A half-blood kittypet bastard, Honeythorn looks little like his clanmates and more resembles his purebred father in dazzling coloring. At his core, Honeythorn is a leanly muscular tom. His body is a bit taller and longer than most cats, with strong legs for swimming and climbing. Like other long haired cats however, many think him larger than he actually is due to the puff of his coat, especially evident in leaf-bare. He's neither massive, or average, but somewhere in-between despite his fur giving the former impression.

His pelt is mostly a brilliant ruddy color - ticked with dark seal - quite reminiscent of the pine needles that litter the forest floor in leaf-fall. Though his elbows, tail-tip and between his ears all sport that same burnt black shade in ticked tabby fashion. White makes the smallest contribution to his coloring, present in a small goatee along his cheeks and chin. His eyes are a stunning olive green and are often bright, alert and friendly, but once they narrow into menacing slits, it is advised to take leave, immediately.

The life of a seasoned warrior and guardian is never easy. Honeythorn has a propensity to be extremely proactive, often jumping into frays before other guardians or warriors that could clearly handle the threat. Not for thinking that can't, but he simply doesn't want to see them hurt. Under his pelt lay many scars, some so deep that when his fur is licked just the right way you can see them. Behind his ears, between his shoulder blades, his shoulders proper, and his chest are all such locations where a majority are located. And more visible is a small knock taken from his right ear tip that leaves an irregular 'V' shaped gap - one tip becoming two. He is a frequent guest of the medicine den, and has been for nearly his entire career since apprenticehood.

Honeythorn was not planned. There weren't supposed to be any consequences from Silkfeather's tryst with the newly freed kittypet Hook. Hook was adventurous, fun-loving, and hated rules. He had no interest in joining the clans and answering to any one live cat, let alone a bunch of dead ones. He had ditched his house-folk for the wilds, but neither did he want to trade them for his own kind. He wanted to roam free. He was fiercely independent. And maybe there was some romance there, on both sides. A wild rogue charming a new warrior. Honeythorn never really knew.

When Silkfeather told him she was pregnant, Hook was unusually supportive. He did not understand how this could change Silkfeather's life forever besides making her a mother. Silkfeather begged Hook to leave. When she was in the nursery, she wouldn't be able to divert a patrol's attention from his nest. Hook initially refused, he wanted to see his children. But Silkfeather at least got him to stay on the outer fringes of Ridgeclan territory for the duration of her pregnancy.

Naturally, when Silkfeather refused to name the father of her kits, gossip arose around the clan. It was her right to keep it secret, but she was certainly looked down upon for it.

"The father wants to remain anonymous." She said frequently.

Some speculated it was a cat from another clan, someone with a mate already maybe? Or someone high ranking, A deputy? No, a leader? No, a medicine cat!? No one ever expected kittypet.

More questions were asked when he was born.

"He doesn't look like any of the cats here."

He heard one queen say to another when he was feigning to be asleep. He was too young to understand the significance of the queen's words, but he reflected on them when he was older.

Once he could run around camp on his own. His mother woke him up near moon-high, urging him to be very quiet. She carried him through a hidden gap in the camp's gorse wall and into the pine forest. Honeykit drifted off while his scruff was gripped in his mother's mouth. He hadn't known how far she had walked, but he stirred awake once he was plopped gently on the ground. A lithe russet tom was standing in front of him.

"Mama, Who's that?"

"That's your father."

Honeykit didn't question it, the other kits made fun of him for being a bastard. He wanted a father.

"Hi father," he said, as if that was the cat's name.

Hook laid down on his belly to better get on his level.

"Hey kid. What's your name?"

The kit looked to his mother as if asking permission before he chirped out "Honeykit…What's yours?"

"Hook."

"That's a weird name." The kit said with no malice behind his voice.

A soft purr came from the tom. "Your mother said the same thing."

For a while he sat as he got to know this new father of his, for as long as a kit's attention span could take. Honeykit yawned, exhausted from his long night. Taking that as his limit, Hook turned to Silkfeather in a hushed voice.

"Is he the only one?" Silkfeather nodded.

"Will I see you again?"

"Maybe."

