Post by ares on Mar 11, 2019 23:09:56 GMT
LILYCLOUD of MEADOWCLAN
twenty-one moons
warrior
female
gay
twenty-one moons
warrior
female
gay
welcome to your life, sunshine. . .
as the first rays of the morning sun broke through the foliage above the camp, the grey tabby queen began to give birth to two kits who would grow to loathe each other. the first one, a dark brown tabby tom, would be dubbed toadkit, and the second, a white and dilute calico she-cat that would carry the name lilykit. brackenlight gazed down upon the lives she had brought into the world with love and adoration, and her blue eyes misted with emotion. the father, gorsetail would return from the morning patrol to welcome his offspring, though his reception would be far less compassionate. the kits were never what he wanted, and he would be damned if he played a role in their lives.
love your mother, tolerate your brother, forget your father. . .
you weren't the smartest kit in the nursery, not by a landslide. what you lacked in brains and natural skill, you made up for in charm and beauty. you were, and would remain, an oddity among your den mates. your brother, the spitting image of the cat that sired you, is fearless, driven even at the young age of three moons to push boundaries and cross lines. your mother wraps her tail protectively around you, her delicate flower, and watches toadkit with warmth.
you long to race after him, to tackle him from behind and squeal with delight as you play fought, but the rules are clear. you are to be protected, taught manners and to be seen and not heard. it is at this age that you become heavily acquainted with the all encompassing feeling of jealousy. you speak to your mother in polite tones, never holding her gaze for too long, as she told you it is rude to do so. you pick your words carefully, and hold your tongue when venom threatens to spew forth. you begin to repress your emotions of displeasure, perfecting your face smile.
"no one will like you if you're rude, my sweet. you must speak only when spoken to, and to remain silent otherwise." you lose count of how many times you hear her say that to you while you wait patiently to become an apprentice. your brother taunts you from a distance, always just out of your reach. your mother tells you that he is just like your father - a fire that cannot and will not be bridled. there are different rules, you learn, of how she-cat and toms are allowed to act. you know you're not the smartest kit, but you are observant, and catch yourself gasping as one of the apprentices talks about to her mentor. perhaps, you allow yourself to think, your mother is the only one that believes that she-cats should act differently. of course, you keep this revelation to yourself, because starclan would not like it you were rude.
eat, train, sleep. remember your manners, my sweet. . .
even though you are as excited as your brother about your apprentice ceremony, you appear as calm as a seasoned warrior. the tip of your tail twitching is the only thing betraying your excitement whereas your brother sits shuffling his paws and looking around frantically. you are almost embarrassed for him, but you remember once again that he lives under a different set of rules. he is called forth first, and his mentor is a strong she-cat that you have admired from a far since you first set paw out of the nursery. she exudes confidence, and while she intimidates you, you want to be her when you become a warrior. you politely call out your brothers' name with the rest of the clan, and then, finally, it is your turn.
with a calculated walk, you move towards the leader and look up at him, but don't meet his gaze. ”toms see that as a challenge, sweet kit. mind your manners." you touch noses with your mentor, a senior warrior that demands everyone's attention just with his presence. his captivating blue eyes draw you in and you find yourself staring, everything your mother taught you forgotten in that morning. as you lay in your nest that night, your ears burn with embarrassment at the memory.
it's not surprising, really, the more you think about it. of course toadpaw is great at everything right from the get go. he's quick as an adder as he hunts, and his movements are a river, fluid and graceful. your green eyes burn into his pelt and you curse his name to starclan. seeing his success ignites a smoldering hatred deep within your soul into a full blown inferno. you refuse to be left behind, but you will not reach for success the same way your brother has.
you have your own talents, ones that will get you farther than brute strength. you sweet talk your mentor into showing you easier battle moves, and you use your size to your advantage. where your brother is rippling and strong, you are more agile, your build smaller than his and you slowly begin to work your way up to his level. you have yet to surpass him, but you are no longer a distant memory. despite what you were told from a young age, you begin to feel confident in your abilities, though your brother calls it arrogance. you couldn't care less what he thinks.
your blood boils at the sight of the small apprentice quivering in fear as toadpaw decided he needed to learn respect. the apprentice had done nothing wrong, merely tread on his tail while trying to maneuver the den. a small mistake blown out of proportion by your crowfood eating brother. you watch, holding your tongue as your mother insisted, until you can no longer take it. you want nothing more than to launch at him, pin him down and show him no mercy, but you were raised better than that. instead, you calmly walk over, and wrap your tail protectively around the frightened apprentice.
