A tall and scruffy tortoiseshell point she-cat with blue eyes.

In theory Patchpaw should look elegant. Her pale coat bleeds into striking patches of black and orange at her paws, face, and tail. Her legs are long, her paws are small and her frame is lithe. Light blue eyes stand out from the darker patches of her face and eyes.

But Patchpaw is not elegant. Discomfort and distrust are written across her face and pelt, always ready to fight or flee. And as pretty as her eyes might be, they're often narrowed and glaring, as if she can see right through a cat's soul by staring hard enough.

The earliest edge's of Patchpaw's memory are fuzzy. She was just Patch then, and Ashpaw was just Ash. Patch and Ash and Thistle, their mother. Names are clear, as are emotions. Paranoia and confusion. The first, her mother's, the latter, her own.

Thistle never hid her fear. Something haunted her, hunted her. Words were whispered between the family, early attempts at playing and speaking were quickly hushed.

"We've been here too long." Thistle would say. "They'll find us."

Whenever Ash or Patch would ask who would find them, Thistle would shush them again. She was impatient as they learned to walk, eager to resume the journey she had started moons ago. Sometimes she would mutter about shadows and getting caught, when she didn't think her kits could hear.

Patch didn't get it, why her mother stopped her from engaging in base instincts. She wanted to yell and purr and play and wrestle with Ash. But they had to stay still, stay quiet. It was horrible, stifling.

Once she and Ash could walk short distances, the journey resumed. Thistle would make the kits take turns walking, carrying one so they could rest. Patch did her best to keep up, to walk farther so Ash could rest. But she was small and young and weak and they were never far enough.

Their first home had been an abandoned rabbit den. Other homes were whatever they could find. A tree that had fallen down and rotted in the center. Dens abandoned by their makers. Ferns thick enough to shield them from the elements. Holes between rocks along rivers. Open fields when nothing else could be found. They never stopped for long.

Patch and Ash continued to grow, and Thistle was quick to teach them to defend themselves. Before even teaching them to hunt, she taught them how to avoid strikes and how to run. 

"Why do we have to run? Who is chasing us? Why can't we just stop and stay here?" Patch asked. Thistle wouldn't answer.

It was infuriating. And yet Patch couldn't find it in herself to truly oppose her mother's rules. She was young, and her mother's fear was all she knew. 

At least she had Ash. At least they wasn't alone. 

The two continued to grow, slowly learning to hunt. Their speed and endurance grew, they'd long since outgrown needing to be carried. Thistle finally seemed to calm down a little, almost relaxing.

Patch asked again one night when the three were warm and fed and snuggled together under the roots of a tree. "Who are we running from?"

Silence filled the air, and Patch wondered if her mother hadn't heard her when Thistle finally answered. "Your father. We're running from him."

No more questions were answered. But it was something, far more than she'd ever shared with her children.

Things seemed better, calmer. Patch and Ash were allowed to play more, to finally act like kits. Thistle left them alone for longer and longer. Until one day she didn't come back. 

At first Patch thought she must've just been delayed. She'd been gone for a day or two before and always returned. But as three sunrises passed, it was clear something bad must've happened. 

Had their father found them? Had Thistle's paranoia been the only thing keeping them alive? But no cats came to claim or maim them. Eventually Patch ventured out, following the faintest bits of her mother's scent. She found her mother's body curled up against a tree no too far away, a snake bite on her leg. 

It was bad luck, not a mysterious father or shadows, that took Thistle away.

Patch and Ash did their best to survive. But neither was skilled enough at hunting. They did their best, but they were only a few moons old. And most their life they'd spent walking along an endless journey.

And they continued walking ever forward.

Even though she was not really any older or more skilled than Ash, Patch took it upon herself to keep them both alive. She ate less and took watch at night so Ash could eat and sleep and keep their strength up. She even stole food from strangers, anything to keep her sibling alive.

When they came across a clan border, neither realized what it meant. An odd scent. Patch ignored it, and when the two came across the tunnels it seemed the perfect place to sleep and rest.

And then they were discovered. Patch stood between the stranger and Ash, her dirty pelt puffed out to hide her starved frame. But the cat didn't harm them, nor did he wish to. He introduced himself as Molebreeze, an odd name. 

Molebreeze changed everything. He brough the kits back to his home, a camp filled with more cats than they'd even seen in their lives. There's food too, enough to fill their bellies. After a moon of struggling without Thistle, even Patch can't help but give in and accept the help. For now.

She and Ash are given new names, Patchkit and Ashkit. Weird. Molebreeze and his mate, Asterberry, are eager to call themselves the new parents of Patchkit and Ashkit. Weirder. And quick to call Briarkit and so many other cats their new siblings. Weirdest.

The cats here are strange, not just with their names and overly familial attitudes. As they're now considered kits, Patch and Ash get to sit back and do nothing while everyone else gets them food. They say it'll only last a moon, soon they'll be apprentices and will have to work then.

Despite not having to hunt, there's a lot to do. Or rather, a lot of cats to avoid. Molebreeze and Asterberry have so many children who all want to meet their 'new siblings'. While Ash is also overwhelmed by the sibling overload, Patch is surprised to see how fast Ash is to cozy up to their 'new mom and dad'. Bleh.

If it weren't for the safety and comfort of the clan, Patch would've left. But Ash likes it here, and now neither of them are starving. So she resigns herself to this new life, trying to befriend one of the siblings who was also adopted into this mess. Unfortunately Frostmask is far too eager to be a part of this clan and family thing. Still, their story is similar enough that Patch doesn't fully write them off.

Before long Patch is Patchpaw, and slowly getting used to the odd names here. She keeps her new family at bay, and is eager to start hunting once more.

It's kinda easy, being an apprentice. She's been walking her whole life, so the borders of the clan are no struggle to reach or circle. And while she's quick to ignore advice on how to hunt from others, it's a nice surprise when she finally learns to fight. She's bad at it, but at least she has a chance to try.

It's an adjustment, but Patchpaw tries to make life work in Prairieclan. It'll be worth it if she and Ashpaw can stay safe from the shadows and their mysterious father.

Patchpaw is an independent cat. She's set in her ways and confident in them, despite her young age. The life of a loner and the death of her biological mother set her up to be far more mature than many at her age, though her youth shows through in her snappy attitude. 

Pre-Plotting: Patchpaw is Hazelsteam's adopted sister, and from her wanted ad. Patchpaw is also the child of Calypso, and thus the half-sibling of Sanguine and Starling, though none of her half-brothers are aware of her, Ashpaw, or their blood ties to the two. She's new to Prairieclan, having been here only a few moons. She best falls into the Sage belief in the Prairieclan plot adoptables, though she's not set in stone on this belief. Her new home is clearly strong, and it's better to have the other clans in their debt than at their throats.

Family: If you were to ask Patchpaw, Ashpaw is her only family. She's yet to truly trust her adopted kin, through no fault of their own. In time she may come around to them, but not now. 
Friends: Ashpaw is her closest friend. She's trying to befriend Frostmask, though she isn't a fan of the other cat's do-gooder attitude. 
Romance: Patchpaw isn't comfortable enough in her new home to consider romance worth even a second thought.
Rivals: With her snarky attitude it's likely Patchpaw has many potential rivals in Praireclan!