"Will I see him again?"

"Maybe. Depends on when I can sneak away. And it depends if he wants to see you. It's his choice, not yours."

Silkfeather wouldn't forbid it, but she wasn't overly eager to sneak around to accommodate the tom's conscience.

Every moon, when the other cats left for the gathering, Honeykit asked Silkfeather to take him to Hook. He wanted to know why he didn't live in camp with him and Silkfeather. And why he couldn't tell anyone about him. Honeykit finally gathered the courage to ask if Hook was ashamed of him, but the rogue was adamant in assuring him he was not.

It was only after he was apprenticed that he began to seek out Hook on his own, his mother no longer going to meet with him. Honeypaw told his father all about how he was training to become a strong warrior, about his mentor: Pikefang. The blue spotted tom was nice to him, taught him impressive battle moves, and even how to fish, but that it was harder to sneak away now as he went on many patrols with his mentor. Hook seemed to understand, and was impressed with his son's progress, even practicing some of those battle moves his mentor had shown him.

One-day, like the many before that, while hunting, Honeypaw stopped to visit his father. They'd talk, share tongues, but what he didn't know was that he was being watched. Pikefang stalked in the bushes downwind, observing. After collecting enough evidence, he slipped out unseen, to inform Dovestar of what he saw, anonymously. Dovestar confronted Silkfeather, and Silkfeather came clean, accepting her punishment with grace. She had no plans to leave the clan. She was loyal only to Ridgeclan, Dovestar accepted her answer.

More gossip spread around the camp, and by the time Honeypaw had returned with his fresh-kill, every eye was on him. The other apprentices began to shun him, and he did not know why until one finally stopped the silent treatment to say something. Something he didn't like.

"You can eat over there half-blood. With the elders. We don't need a kittypet stealing our food."

Honeypaw was both sad and furious. Not everyone treated him like an outcast. Some friends he had made still stayed friendly. But he felt alone.

He had never been punished formally, but the other apprentices' words and warriors' dirty glares were enough. He watched as his mother took the brunt of her punishment, clearing away the sick elder's dirt, helping with camp fortifications. Any time there was hard labor or unsavory work to be done, Silkfeather got assigned to do it. Pikefang tried to help her from time to time, but she insisted that it was her own penance to pay.

While out on a patrol with one of his training friends and their mentors. They came across Hook. The tom wanted to know why Honeypaw hadn't visited him in some time. Pikefang was quick to retort that he was dealing with the issues Hook had put his son in. Also mentioning Silkfeather's lowered status within the clan. That she was a promising warrior, and that 'you ruined her.' At Pikefang's insistence that he should leave and never return, Hook took the most offense.

"You can't keep me from my son!"

"I will do what it takes to keep Ridgeclan safe!"

"You aren't his father."

"At least I'm teaching him to be a worthy warrior and not kittypet scum!"

Honeypaw couldn't see who made the first move, but it was probably Hook. Soon yowls echoed through the forest. The other warrior with them tried to push space between the apprentices and the battling cats so they could work out their issues. But Honeypaw wouldn't sit idly.

"Stop!" He cried to both of them, running past the shielding warrior and trying to shove himself between the two older, stronger, toms.

He didn't get far, before a wild paw ment for Hook connected with Honeypaw instead. It sent the unbalanced apprentice square into a tree, knocking him unconscious.

When he came to, there was no more yowling, other than his friend that tried to stir him.

"Goldenberry is on her way, don't move." The other apprentice told him, as if the medicine cat had given her the order herself.

"Help my dad." He whispered to his friend as the young molly got within earshot for just the two of them to hear each other.

"I'm sorry, Honeypaw….He's gone."

His body started to tremble, his fur became wet with sweat. Goldenberry finally arrived. The amber-eyed molly said something about him going into shock. But yet only one of the witnesses knew it wasn't from his injury.

He craned his head despite Goldenberry telling him not to move his neck. But he could see the lifeless form that mirrored his own. But while he was wet with sweat, Hook was with blood.

He fought to hold back his tears. He couldn't mourn the way he wanted to. He couldn't cry for a trespasser, even if it was his father. He couldn't cry because his whole body was sore. Warriors didn't cry over baby injuries like these.

