pitchpaw of hillclan

pitchpaw streak
10 moons || homosexual || apprentice

well, this is my confession, yes, yes
god bless the sad and selfish
stay helpless.

ever since her kithood, pitchpaw was a very striking cat in appearance. that is, after all, what she is named after: the distinctive slashes of deepest shadow that marked the lustrous russet of her pelt, black as the pitch and spreading like the branches of a deadened tree from the trunk of her spine. she takes great pride in her pelt, that is for sure. a name is a promise, a highlight of specialty, and though her name describes her appearance and not her capabilities as a warrior, it still is only sensible to keep herself true to her name. with this logic she grooms her pelt frequently, keeping it shiny and dense. it is the trademark of her appearance, passed down from her mother, and one of the first things one might recognize of her or mention in a description of her to another cat.

pitchpaw is also the bearer of a pair of bright eyes, pale and soft green in color, standing out especially with the dark striping around the lids. they are piercing, judgmental eyes, ones that seem to stare straight past your face and pry open the darkest corners of your mind. of course, she is no psychic, simply blessed with an interestingly light eye-color for her face and the tendency to stare, narrow-eyed, at others; even without some strange power they are intimidating indeed. these piercing eyes are set in a sharp, strong triangular face with high cheekbones and a long muzzle. her whisker pads, chin, and throat are all a bright white, leading down into an equally pale underside that is marked occasionally with those same pitch stripes that mark her elsewhere.

of build, pitchpaw is a sturdy cat, with strong limbs and a muscled chest and hindquarters. she is not, therefore, lean or thin of build as is expected for her clan, but she does not entirely bear the bulkiness of a creek or forest cat. this cat is built most clearly for stealth, able to hang low to the ground if necessary but still retaining the length of leg to step high over any undergrowth that might hinder her sneaking. her musculature comes from genetics geared specifically toward that purpose, and she has potential not just to fight and hunt, but to maintain an incredible amount of control over every part of her body. she is an elegant creature, and each motion is with fluidity; the beginning of the mastery of her own form is clear in every step she takes, even more so when she is tracking her prey or tailing her opponent in preparation for that fearsome strike. pitchpaw is built for elegance, for self-discipline, and for learned skill rather than a born capability when it comes to her current clan. she has the proper build, yes, for working amongst the trees, but she is not a treeclan cat - she has the discipline to move nimbly across swamps, but she is not a creekclan cat. her most important feature in the eyes of her clan is lacking significantly compared to her other abilities. indeed she can run fast, but her stamina certainly needs work, and her build is not made for the hair-thin movements and flexibility of her fellows of windclan descent.


one of pitchpaw's greatest traits is her impressive intelligence and quick wit. she is a cat that can think swiftly and innovatively, able to find a novel concept within a shorter span of time than her fellows. this makes her an incredibly skilled hunter and a gifted tactician, which is a massive asset to her clan that outshines her rather commonplace fighting skills. she is not the strongest cat of hillclan, nor the most skilled with her paws, but her mind is sharper than any claw and she can easily outsmart an unsuspecting enemy without needing to attempt - and most likely fail - to overpower or outmaneuver them. when she's focused she is allowed a reservoir of calm that she can draw from in moments of strain, which gives her a clear, level head on the battlefield. she is an anxious cat by nature, deep within, and it has taken seasons to master her mind and body, but at this point in her life she is quite skilled at it.


pitchpaw is not easily deterred from any goal she has. as an early apprentice, pitchpaw surprised her mentor when she writhed through a dense bramble bush to get at a nest of baby mice, a rare find in hillclan territory. her ears were torn, her nose slashed and her pelt patched and bleeding in some places, but she came out with the mice by their tails, as proud as ever. she will face any enemy no matter how outmatched she may be, and being injured does not particularly affect her until after the fact. it's almost eerie, to watch her reach such an intense focus while fighting that being laid open to the bone barely elicits a flinch from her. once her focus is gone, however, pitchpaw is hit by the intensity of her injuries to the point of taking her breath away. unfortunately for her, this makes it impossible for her to tell when she should retreat instead of continuing a fight that she cannot win, and while more alert, sensible cats may be turning tail, she is still flashing teeth and claws. border skirmishes, for this reason, can often end with her much worse for wear than her clanmates. it's a grievance for her, to be sure, but a strong asset in battle, freeing her from lesser distractions.


when it comes to companionship, pitchpaw's mentality does not quite suit her position. as a member of a clan she is meant to bond inexorably with her fellows, tie tight the ropes that hold them all together and forge them in steel and obsidian. however, pitchpaw has always been a lonely cat. be it her kithood spent as the outcast of her parents' litter, or be it her penchant for insisting she learn to harness her own mind and not so much its connection to others; whatever is to blame, pitchpaw is just as content to be alone as she is to be with her clanmates. that is not to say that she does not love them, or that she would rather live the life of a rogue. her clan means everything to her, and she is content to live as a member of a greater whole. she is simply not, and will never be, a social butterfly of any sort. she will speak when spoken to, and at times issue commands, but for the most part she keeps to herself. it is simply how she is.


