Post by bones on Aug 27, 2023 16:40:04 GMT -6
#s://i~postimg~cc/7LRPjhSD/lichenbird-IRL~png
lichenflight
basic information
NAME: Lichenflight
→ Lichenkit, Lichenpaw
AGE: 73 moons
CLAN: Mistclan
RANK: Weaver
GENDER: She-cat [afab; she/her]
INTERESTED IN: Toms [demisexual, heteromantic]
MATE: Open
MENTOR:Mallowbird ✝
APPRENTICE: Birchpaw
→Larchnose ✝
→ Rainshade
→ Junipercloud
→ Wispfang
PREFIX: “Lichen-” = blue bicolor pelt
SUFFIX: “-flight” = a quick-witted molly, exceedingly swift, nimble and dexterously as well
→ Lichenkit, Lichenpaw
AGE: 73 moons
CLAN: Mistclan
RANK: Weaver
GENDER: She-cat [afab; she/her]
INTERESTED IN: Toms [demisexual, heteromantic]
MATE: Open
MENTOR:
APPRENTICE: Birchpaw
→
→ Rainshade
→ Junipercloud
→ Wispfang
PREFIX: “Lichen-” = blue bicolor pelt
SUFFIX: “-flight” = a quick-witted molly, exceedingly swift, nimble and dexterously as well
appearance
“a dark blue bicolor molly with a yellow-green hazel left eye and a right that is dulled, blind and almost completely closed”
While she was the biggest and healthiest of her littermates, Lichenflight is not anything impressive amongst her clanmates; not overly pretty, not overly tall or small, nor very muscular or lithe. Her pelt color is stereotypical of Mistclan cats – blue and white and shorthair – and she is altogether an average appearing cat. She is simply Lichenflight and the most noteworthy thing about her is her missing right eye – which can be, admittedly, an intimidating red herring on such a friendly and spry senior weaver, but she doesn’t let others first impressions of her slow her down when it comes to being sociable and affable.
As some cats are wont to do, she has grown leaner with age, despite her still voracious appetite, which has emphasized the length of her body. She often forgets to stop for proper grooming and so her pelt is often scruffy and unkept from previous nights' rest. She has some smile lines around her good eye and muzzle from a life-time of hard-won joy.
description
"Happiness is something that you are
And it comes from the way you speak
We cannot choose the things that will happen to us
And it comes from the way you speak
We cannot choose the things that will happen to us
But we can choose the attitude we want to take
Towards anything that happens to us"
[...]
"We did it, Whitenose... we finally did it."
"Yeah... we did, huh? Such little miracles you gave me, Morningpool."
"Our little miracles."
"Lichenkit, be careful!"
You recoil and pin your ears back, Snowkit squalling from a simple prodding.
"Honey," Ma sighs, nudging you away from your brother, "You have to be gentle with your littermates; we've been over this."
"But Poppykit--"
"Poppykit is older than you by two mores, Lichenkit," You're pouting and you fight a bit when Ma pulls you in close close to her chest, "And you're so much stronger than your siblings."
You huff and pointedly ignore her. It's not fair! Plenty of other kits' littermates play with them, why can't yours? All Snowkit and Volekit do is sleep, eat and sometimes waddle after you.
"Lichenkit."
You stick your nose in the air as Ma gently rubs her cheek against your back. Your tail tip wriggles in annoyance... but its hard to stay made your mom.
"I jus' wanna play wit' them..." You try not to whine, but you can't help it: it's just so unfair! Plus, Ma and Pa are too old to play anyway...
"Lichenkit," Ma sighs softly and licks the top of your head soothingly. "You're my healthiest little one, love; Snowkit and Volekit are getting better, they just need time."
"I know..."
"They're getting stronger everyday," she went on, purring softly, "They'll be able to play soon and when they are, you'll all have so much fun."
Berrystep does visit your littermates a lot... And Volekit does try to follow you all the time and Snowkit is napping less often. And you guess the two are talking a lot at least.
"Can you promise me to be patient, my little love?"
"Why are they... not like me, Mama?"
"Well..." She pauses and you turn around to peer up at her; she sighs and gently taps your foreheads together, "Ma and Pa had a hard time having kits, Lichenkit; you know we're a lot older than most of the other mates in the den."
You nod, a little uncertain. It's not hard to tell that your parents are almost the same age as some of the elders who come to visit and share stories, but you hadn't thought it odd, even when you noticed how much younger everyone else's parents were.
"Your all our little miracles," she nuzzled a bit closer, sounding a guilty as she continues and you find yourself purring to soothe her, "but my age affected your siblings, made them weaker... So I suppose it's my fault they can't play with you, honey."