Once his body stopped shaking and he could turn upright on his belly, among the black and golden coats, bloody blue paws stood out.

"YOU MURDERED HIM!"

Honeypaw couldn't hold it in any longer. All the other cats present looked directly at Pikefang. "He wasn't a warrior, you knew he couldn't win!" Hook was a scrapper, but he was no match for a trained warrior, even with Honeypaw showing him some of his training moves.

Pikefang wisely remained silent. Nothing he could say would stop Honeypaw's anger with him.

"I think it's best you go, Pikefang. You're upsetting my patient, he doesn't need to be upset in his condition." Goldenberry was merciful, and the blue tom left for camp.

After checking him over and making sure nothing was broken, Goldenberry then tried to get him to follow her back to the medicine den.

Once he was on all fours, he muttered.

"My father isn't crow-food. I'm gonna bury him, and you can't stop me." The golden tabby she-cat remained silent for a moment.

"You see me when you're done." The medicine cat then padded off, surely to attend to Pikefang back at camp.

Honeypaw fully expected his friend to follow, to be left alone to grieve, but soon the tuxedo she-cat began helping him dig. Her mentor sat a few tail lengths away, watching the forest. Perhaps the older molly could feel him staring at her back.

"...No cat deserves to be crow-food." she answered without looking back.

The tiniest thanks left his hoarse throat as he continued to dig.

By the time he and his friend had finished packing the earth back down, Honeypaw gathered a few rocks to put atop the grave to mark it. It was moon-rise now and the remaining warrior escorted the exhausted apprentices back home.

Thankfully most of the clan was in their nests for the night when they returned. The first thing he did was pass near Goldenberry's den. Pikefang's scent was present, but faint. Good. The medicine cat had been waiting for him and pointed with her tail to an open nest which he happily curled up on. After a final once over and some herbs to help his pounding headache, he slept. He slept, but he did not dream - like Starclan was protecting him.

When he opened his eyes, the sun was high in the sky, it was as if he had blinked and the moon had switched to the sun.

"You'll stay here for the week." Goldenberry called over her shoulder. "You hit your head hard, you need to rest."

Honeypaw didn't argue. He didn't want to go back to the apprentice den, to hear their snickers and jabs while he mourned. At least here he could grieve in peace. If Goldenberry judged him, she didn't say anything.

His mother came to visit, and he told her about the incident - even though he was sure Pikefang got to her first. Surprisingly, the warrior didn't try to deny it. But he did leave out the fact of goading his father into attacking him, to which he told Silkfeather as much. He thought she would be as appalled as he was, but she remained focused on him and his recovery, trying to skirt around the subject.

Once Goldenberry cleared him for training, Honeypaw knew he couldn't go back to training under Pikefang. The hidden wound was still way too raw. He wouldn't be able to focus when he saw his face.

So he tracked down Dovestar. Informed her how he would like to change mentors. The leader seemed to know what happened, and he wasn't expecting her to change Pikefang out to mend his broken heart.

"I want to be a guardian." The apprentice said coolly and calmly. "Please allow me to train to become a guardian, Dovestar."

The she-cat seemed to think on it for a moment before replying.

"Being a guardian is hard work. Are you sure you are up to it?"

"Yes." His voice held a confidence and certainty it never had before. He wouldn't ever let anyone he loved be hurt again. He swore it.

"Fine then…But, no complaining to me about your new mentor." She said as if she already had a cat in mind.

"You start tomorrow, you can hunt for the queens today."

His first night back in the apprentice's den didn't go as horribly as he thought. For the most part, if he was quiet, so were they. They whispered when he was gone, but he didn't feel like getting into any more fights. He was tired and broken.

"Honeypaw." The sound of an unfamiliar voice summoned him at the mouth of the apprentice den. A stout she-cat circled him in assessment. "Come on, follow me." He didn't even know her name. She seemed to anticipate the question before he could ask it. "Wolverinestrike." Honeypaw thought it was a fitting name.

