve of my choice. the new deputy of shadowclan is hawktalon.”

what?

hawktalon's eyes widened as many pairs of eyes swiveled towards him, luminous in the dim light. him, deputy? the older tom studied smallstar with an honestly confused expression. he was the oldest warrior in the clan, so far past his prime - surely smallstar needed a younger cat to serve beside him? but he found no trace of jest in the new leader's eyes, and hawktalon closed his own, taking a deep breath. he had always served his clan with all of his strength, even when his dying breath seemed close at hand. this would be no different. opening his eyes again he fixed smallstar with a look fierce with dedication. "i will serve my clan greater than i ever have before," he promised in his raspy mew, and he meant every word.

this template was made by dannimarie for darkened skies
stealing is not tolerated and will be reported.