"No!" You frown and duck down to snuggle in close, "It's not your fault Mama!"
"Thank you, little love." She chuckles softly, "I just... I need you to be patient; the medicine cat says they'll be getting better faster now."
"I promise, Ma, I'll be super pa..patient!"
"It was an accident", Mapletail - Volepaw's mentor - reassures you immediately after.
"It's no one's fault", Ma and Pa promise you at the funeral, in the shade of the grove.
"It happens", Mallowbird grumbles days later as he spends the day teaching you various techniques Weavers use to encourage stronger limb growth in the territory's tree.
"It was nothing but pure, youthful arrogance", some elders whisper amongst each other in the half moon to follow, unaware of your arrival at the den entrance. Shrouded in grief, you get very little in the way of punishment for letting another apprentice change their nests out that day.
You will never be able to articulate those last moments - heartbeats - with your sister; not to another living soul and probably not as long as you live. It'd been such an innocent, childish game that day; just a harmless competition while your mentors were distracted.
Who could reach the highest branch in the tree first?
The crack of the branch haunts the innermost sanctum of your mind; the thud of your sister hitting the ground is burrowed into your ears. You still hear both, even as the moon passes.
And when the memory of her beseeching eyes and reaching paws - help me, help - wakes you in a cold for nights on end? You find Snowpaw's yellow eyes in the dark of the apprentices' den...
...you know you're no the only one blaming yourself, either.
“Well, if’n it ain’t my favorite apprentice.”
It’s hard to wallow when that old tom slides into the medicine den, so you don’t fight the smile that brightens your face, even if the tug of the muscles makes the right side of face throb.
No one has visited, but that is simply because you have no one to visit you in the medicine cat’s den. Mother and Father have long been happily reunited with Volepaw in Starclan, Honeyshade is in the nursery, and Snowleap...
Honeyshade hasn’t forgiven you for his death yet; you don’t know if you’ll ever forgive yourself either.
“Mallowbird.” You chuckle anyway and shift around to face the ancient elder as he settles his crackling old bones next to you, “I must be, t’get you out of the elder’s den!”
He shoots you a wink, then takes a long moment to eye you over. He cocks his head one way and then the other before nodding; you can’t help smiling at his mannerisms. Mallowbird’s failing sight is what finally forced him to retire and, as far as you can tell, he only sees out of certain parts of his eyes.
“It’s a good look fer ya.” He nudges his way half into your nest and you laugh at his teasing; Mallowbird is the closest thing you had to a grandfather. “Ah kept tellin’ ya you were too pretty, that ev’ntually ev’n the star’s’d get jealous! It’s fair’r to the rest of us mortals that you join us in our mediocrity.”
Your sides ache as you laugh, remembering how he used to tease you as an apprentice – when all your agemates were crushing on each other, especially your brother on Honeypaw – that you were too blindingly gorgeous for anyone to consider approaching romantically. He probably worried that you felt left out, ev’n when you honestly didn’t, but the thoughtfulness of the gesture was heartwarming.
“Don’t let anyone hear you, old tom.” You snipe back, leaning in as he starts to share tongues with you; it’s been a bit since you’d last been able to properly groom yourself and the motion is soothingly nonetheless. “Blaspheming like that!”
“Ah, let him,” He scoffed, “M’old enough that ah only got Starclan t’answer too.”
A snort escapes you as you shuffle a bit closer to help him get his own pelt in order. A peaceful kind of quiet falls over the den, what with Berrystep out and about. You hope Honeyshade will let you see the kits when they’re born – they’ll be all that’s left of your family…
“Ahright.” He huffs, pulling away and dragging himself to his paws, “Yer presentable, let’s go.”
“Go where, exactly?” You cock your head as you carefully rise to your feet – your balance and coordination have been off lately, without your other eye – nonetheless, “I don’t know if ah should be lettin’ some blind elder lead a half-blind cat ‘round.”
He’s still quick enough to catch you gently around the ears in reprimand, “Mind yerself, goin’ to see your folks.”
You missed Snowleap’s burial, as it was touch and go with a nasty infection for a while. The thought of going makes you still at the entrance, unsure for once in a long time; is this a good idea?
“Move it, scrawny,” Mallowbird gripes, “M’not too old to drag y’around by yer scruff!”
Mother and Father are buried next to each other, as well as Volepaw; they’d wanted the family to be together after your sister’s premature passing. Now there’s a fresh grave.
Mallowbird sits down and you join him. It’s surprisingly peaceful here and there’s fresh blooms on Snowleap’s burial spot – either his apprentice, who adored him, or Honeyshade came by recently.
“C’mere, kit.” He finally speaks, lifting a paw and beckoning her closer, “Ya need this.”