She was a gruff, no-nonsense cat. She seemed to care about him, but in a non caring seeming way. Their relationship was hard to describe. The first time he felt truly accepted was when she dragged the eleventh moon apprentice by scruff and pulled him out of the apprentice den by force.

He had been particularly down after a younger apprentice's nasty comment about how Wolverinestrike was late because she didn't want to train a kittypet. Perhaps in his mind he knew that wasn't true, but still, it hit him hard that day.

"Hey! What did I do!?"

"We're late for training and you're laying about like a queen ready to kit."

"I thought you weren't coming."

"Who told you that?"

"Another apprentice." He didn't want to snitch and give a name.

"Like some apprentice knows my life!" She scoffed, perhaps insulted by the notion.

"They said you don't want to train me cause I'm a kittypet's son."

She stopped and turned around to face him. Her face came extremely close to stare him dead in the eye. He could feel her breath on his face.

"You're father could be a fucking badger for all I care. Blood doesn't make a cat. Actions do. And it's my job to make you the best guardian you can be. Those brats will change their tune once you save them from a hawk or two. So no more feeling sorry for yourself…that's an order."

Honeypaw walked with more confidence in his step then, proud to be Wolverinestrike's pupil. She seemed to teach him everything, way more than Pikefang ever did. And just when he thought she couldn't possibly have more to teach him, she taught him more.

While Wolverinestrike didn't exactly tell him to scrap with the next apprentice that called him kittypet, she didn't do anything if she saw it. Other mentors would complain to her, and she'd tell them that it wouldn't have happened if their apprentice's kept their mouths shut and minded their own business. With his mentor's training, he'd win most fights, but he still ended up being a frequent flier for Goldenberry.

Like Wolverinestrike said, most, but not all, of the bullying stopped once Honeypaw was allowed to go on full guardian patrols with only her. She'd leave the tom to handle the threat, confident she had taught him enough. At first some of them panicked when they saw that she wasn't coming to their rescue. But when they witnessed Honeypaw deal with it instead, their perspective started to change. Among both them and older warriors.


At fourteen moons, Honeypaw became Honeythorn. Named for his protective personality, and his willingness to sacrifice his safety for that of the clan's.

His mother's position seemed to improve. Some still looked at the both of them with uncertainty and prejudice, but at least they didn't openly mock them.

Honeythorn was quick to notice how much time Pikefang was spending around his mother. He hated it. But Silkfeather seemed happy for the first time in her life. His mother, wisely, had been the one to tell Honeythorn that they were now mates. He could tell she wanted her son to accept the match, but Honeythorn couldn't openly encourage it, but neither did he condemn her. He wanted his mother to be happy. And apparently with Pikefang she was.

The next morning however before Pikefang left for the dawn patrol, Honeythorn strode up to him, sticking his snout in his ear.

"Break her heart, and I will feed you yours."

Honeythorn was no weak apprentice now, he nearly doubled Pikefang in size, he was younger, he was stronger, and he was more determined.

The two toms slipped past each other, going about the rest of their day.

As much as Honeythorn still held a grudge, Pikefang was a caring mate to his mother. Sometimes Honeythorn wondered if the death of his father wasn't an accident as Pikefang claimed. That maybe the tom was jealous, and held feelings for his mother all along. He went through so many scenarios, but did not confront him on any of them. It wouldn't change anything, what was done was done.

Soon his mother was expecting a second litter. While Honeythorn wasn't thrilled they were Pikefang's, he was glad he'd have little siblings. An only kit and isolated for most of his kithood and apprenticeship, he didn't have any littlermates to fall back on. Sure they would be extremely younger than he was, but he was still looking forward to seeing them.

Silkfeather gave birth to two kits, Shrewkit and Martenkit. Both were healthy, but two moons later Shrewkit caught kittencough and joined Starclan way too early. His family was devastated, but most strongly Martenkit, and Honeythorn made it a point to distract him with play, to remind him he'd never be alone when his older brother was here.

Pikefang wasn't a terrible father, but Martenkit looked up to Honeythorn more, something that made the ruddy tom far happier than he should have been.