pitchpaw is a cunning cat, that cannot be denied. whether that is a good or a bad thing, however, is a question that can only be answered in context. it is no surprise that an intelligent cat might focus their mind on some form of manipulation, of considering and processing how to warp a situation to best suit their own interests. in a warrior, this can be a valuable trait. a silver tongue and quick mind can win territory and deter warfare, can bring allies and knock down enemies. but a cat whose cunning mind turns from the good of the clan to the good of the self is a cat who is on the darker path, and at times, pitchpaw has been known to take those shadowed pawsteps. her sly mind is a tool, much like a blade: used correctly it can carve a thing of beauty and mastery, but wielded with wrong intentions, and it can steal the breath of life. such is pitchpaw's mind, and such is the dilemma that starclan witnesses with each passing day of her warrior hood.


there are a great many ways to handle personal slights. many cats might hold a forgiving mentality, a whisper of 'forgive and forget,' but pitchpaw is not one of those weaker sort. a wrong committed by another is not so easily forgotten, and in the near or distant future, pitchpaw will repay it tenfold. this does nothing to endear her even to her own clanmates, let alone to other rival warriors. such behavior is seen as hateful, even as warmongering, but pitchpaw believes it justified. why should any cat be allowed to wrong her, and yet not suspect an answering wrong? life is full of checks and balances, and in the hillclan apprentice’s mind, it keeps the semblance of law and order to take vengeance when a slight is committed. yet her grudge will often get away from her, and her reactions may often seem extreme (lose a hair, take an eye, the elders say) and it does not always alleviate itself after vengeance has been taken. pitchpaw will often still hold her grudges even seasons after she has taken her own twisted revenge.


every cat has their fears, yet pitchpaw is a cat with terror in abundance. she is an anxious spirit underneath that cool, cunning facade, and she is plagued with periods of panic that leave her trembling in her den, unsure if what is going on around her is really real and if the voices echoing in her ears are coming from outside or within. she is, by default, a trustless femme, and she questions the motives of even her fellow clanmates. usually this is not so much of a problem; other than her narrowed eyes and careful questioning, there is little difference between her reactions with her fellows and those that other cats may have with their own colleagues. but at times pitchpaw will be stricken by her panic, a swirling black hole deep within her, and she will question every cat around her. she will not take herbs from the medicine cat for fear that they are poisoned. she patrols alone, never following another cat or informing anyone of where she is going, for fear of being slain while separated from the camp. she sits through gatherings with bristling hackles and hateful, mistrusting glares. though she is never a particularly trusting or loving cat, the change is jarring and unnerving for those cats around her.


the story goes that there were once two brothers, raised by a leader, groomed for the role; in the position to take the same opportunity in life: leadership, control of a clan. only one can grasp the reality in his paws, and that one was pinewhisker, and as with many stories like these, his brother birchfall was left envious and hurt by the slight. it is an anger he can never reconcile while sharing the same camp, it turns out, and so he left treeclan with his mate in tow, for creekclan where he father and new family would reside. they resolved to build a new life together, far away from the dark emotions of the treeclan camp and the perceived wrongs that birchfall felt. and thus pitchpaw was born, in birchfall and maplefrost's second litter.

but bad emotions never truly leave, not in the hearts of the wronged, and pitchpaw always was...different. as a kit she was neurotic at best, raised around a family that had shed their very allegiance due to hardship with their home. it wasn't as though they actively tried to speak ill of their former clanmates and blood relatives, yet still words were said and for a cat like pitchpaw, it was altogether too much. in her early kithood she developed a severe anxiety, startling badly at every sudden sound and cringing away from new faces as though she expected to be slashed across the face. compared to her normally socialized and fearless siblings, this was incredibly abnormal, and the behavior did not improve as she aged. in fact, faced with the competition of her siblings - and with the echo of pinewhisker and birchfall in her ears - it grew worse and worse until she was honestly struggling with her tasks as a new apprentice. all the while, she spent the time in her nest wishing she could escape her family somehow, the cats she was certain caused this great difficulty within her.

eventually she does. one night, she just disappears from her nest, intent on walking until she finds a place far removed from her treeclan ancestry and creekclan youth. in this way she found hillclan, turning up at their border a dirty, ruffled mess, but bright-eyed. once the initial paranoia of being found by a creekclan patrol wore off, she felt free. honestly free, for the first time in her life. she introduced herself to the hillclan patrol that found her as pitch, and requested to join their clan. in her eyes, she does not and has never had loyalty to creekclan or treeclan, no matter how many moons and drops of blood tie her to either. treeclan is her life now, and to her, she has no family at all.


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.