You manage a smile, though it's watery – visiting always hurts. To remember what you once had – large, loving, tight-knit family – and how alone you felt now… Ducking your head, you nestle it under his chin and sniffle a bit; you understand, too, as he purrs gruffly in your ear, that his time is fast approaching.
“Happiness comes ‘n’ goes, Lichenflight,” He grumbles, “but that’s always been some you innately understood, wit’out a single soul t’tell ya; you were always m’happiest kit.”
“You used to complain about that.” You snicker welty, recalling those six moons of training, where he’d huff and puff about being stuck with his literal opposite.
“M’the better for havin’ trained ya, kit,” The admittance is begruding, “Y’taught me that joy’s a choice, cuz you made that choice ev’ryday; still make it, too, ‘spite ev’rything ya lost.”
Volepaw had reached out to you as she plummeted past to the earth far below. Mother had weakly shared tongues with each of your siblings and you the day before she passed; she knew she was dying. Father had spent a whole moon in mourning before joining her and it had been like trying to get through to a ghost. And, now, Snowleap had died as you lay injured, protecting you.
You had promised your parents, so many moons ago, that you’d look out for your siblings – you were the biggest kit, the healthiest, and Mother and Father’s advancing age had made raising a family hard on them (though no one would ever guess it from how happy the two mates had been). But it seemed at every turn, fate had other plans…
“They’re proud of ya, y’know,” He pulled back to peer at your wrapped face, “An’ so am I. Yer doin’ good kit, just… don’t stop bein’ you.”
In the chaos of the invasion, you lost sight of your niece and nephew.
It was an accident, of course, but an unavoidable one. You just did the best to keep your own skin in tact (or mostly so) and help your clanmates are you could. Sunwind and her mate Darkberry wouldn't be far from each other, you reassured yourself, and Claysong was big lad who could easily hold his own.
You end up squaring off with hulking mink guardian when Claysong finds you; you are faster than the Ridgeclan bobtail and much more experienced with outmaneuvering larger opponents, so you aren't too worried. Your nephew, however, looks like a panicked squirrel as he comes to your rescue - or, tries to.
The Ridgeclan tom is bigger than him, brawnier built, and while he isn't faster he isn't having to worry about anyone else in the fight; Claysong pays far too much attention to you and where you are in his disquiet. In the moon to come, you will scold him for the mistake he makes here...
He turns his back to his opponent.
The brute is on him before you can even open your mouth, catching him under his belly and flipping him over with ease. You spring onto the Ridgeclan guardian's back, shrieking and clawing and biting, so you miss how it happens-
But you know what the cracking and crunching of a bone breaking sounds like all too well.
Claysong yowls in agony and you go for the eyes; you must get close, because the tom jerks away and stumbles and-
Larchnose comes thundering in, lunging for the tom's throat; you get knocked free as the two collide and roll. Claysong lays moaning behind you as you hurry to catch up - Larchnose is even smaller than you, she'd need help!
There's blood everywhere when you jump in, wriggling in and clawing and biting the tom as best you can. Between your former apprentice - who has fought with you before, unlike your nephew - and yourself, you tear the tom's pelt to pieces and drive him off.
You're both covered in blood and, sadly, it takes you a few moments longer than it should to realize how much of it is hers; she collapses after taking a few steps towards you and you move towards, calling for help as you try to stop the gushing wound at her chest. Rainshade, Stars praise, arrives and stays with her, urging you to check on Claysong...
When the battle ends, Mistclan has won, somehow: Prairieclan arrives to turn the tide and you think you see a few familiar faces amongst their warriors. You are battered and bruised, covered in so much blood, you're not sure you'll ever be clean again. Larchnose is still breathing, Rainshade has tattered ears and Claysong...
He lives. And that is all you can really ask for.
In the wake of the battle, Sunwind and Darkberry are buried next to their mother and father. Claysong can't make it to the burial, his mangled front leg keeping him in the medicine cat's den.
From what Rainshade tells you, Sunwind had gone after a small, red Ridgeclan warrior; Darkberry had tried to follow, but the pair had been separated. The throat wound on your niece was all that could be said about the outcome of the fight and it seemed only right to bury her mate next to her.
The next day, you attend Larchnose's ceremony; you owe her - your very first apprentice - your nephew's life and you express to her mothers what a true warrior their daughter was. The three of you cry, even though it feels like you shouldn't have anymore after burying your niece, but you manage. It does not help, but spending the rest of the vigil sharing stories from training her makes the pair feel slightly, visibly better.
Mistclan moves to recover.
"Oh, honey..."
When your nephew had abruptly brought you out here, practically dragging you onto a two-cat border patrol, you hadn't thought it would be to help three mewing, waddling bundles of fur.