By the time Martenkit was apprenticed, Martenpaw was a very self-assured young tom, a large contrast to Honey at the same age. The guardian tried his best not to smother his baby brother, but he'd often ask his mentor Laurelfern for updates on how Martenpaw was doing. He didn't want his brother being subject to the same bullying he had been as an apprentice - even if Martenpaw's legitimacy as a clan cat pretty much erased all of the reason why he might be targeted.

Martenpaw eventually confessed to Honeythorn that he had fallen in love. It took some time to weasel the identity of his brother's paramour, but the young tom swore his sibling to secrecy. Once her name was given, a rogue named Minnow, there was hardly a time Martenpaw didn't talk about the molly when the two of them were alone. He turned to Honeythorn for romantic advice, and for the first time the guardian felt stumped on how to help. He wasn't good at romance, despite his brother's inflated opinion of his romantic ability.

It wasn't long after his brother earned his warrior name that a border patrol came to camp escorting a young she-cat named Minnow. Wolfstar had rejected her plea to join their clan, and Honeythorn could all but feel his brother's anger. Two nights passed before Martenfoot told Honeythorn of his plan to forge his own path with Minnow, away from Ridgeclan. Honeythorn had his reservations, but he knew his brother would only listen to his heart, and the guardian couldn't bring himself to break it.

After some secretive and tearful goodbyes, Martenfoot left camp and never came back. Rumors swirled again, and most of them were not wrong - it was theorized that Martenfoot abandoned the clans for the life of a rogue. Honeythorn had gotten into a few more scraps as insults were once again thrown his family's way. Even Pikefang distanced himself from the scandal. Silkfeather was distraught she had lost another child, but held out hope that he was healthy out there somewhere. Honeythorn couldn't tell her the truth she so wanted to hear, it would only validate the standing traitorous consensus.

The only one he could speak the truth with was Martenfoot's former mentor. She knew the whole of the situation, even more so than he, and the two of them bonded over their lost friend.

The more and more time they spent together, the more Honeythorn wondered was this the sort of feeling his brother felt with Minnow - safe, warm, happy? He couldn't know.

It was a surprise when Laurelfern told him she was expecting kits. There was excitement, but there was also fear. He was adamant that he'd like a place in the kits lives if she'd let him be there - and thankfully Laurelfern didn't shove him away. She hadn't asked him to be her mate however, but he'd swat the nearest cat who would claim Laurelfern was left on her own. He would be there. His kits would have the father he didn't have.

Honeythorn was sure the other queens talked about him. Each day he visited the nursery with fresh-kill for Laurelfern. Some thought him incredibly sweet and a caring father and others thought him suffocating with his frequent visits. Laurelfern hadn't even kitted yet for Starclan's sake. His visits did not stop when she did however. Kestrelkit & Owlkit were the most precious creatures he had ever seen in his life. So small, so helpless, he was afraid to help groom them, lest he break them. Their soft mews melted his heart, and he found himself sad when he had to go out on patrol instead of spending time bonding with his sons. But he continued to make time to visit them daily.

Honeythorn had been watching Ashpaw from since he was Ashkit. His father too was a kittypet, and the guardian couldn't help but feel responsible for what felt like orphaning him. Surely his mother had seen how Silkfeather had been treated after Honeythorn's parentage came to light, he did not blame Ashpaw's mother for wanting to leave with her mate instead. But he could see why Ashpaw wanted to stay.

The guardian had to fight himself on trying to intervene on Ashpaw's behalf whenever he saw the same bullying go on that he had experienced. These apprentices were too young to know of his own kittypet blood, but Ashpaw was stronger than he was. He faced his bullies head-on from the start.

Even as an adult, Honeythorn frequented the medicine den. After Ashpaw's losing battle with a two-leg trap, he often found the tom doing his rehabilitation exercises with Goldenberry. He overheard them talking about Ashpaw returning to training, and asked Goldenberry to put in a word for him to Wolfstar. Yes, Honeythorn was a guardian, but he had yet to have his own apprentice when those he had been named with already had at least one. Who better to train him than Honeythorn?