"Where's their mother?" The milk-scent on them (as well as the scent of a loner) is so fresh, the trio of kits must've been freshly off the teat.
Most cats tended to see your nephew as a bright, sunny personality with hardly a frown to spare, even after his crippling injury only two moons ago, but after raising the tom, you know better: he just reads different than most others. A trained eye can pick it up, easy. Now, despite beaming down at the runt as she clambers at his big paw, mewing hungrily, you can easily spot his corners of his muzzle tremble and his ears flicker slightly.
"I..." He won't look you in the eye, "I, uh, don't know."
A small tongue dabs at your own white toes and you peak down as big blue eyes stare up at you. The little one warbles out something like "ma" and then leans against your ankle, visibly worn out. Your heartstrings snag on the sight and you know, foolishly, that this was only every going to go one way.
You're such a terrible liar, son. Ironic, considering how good at his parents had been...
"C'mon," you bite back a sigh, "let's get them home." The two of you would figure it out when you got back to camp. It would be a slow track back, with Claysong's limp, but you couldn't leave them out hear - and he wouldn't.
"Thanks, Aunty."
When you bury Claysong, you don't let his kits come; they don't need to see the mass of graves their father is joining.
His former mentor and you trade stories and, the second day, his former apprentice relieves you off your vigil, telling you to go back to his kits.
Part of you is angry at him: if he simply taken it easy, like he was told, then he never would have cut his crippled leg. If he had listened to her, his mostly numb leg wouldn't have grown infected from the unnoticed wound. If he hadn't been her brother's son, he wouldn't have died of it all.
But another part of you understand. The part that remembers how you pushed and pushed after your own debilitating injury, eager to return to your duties and make up for the fact that you let your brother die; how horrible it felt like to be stuck in the medicine den and then camp, those first few moons. How others treat you like you were fragile: you recall how it shook you to your very core to realize that you would never function as whole cat again. It was so frustrating to relearn how to hunt, to even mover around with only one eye. If Mallowbird had not been there, had not been more iron-willed than yourself, you would have, have...
...you would have done exactly as Claysong.
You pounce on the opportunity to claim responsibility for his kits, to be their primary caregiver. It's what he would have wanted.
“Aunty?”
“Yes, Towheekit?” You slant an eye open, smiling as your grandniece waddles over to your path of sun – you’ve been staying in camp more and more often, with kits randomly disappearing as of late. You don’t bother to lift your head, ears listening to Heatherkit and Snailkit play loudly somewhere on your blindside.
“What was my grandparents like?” She loses focus on balancing and ends up falling face first into your flank; you chuckle as she settles in.
“Were, starshine, ‘what were they like’.” She pouts at your correction as you curl your tail about her fluffy little body.
“Auuuuuuunty!”
“Okay, okay–” You snicker as she batters your side uselessly, finally lifting your head, “Your father must have talked about them sometimes.”
“Dad said you knew ev’rything!”
“Well…” You languidly stretch your front paws out, a nostalgically sad grin tugging at your muzzle, “I wouldn’t say eeeeeveeeerything–”
“AUNTY!”
“–But I can tell you some. Buuuuut,” In a swift movement, you scoop her up and drag her around to sit between your paws, “It’ll take a while, because I’ll have to start at the beginning of it all – it’ll probably be long enough for a good bath.”
“...” She’s pouting, which reminds you so much of Volepaw that its as delightfully cute as it is heart-tugging, “Fiiiine.”
“To start with,” Snailkit and Heatherkit are scuttling over to listen, from the sounds of it, as you start to soothe Towheekit’s unruly fur down, “My parents – your great-grandparents – were an older couple: Morningpool and Whitenose. They’d tried for a long time to have kits…”
Yes, you think, joy is a choice; and how could one not be joyful with all this?
"Yeah... we did, huh? Such little miracles you gave me, Morningpool."
"Our little miracles."
"Lichenkit, be careful!"
You recoil and pin your ears back, Snowkit squalling from a simple prodding.
"Honey," Ma sighs, nudging you away from your brother, "You have to be gentle with your littermates; we've been over this."
"But Poppykit--"
"Poppykit is older than you by two mores, Lichenkit," You're pouting and you fight a bit when Ma pulls you in close close to her chest, "And you're so much stronger than your siblings."
You huff and pointedly ignore her. It's not fair! Plenty of other kits' littermates play with them, why can't yours? All Snowkit and Volekit do is sleep, eat and sometimes waddle after you.
"Lichenkit."
You stick your nose in the air as Ma gently rubs her cheek against your back. Your tail tip wriggles in annoyance... but its hard to stay made your mom.
"I jus' wanna play wit' them..." You try not to whine, but you can't help it: it's just so unfair! Plus, Ma and Pa are too old to play anyway...
"Lichenkit," Ma sighs softly and licks the top of your head soothingly. "You're my healthiest little one, love; Snowkit and Volekit are getting better, they just need time."
"I know..."
"They're getting stronger everyday," she went on, purring softly, "They'll be able to play soon and when they are, you'll all have so much fun."
Berrystep does visit your littermates a lot... And Volekit does try to follow you all the time and Snowkit is napping less often. And you guess the two are talking a lot at least.
"Can you promise me to be patient, my little love?"
"Why are they... not like me, Mama?"
"Well..." She pauses and you turn around to peer up at her; she sighs and gently taps your foreheads together, "Ma and Pa had a hard time having kits, Lichenkit; you know we're a lot older than most of the other mates in the den."
You nod, a little uncertain. It's not hard to tell that your parents are almost the same age as some of the elders who come to visit and share stories, but you hadn't thought it odd, even when you noticed how much younger everyone else's parents were.
"Your all our little miracles," she nuzzled a bit closer, sounding a guilty as she continues and you find yourself purring to soothe her, "but my age affected your siblings, made them weaker... So I suppose it's my fault they can't play with you, honey."
"No!" You frown and duck down to snuggle in close, "It's not your fault Mama!"
"Thank you, little love." She chuckles softly, "I just... I need you to be patient; the medicine cat says they'll be getting better faster now."
"I promise, Ma, I'll be super pa..patient!"
"It was an accident", Mapletail - Volepaw's mentor - reassures you immediately after.
"It's no one's fault", Ma and Pa promise you at the funeral, in the shade of the grove.
"It happens", Mallowbird grumbles days later as he spends the day teaching you various techniques Weavers use to encourage stronger limb growth in the territory's tree.
"It was nothing but pure, youthful arrogance", some elders whisper amongst each other in the half moon to follow, unaware of your arrival at the den entrance. Shrouded in grief, you get very little in the way of punishment for letting another apprentice change their nests out that day.
You will never be able to articulate those last moments - heartbeats - with your sister; not to another living soul and probably not as long as you live. It'd been such an innocent, childish game that day; just a harmless competition while your mentors were distracted.
Who could reach the highest branch in the tree first?
The crack of the branch haunts the innermost sanctum of your mind; the thud of your sister hitting the ground is burrowed into your ears. You still hear both, even as the moon passes.
And when the memory of her beseeching eyes and reaching paws - help me, help - wakes you in a cold for nights on end? You find Snowpaw's yellow eyes in the dark of the apprentices' den...
...you know you're no the only one blaming yourself, either.
“Well, if’n it ain’t my favorite apprentice.”
It’s hard to wallow when that old tom slides into the medicine den, so you don’t fight the smile that brightens your face, even if the tug of the muscles makes the right side of face throb.
No one has visited, but that is simply because you have no one to visit you in the medicine cat’s den. Mother and Father have long been happily reunited with Volepaw in Starclan, Honeyshade is in the nursery, and Snowleap...
Honeyshade hasn’t forgiven you for his death yet; you don’t know if you’ll ever forgive yourself either.
“Mallowbird.” You chuckle anyway and shift around to face the ancient elder as he settles his crackling old bones next to you, “I must be, t’get you out of the elder’s den!”
He shoots you a wink, then takes a long moment to eye you over. He cocks his head one way and then the other before nodding; you can’t help smiling at his mannerisms. Mallowbird’s failing sight is what finally forced him to retire and, as far as you can tell, he only sees out of certain parts of his eyes.
“It’s a good look fer ya.” He nudges his way half into your nest and you laugh at his teasing; Mallowbird is the closest thing you had to a grandfather. “Ah kept tellin’ ya you were too pretty, that ev’ntually ev’n the star’s’d get jealous! It’s fair’r to the rest of us mortals that you join us in our mediocrity.”
Your sides ache as you laugh, remembering how he used to tease you as an apprentice – when all your agemates were crushing on each other, especially your brother on Honeypaw – that you were too blindingly gorgeous for anyone to consider approaching romantically. He probably worried that you felt left out, ev’n when you honestly didn’t, but the thoughtfulness of the gesture was heartwarming.
“Don’t let anyone hear you, old tom.” You snipe back, leaning in as he starts to share tongues with you; it’s been a bit since you’d last been able to properly groom yourself and the motion is soothingly nonetheless. “Blaspheming like that!”
“Ah, let him,” He scoffed, “M’old enough that ah only got Starclan t’answer too.”