The stars aligned, and Honeythorn found himself in charge of Ashpaw's warrior training. Like his mentor before him, he did not sugarcoat the struggles his disability would give him, but unlike Wolverinestrike, he was a bit more graceful in his ways. He helped him find what worked best for him, and tried his best to modify and even invent some new battle stances to accommodate three legs. He encouraged Ashpaw to do the same. No one knew Ashpaw better than Ashpaw, but Honeythorn knew that his apprentice was fully capable of great things.

Near his forty-seventh moon, he had sent Ashpaw out hunting and was himself out on another patrol with several mentors, keeping watch over them and their apprentices as they practiced. His son Owlpaw among them. Shellsplash was assigned to guard the front of the group, and Honeythorn the rear.

A starving lynx had ambushed Owlpaw, and it was Owlpaw's and Shellsplash's yowls that alerted the rear half of the group what was going on. Two other warriors managed to free his son, but his injuries looked grim, the smell of blood heavy in the air. While mentors instructed their apprentices what to do, some to find herbs, one to run and fetch the medicine cat, the other warriors helped his son cling to life. Shellsplash was engaged in a heated battle she knew she couldn't win alone, but went in anyway. While Shellsplash tore into the lynx's side, Honeythorn dropped down from above, hurling the entire force of his body onto the creature.

Firmly attached, Shellsplash and Honeythorn were whipped to and fro by the lynx's desperate movements. Shellsplash's position became dangerous as the lynx put the she-cat on her belly, ripping into it with its massive claws.

It was only Honeythorn now.

All he saw was red. The red that drenched his friend and his son. One eerily still and the other giving mutant yowls of anguish. The red that encompassed his vision was all consuming. Bloodlust unleashed by adrenaline.

In a pound for pound battle, Honeythorn would surely lose, but the lynx was panicking and Honeythorn utilized Wolverinestrike's training. Everything was a blur. Honeythorn hooked his claws into the beast's eyes, blinding it. It fought to get rid of its unwanted passenger, even starting to retreat with the guardian still atop it, but Honeythorn would not yield until either one of them was dead. He allowed just enough vision for the lynx to climb up the rocky slope, and once Honeythorn was satisfied with the height, he used his weight to unbalance the larger feline, releasing his hold and kicking it off the edge. The fall was not kind, and the beast fell with a sickening thud against the ground.

Honeythorn trembled trying to climb back down the mountain face, the adrenaline was leaving him now at a rapid pace. He had gotten to ground level, hobbling toward the cluster of cats surrounding his son. As determined as his mind was, his body was exhausted, and his legs quickly gave out beneath him. Before he could realize what was happening, blackness took him again.

He woke up in the medicine den, his olive eyes being the only thing to move as they fluttered away the poppy the medicine cat had given him. He could see Owlpaw still across from him, this time in a warm nest, and his chest rising and falling. He wanted to curl closer around his kit, but as he fought to move, he lost consciousness again.

It was a full day until Honeythorn could put all his paws beneath him, let alone stand. He felt a wet poultice weight down one of his ears, as well as slathered on various parts of his body. One of his shoulders bothered him greatly, but he managed. He healed faster than his son did. In a half moon Honeythorn was cleared for duty, but Owlpaw was still fighting for his life. Many guardians would try and cheer him up by congratulating him on his lynx kill, but Honeythorn only felt like a failure. It should have been him in Owlpaw's place. He did not want to see his kit suffer through so much pain. He had missed Shellsplash's vigil and Ashpaw still had several moons of training left before he was named. But the apprentice was extremely understanding of the situation. Honeythorn poured all of his time into being with either his family or his apprentice. His mood only lightened when Owlpaw came through the dire stages of recovery. And during his speech therapy, Honeythorn would often ask Ashfang advice on what had helped him preserve through his own recovery journey.

For a time he found peace in his small group of family and friends. His sons and apprentice were all given their warrior names and Honeythorn was extremely proud of all of them.

Wolfstar had to ruin this peace.

Part of him wanted to volunteer to defend the camp should Mistclan launch a counter offensive, he wanted to stay with his sons and Laurelfern to protect them. But he knew Laurelfern would die for their kits' safety, and his guardian expertise was called upon on the battlefield. There were to be apprentices there, ones near being named, but to him they were still children. Including Wolfstar's own children. He could not understand what could possess a father to put his children headfirst into danger like that - no matter how capable they seemed.