A snort escapes you as you shuffle a bit closer to help him get his own pelt in order. A peaceful kind of quiet falls over the den, what with Berrystep out and about. You hope Honeyshade will let you see the kits when they’re born – they’ll be all that’s left of your family…
“Ahright.” He huffs, pulling away and dragging himself to his paws, “Yer presentable, let’s go.”
“Go where, exactly?” You cock your head as you carefully rise to your feet – your balance and coordination have been off lately, without your other eye – nonetheless, “I don’t know if ah should be lettin’ some blind elder lead a half-blind cat ‘round.”
He’s still quick enough to catch you gently around the ears in reprimand, “Mind yerself, goin’ to see your folks.”
You missed Snowleap’s burial, as it was touch and go with a nasty infection for a while. The thought of going makes you still at the entrance, unsure for once in a long time; is this a good idea?
“Move it, scrawny,” Mallowbird gripes, “M’not too old to drag y’around by yer scruff!”
Mother and Father are buried next to each other, as well as Volepaw; they’d wanted the family to be together after your sister’s premature passing. Now there’s a fresh grave.
Mallowbird sits down and you join him. It’s surprisingly peaceful here and there’s fresh blooms on Snowleap’s burial spot – either his apprentice, who adored him, or Honeyshade came by recently.
“C’mere, kit.” He finally speaks, lifting a paw and beckoning her closer, “Ya need this.”
You manage a smile, though it's watery – visiting always hurts. To remember what you once had – large, loving, tight-knit family – and how alone you felt now… Ducking your head, you nestle it under his chin and sniffle a bit; you understand, too, as he purrs gruffly in your ear, that his time is fast approaching.
“Happiness comes ‘n’ goes, Lichenflight,” He grumbles, “but that’s always been some you innately understood, wit’out a single soul t’tell ya; you were always m’happiest kit.”
“You used to complain about that.” You snicker welty, recalling those six moons of training, where he’d huff and puff about being stuck with his literal opposite.
“M’the better for havin’ trained ya, kit,” The admittance is begruding, “Y’taught me that joy’s a choice, cuz you made that choice ev’ryday; still make it, too, ‘spite ev’rything ya lost.”
Volepaw had reached out to you as she plummeted past to the earth far below. Mother had weakly shared tongues with each of your siblings and you the day before she passed; she knew she was dying. Father had spent a whole moon in mourning before joining her and it had been like trying to get through to a ghost. And, now, Snowleap had died as you lay injured, protecting you.
You had promised your parents, so many moons ago, that you’d look out for your siblings – you were the biggest kit, the healthiest, and Mother and Father’s advancing age had made raising a family hard on them (though no one would ever guess it from how happy the two mates had been). But it seemed at every turn, fate had other plans…
“They’re proud of ya, y’know,” He pulled back to peer at your wrapped face, “An’ so am I. Yer doin’ good kit, just… don’t stop bein’ you.”
In the chaos of the invasion, you lost sight of your niece and nephew.
It was an accident, of course, but an unavoidable one. You just did the best to keep your own skin in tact (or mostly so) and help your clanmates are you could. Sunwind and her mate Darkberry wouldn't be far from each other, you reassured yourself, and Claysong was big lad who could easily hold his own.
You end up squaring off with hulking mink guardian when Claysong finds you; you are faster than the Ridgeclan bobtail and much more experienced with outmaneuvering larger opponents, so you aren't too worried. Your nephew, however, looks like a panicked squirrel as he comes to your rescue - or, tries to.
The Ridgeclan tom is bigger than him, brawnier built, and while he isn't faster he isn't having to worry about anyone else in the fight; Claysong pays far too much attention to you and where you are in his disquiet. In the moon to come, you will scold him for the mistake he makes here...
He turns his back to his opponent.
The brute is on him before you can even open your mouth, catching him under his belly and flipping him over with ease. You spring onto the Ridgeclan guardian's back, shrieking and clawing and biting, so you miss how it happens-
But you know what the cracking and crunching of a bone breaking sounds like all too well.
Claysong yowls in agony and you go for the eyes; you must get close, because the tom jerks away and stumbles and-
Larchnose comes thundering in, lunging for the tom's throat; you get knocked free as the two collide and roll. Claysong lays moaning behind you as you hurry to catch up - Larchnose is even smaller than you, she'd need help!
There's blood everywhere when you jump in, wriggling in and clawing and biting the tom as best you can. Between your former apprentice - who has fought with you before, unlike your nephew - and yourself, you tear the tom's pelt to pieces and drive him off.
You're both covered in blood and, sadly, it takes you a few moments longer than it should to realize how much of it is hers; she collapses after taking a few steps towards you and you move towards, calling for help as you try to stop the gushing wound at her chest. Rainshade, Stars praise, arrives and stays with her, urging you to check on Claysong...
When the battle ends, Mistclan has won, somehow: Prairieclan arrives to turn the tide and you think you see a few familiar faces amongst their warriors. You are battered and bruised, covered in so much blood, you're not sure you'll ever be clean again. Larchnose is still breathing, Rainshade has tattered ears and Claysong...
He lives. And that is all you can really ask for.
In the wake of the battle, Sunwind and Darkberry are buried next to their mother and father. Claysong can't make it to the burial, his mangled front leg keeping him in the medicine cat's den.
From what Rainshade tells you, Sunwind had gone after a small, red Ridgeclan warrior; Darkberry had tried to follow, but the pair had been separated. The throat wound on your niece was all that could be said about the outcome of the fight and it seemed only right to bury her mate next to her.
The next day, you attend Larchnose's ceremony; you owe her - your very first apprentice - your nephew's life and you express to her mothers what a true warrior their daughter was. The three of you cry, even though it feels like you shouldn't have anymore after burying your niece, but you manage. It does not help, but spending the rest of the vigil sharing stories from training her makes the pair feel slightly, visibly better.
Mistclan moves to recover.
"Oh, honey..."
When your nephew had abruptly brought you out here, practically dragging you onto a two-cat border patrol, you hadn't thought it would be to help three mewing, waddling bundles of fur.
"Where's their mother?" The milk-scent on them (as well as the scent of a loner) is so fresh, the trio of kits must've been freshly off the teat.
Most cats tended to see your nephew as a bright, sunny personality with hardly a frown to spare, even after his crippling injury only two moons ago, but after raising the tom, you know better: he just reads different than most others. A trained eye can pick it up, easy. Now, despite beaming down at the runt as she clambers at his big paw, mewing hungrily, you can easily spot his corners of his muzzle tremble and his ears flicker slightly.
"I..." He won't look you in the eye, "I, uh, don't know."
A small tongue dabs at your own white toes and you peak down as big blue eyes stare up at you. The little one warbles out something like "ma" and then leans against your ankle, visibly worn out. Your heartstrings snag on the sight and you know, foolishly, that this was only every going to go one way.
You're such a terrible liar, son. Ironic, considering how good at his parents had been...
"C'mon," you bite back a sigh, "let's get them home." The two of you would figure it out when you got back to camp. It would be a slow track back, with Claysong's limp, but you couldn't leave them out hear - and he wouldn't.
"Thanks, Aunty."
When you bury Claysong, you don't let his kits come; they don't need to see the mass of graves their father is joining.
His former mentor and you trade stories and, the second day, his former apprentice relieves you off your vigil, telling you to go back to his kits.
Part of you is angry at him: if he simply taken it easy, like he was told, then he never would have cut his crippled leg. If he had listened to her, his mostly numb leg wouldn't have grown infected from the unnoticed wound. If he hadn't been her brother's son, he wouldn't have died of it all.
But another part of you understand. The part that remembers how you pushed and pushed after your own debilitating injury, eager to return to your duties and make up for the fact that you let your brother die; how horrible it felt like to be stuck in the medicine den and then camp, those first few moons. How others treat you like you were fragile: you recall how it shook you to your very core to realize that you would never function as whole cat again. It was so frustrating to relearn how to hunt, to even mover around with only one eye. If Mallowbird had not been there, had not been more iron-willed than yourself, you would have, have...
...you would have done exactly as Claysong.
You pounce on the opportunity to claim responsibility for his kits, to be their primary caregiver. It's what he would have wanted.
“Aunty?”
“Yes, Towheekit?” You slant an eye open, smiling as your grandniece waddles over to your path of sun – you’ve been staying in camp more and more often, with kits randomly disappearing as of late. You don’t bother to lift your head, ears listening to Heatherkit and Snailkit play loudly somewhere on your blindside.
“What was my grandparents like?” She loses focus on balancing and ends up falling face first into your flank; you chuckle as she settles in.
“Were, starshine, ‘what were they like’.” She pouts at your correction as you curl your tail about her fluffy little body.
“Auuuuuuunty!”
“Okay, okay–” You snicker as she batters your side uselessly, finally lifting your head, “Your father must have talked about them sometimes.”
“Dad said you knew ev’rything!”
“Well…” You languidly stretch your front paws out, a nostalgically sad grin tugging at your muzzle, “I wouldn’t say eeeeeveeeerything–”
“AUNTY!”
“–But I can tell you some. Buuuuut,” In a swift movement, you scoop her up and drag her around to sit between your paws, “It’ll take a while, because I’ll have to start at the beginning of it all – it’ll probably be long enough for a good bath.”
“...” She’s pouting, which reminds you so much of Volepaw that its as delightfully cute as it is heart-tugging, “Fiiiine.”