Honeythorn felt a responsibility to his clanmates to fight beside them, he did not fight for Wolfstar's ideals, but for the safety of his clan. Nothing good could come from such unprovoked aggression.

And he was right. The capability of Honeythorn's brutality could have been a large boon for Ridgeclan, but the guardian fought with his claws sheathed most of the time, using his weight and teeth to assist in fights where a clan member was being attacked - not seeking conflicts himself. The Mistclan cats were only defending their home. Wolfstar had gone too far. Honeythorn found himself spread thin as he tried to check on every conflict over the river, even more so when Prairieclan joined on Mistclan's side.

Too many bodies, too many cats, too much blood, too much needless loss.

He was too late for Ripplepaw and Oaktail. The two cats had promised to protect one another, and that's how he found them, bloodied and silent together. Kestrelthorn would be devastated.

He tried to find Wolverinestrike, but the old molly was guarding the way for the now retreating Ridgeclan cats over the bridge. Of course it was chaos.

Honeythorn held the way with his mentor and several other warriors and guardians. Morale was low within the retreating force. Honeythorn could not police the bridge, but he tried to urge that the injured go first and that the log could only hold so much weight at a time. He had to believe the two other clans wouldn't attack an actively fleeing patrol. Surely not all the leaders of the valley lost their sense. He saw as one of the injured apprentices slipped on the log, tumbling down into the waterfall below. Instinct made Honeythorn's legs move to bolt toward the river, to try and save them. But Wolverinestrike snatched his scruff in her teeth just like when he was her apprentice and pulled him back from the edge. "There's nothing more you can do." The older molly had drew blood, but Honeythorn was still in shock. He hated this feeling of uselessness that ran through him. But he knew she was right, now two cats he knew would mourn their loves - as he was sure many of his clanmates would also mourn loved ones.

Back at camp the sounds of wailing and angered snarls of disbelief were deafening. Those of the clan that stayed behind rushed the retreating parties, frantically looking for their mates, children, siblings and friends. He had seen Ashfang's familiar gait in the herd, and with Wolverinestrike behind him, he rushed to find Laurelfern. He wasn't sure he could tell their son of his failure to protect Ripplepaw directly. He hated to burden her with that duty, with the knowledge of her mentor and apprentice not making it through the fight, but someone had to tell her.

Honeythorn helped ferry herbs and tools to Sootwhisker and help more severely injured clanmates back across the bridge from the triage camp over the border. The guardian was no medicine cat, but he was good at listening, and had paid attention to the herbs used on him during his frequent visits to Goldenberry and then Sootwhisker.

He sat vigil for Ripplepaw. He was bad at comforting the grieving. He always had been. He tried to intervene before anyone had to be comforted, but this time he had failed. The next morning he requested to go on the patrol to find Bearpaw's body. He doubted finding them would make Ashfang feel any better, but perhaps the tom might find some closure?

He could see Ashfang steel himself as he sat vigil. Honeythorn joined, from a distance - not wanting to crowd him. While he was not Ashfang's father, he always thought of him as a third son.

Honeythorn drifted, shell-shocked. An empathetic comfort for those who wanted him, but otherwise quite a bit more reserved than he had been. He hid his pain beneath a mask of normalcy. When Ashfang went missing soon after Bearpaw's burial, the ruddy tom feared the worst. Had Honeythorn not been forceful enough? Had Ashfang done something drastic - feeling he was alone? Honeythorn saw how the two cats looked at each other, it was just like Kestrelthorn and Ripplepaw. He looked for his missing apprentice, but lost Ashfang's scent at the river. His mind went wild.

The guardian crumbled further, relying solely on his family, and sticking closer to his sons now more than ever. He had no care for who killed Wolfstar, if there was a Starclan, perhaps they were right to take all nive lives at once. But he knows there are times when they would rather be alone, and during those times he finds retreat at the river, working on the water therapy the medicine cat showed him to ease his burning, stiff and broken body. Not out of any true concern for himself and his betterment - but to be strong enough not to fail anyone again.