“To start with,” Snailkit and Heatherkit are scuttling over to listen, from the sounds of it, as you start to soothe Towheekit’s unruly fur down, “My parents – your great-grandparents – were an older couple: Morningpool and Whitenose. They’d tried for a long time to have kits…”
Yes, you think, joy is a choice; and how could one not be joyful with all this?
personality
Positives
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relations
PRE-PLOTTING
Cat of the Branches - as a Weaver, Lichenflight understands that any tree (or plant, for that matter) cannot survive on its own. It needs help, contribution to grow healthy and sturdy – in a similar fashion, cats do also. As a forest is only as strong as its weakest tree, so is Mistclan and, on a greater scale, the valley all three clans call home; cooperation between clanmates and the clans themselves is essential to survival of all. She does not agree with Mistclan’s distancing from Prairieclan and, while she doesn’t voice her opinions in camp, she shows her stance by being amiable with any patrols she runs into on the Prairieclan border. And, while she is more hesitant with Ridgeclan itself at present given her recent losses, she tries very hard to be open and kind to the refugees from the mountainous clan that Mistclan took in; she also doesn’t believe that Ridgeclan is beyond redemption because of one cat’s choices, but worries a bit about what may become of their neighbors if no one reaches out to help them in this time of instability.
Lichenflight is also, like most Branches, a good mediator, especially as she’s gotten older and gained more life experience. While she does not avoid confrontation or conflict, she does not enjoy it. She enjoys a good debate, too, and happily encourages diversity of thought and ideas amongst her clanmates (and especially in her apprentices) in order to enrich the lifeblood of the clan.
FAMILY
[family tree link here]
Family is a very nostalgic subject for Lichenflight, as she has outlived both her littermates and their kits; she remembers most of her formerly large family fondly, but that often causes her to reminisce on what could have been as she acts as her grandniblings primary caregiver. She loves the three of them dearly, nonetheless, and hopes for a peaceful future for them.
✝✝ Morningpool & Whitenose (parents) - it’s hard to recall her parents without each other; thought many, Lichenflight included, don’t believe in soulmates, there was just something about her parents that clicked into place when they were together. Despite having doting parents, it’s far easier to see the introverted weaver Morningpool in her daughter. She misses both dearly.
✝ Snowleap (brother) - Where Lichenflight resembled her mother, Snowleap was almost an exact replica of their father in every way: same white pelt, same charm and political smarts. She still blames herself for his untimely demise…
✝ Volepaw (sister) - life as a warrior is hard and full of untold danger; unfortunately, Volepaw was always too eager to leap before she looked and that was her downfall. Despite their frequent disagreements, though, the two were still family and her loss is an old wound.
✝ Honeyshade (SIL) - Lichenflight never liked the sly molly much, but tried to get along with the warrior for her brother’s sake. When he died, it was easy to see Honeyshadw blamed Lichenflight too. Nonetheless, it is still a shame Honeyshade didn’t live to see her kits grow.
✝ Claynose (nephew) - Unfortunately, of the two of her niblings, Lichenflight was closest with her nephew. Claynose was a sweetheart, a gentle giant who wore his heart on his sleeve. Not even his limp or his sister’s death could crush his spirit. His death was the one she took the hardest of all her family.
✝ Sunwind (niece) - Sunwind was distant with Lichenflight, too much like Honeyshade for the two to seem to get along despite the older molly’s best efforts. When she died alongside her mate, Darkberry, when Ridgeclan invaded camp, it suddenly hit Lichenflight what she was losing.
Snailpaw, Towheepaw, & Heatherpaw (grandnieces, grandnibling) - As her last remaining family, Lichenflight adores these three. [all adoptables]
FRIENDS
While she is an exceedingly affable cat, Lichenflight does not have the social graces her brother and father were known for. She rarely doesn’t get along with others (and when she decides your a friend, she's a bit like a tick) but her bluntness and
Smallbreeze (Prairieclan tunneler) - the pair of unlikely friends became close shortly as Ridgeclan's invasion, when Mistclan welcomed Prairieclan's friendship. Of course, Smallbreeze's gruff and rough persona does little to deter Lichenflight now that she's decided the two are friends and it, admittedly, has sadden her how the two can only talk sparingly nowadays.
ROMANCE
She has never sought out romance on her own; it’s not that Lichenflight dislikes romance, it’s just something she never looked for as she was often too busy caring for her own family. There was a tom at one point, but it was a hopeless, one-sided sort of crush that was further made impossible by the fact they were from separate worlds. Needless to say, that didn’t go anywhere. But, who knows what the future holds?
Family
| Friends
| Rivals
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appearance