Honeythorn is a tom with a natural duality. Like mud, he takes on the qualities of both grounded and stable earth and the fluid water he holds so dear. Both a serene mountain and raging rapid, sweeping anything vile in his path by way of a turbulent undertow and keeping it there till it ceases to be a threat. That is not to say he is capricious or spends his days constantly repressing malevolence with benevolence. Honeythorn's vengeful tendencies are seldom ever seen, taking a rather unbiased approach to all he comes in contact with. There are only three things the tom has set attitudes toward, those being his family, his duty as a bastion of safety, and his word. Little besides poking at the principles of his core can rock the tom from his even-minded ways.

What little family that he has not had ripped away from him, he is extremely close to and rather defensive. He does not take insults or threats thrown in the direction of those in his inner circle lightly, whether they are linked by blood or not.

He is no slave to drudgery, but once he is given a task he sees it through quickly and efficiently. When not bound by the confines of his 'moral' obligations, he is generally seen as an outgoing individual ready to take the bull by the horns - charismatic and friendly even. But don't mistake his warm nature for nativity nor his brazen qualities as cockiness. Honeythorn is nothing of the sort, quick to realize when he is outmatched, but still takes on more than he can handle for the benefit of those he holds close.

Trust is a scarce commodity to Honeythorn. One that once he gives, he expects in return. Rest assured once he has made you a promise, it will be fulfilled. He is just as willing to owe favors as he is to collect on them.

Not one to judge or criticize, less it be for pure jest, the tom is truly an agreeable companion if given the chance, keen on listening though not so willing to share details of his own past. Not due to shame or remorse, but due to his naturally secretive nature when it comes to his personal affairs. Grief and strife have made several appearances in Honeythorn's past but he doesn't let it get a hold of him. His dark secrets and experiences are all kept in a locked box deep inside, precious few know of them, and those who do, only out of pure necessity. He isn't one to share or divulge - his secrets or other's - but he is an excellent listener and observer, absorbing every ounce of information he can and filing it away for later recollection.

Pre-Plotting: Honeythorn is from Laurelfern's wanted ad [HERE]. and aligns with the Galaxy and Pluto ideologies of Ridgeclan. He also aims to forge the path of Titian. Honeythorn falls between a Bumblebee and a Dragonfly. He believes the clans' principles are fundamentally flawed - fueled a majority by the treatment of his parents in his adolescence - but he holds no great malice for them. He judges a cat's individual actions, not that of an entire clan and understands that many clan cats know no other way of life. He is extremely internally conflicted in his views on Starclan. He thinks knowledge of those who came before them is beneficial, but doubts their ability to interfere with matters of the living. And should be respected but nothing more. He has no qualms with cats that do worship Starclan however, and is open to hearing new philosophies, but rarely shares his own religious beliefs.

▪ Family: Family is singlehandedly the most important thing in Honeythorn’s life. His kits are his orbiting force after his half-brother’s departure and the recent loss of his mother. Even though they are grown warriors now, he still aims to be the best possible father he can be to them despite not having an example to take note from. He would take on every trial and hardship for his blood if he could, so they would never have to know struggle. Unfortunately, the universe dealt both his son’s cruel cards young and while he could not make his wish a reality, he will always be there to comfort, champion, and guide them.
▪ Friends: Honeythorn is mostly friendly - or at least civil - toward every cat he meets under innocuous or peaceful terms. But true friendship and the mountain-moving, blood-spilling loyalty that comes with it are hard-earned. It can take years to earn that trust.
▪ Romance: The tom has not put much thought into romance. His propensity to be vague and withdrawn when it comes to personal affairs has driven away plenty of cats who might have been drawn in by his magnetic personality. Due in part to his trust issues and perhaps some feelings of unworthiness, he does not actively pursue finding a mate to settle with. There have been times when he has thought he developed romantic interest in his closest friend, Laurelfern, especially once their kits were born, but he has never mentioned such things to her and tries to deny them within himself, perhaps in fear of ruining what they already have.
▪ Rivals: While generally good-natured and open-minded, those who threaten his family, friends or those under his care are easily rivals - seeing them as threats to be challenged and sometimes eliminated, permanently.

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