"toadpaw, dear brother, is that any way to treat someone who is just learning?" you smile, but it holds no warmth, your eyes betraying the contempt you feel at the sight of his smug face. he opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off. "forgive my rudeness, but I think it is time that you went and found something more useful to do with your time. how do you ever expect to become a warrior and a mentor if you cannot control that despicable temper? take a walk, brother. and come back when you have learned some manners." by the time you finish speaking, your heart is racing and it takes everything in your power to steady your tail. toadpaw stares at you in disbelief, as if you had struck him upon the maw. you dip your head to your brother politely before escorting the apprentice away and ensuring that he is alright. you allow yourself to feel a moment of pride, but repress it just as quick. if there was one thing you are good at, it's repressing your feelings.
honor your clan, fight to the death, and always remember to smile. . .
lilycloud. you enjoy the way it rolls of your tongue. you are named for your gentle and caring personality, and though your brother has not said a word to you since that day with the apprentice, he still chants your name. you realize with humour that he finally found his manners. you do not honor him. you keep your mouth shut as the rest of the clan echoes his new name. your mother would later call you petty, but you find it hard to care. despite your beliefs, everything that was instilled in you since you could walk, you stood up to him, and while it didn't change who you are, you know what you are capable of. your first few moons as a warrior are uneventful and filled with the monotonous tasks that you will spend the rest of your life doing.
your prowess as a warrior doesn't go unnoticed by one of the older warriors. weaselstrike. a dark brown tabby tom with yellow eyes, his pelt long like yours. he's quite lovely to look at, all burly, and meticulously groomed, but you feel no pull towards him. he says all the right things, and brushes you with his tail when you laugh at his jokes, though you are only trying to be polite. weaselstrike tells you finds it charming that you can't seem to hold eye contact with him, and mistakes it for shyness. you want to correct him, but that would be rude. despite your lack of feelings for the tom, you go along with it all. you sneak out of the camp with him at night, and rendezvous under the stars, even though your mother would say that's not what good she-cats do.
everything was fine, until he announced that you were his mate and that you would soon be having kits. you never wanted kits, though you had a maternal side to you. you offered compassion where it was due, and discipline when needed, but kits of your own? it just seemed like so much responsibility. you knew you were going to have to break his heart, tell him that you didn't see him that way, that you didn't see any toms that way, but for the first time in your life, your words failed you. this was one time when it was not polite to keep your mouth shut. staying with him would mean robbing him of a chance at family, and you the chance at true, unadulterated love. you should've ended it before it began, but you didn't want to be rude.
"weaselstrike, my sweet, i do not wish to hurt you. however," you had met where you always did, between the roots of two intertwined trees, with a hole in the canopy just large enough to bathe it in moonlight. you wanted to look him in the eye while you spoke, let him see and feel how sorry you were for tearing his world apart, but your courage is lost in the breeze. you stare at your paws. "i cannot be your mate. i do not feel for you, the way you do for me. it would be unfair to stay as your mate, when i do not wish to give you kits that you so badly desire." you can feel the pain in his gaze, though you still don't meet it. you pray to starclan for an easier way, but they are silent as stars. "i adore you, and you are my best friend. that is why i must let you go so that you can be happy." silence falls between you, and when you look up, weaselstrike is gone. you curled up among the roots of the trees and watched the sky lighten. you have never felt so small.
keep your head up, and don't let them se your pain. . .
it's more painful than you thought it was going to be when weaselstrike and his new mate have their kits. they are beautiful, and for a moment, your heart aches for what could've been. but you know that your future does not lie in kits, and sitting idly by. you are to be a warrior of meadowclan, strong and brave, with a fire in your soul so strong not even the mightiest rivers can douse it. maybe one day you will have a mate, though it will not be a tom. for now, you smile politely to those around you, and carefully maneuver your way through clan life.
as the first rays of the morning sun broke through the foliage above the camp, the grey tabby queen began to give birth to two kits who would grow to loathe each other. the first one, a dark brown tabby tom, would be dubbed toadkit, and the second, a white and dilute calico she-cat that would carry the name lilykit. brackenlight gazed down upon the lives she had brought into the world with love and adoration, and her blue eyes misted with emotion. the father, gorsetail would return from the morning patrol to welcome his offspring, though his reception would be far less compassionate. the kits were never what he wanted, and he would be damned if he played a role in their lives.
love your mother, tolerate your brother, forget your father. . .
you weren't the smartest kit in the nursery, not by a landslide. what you lacked in brains and natural skill, you made up for in charm and beauty. you were, and would remain, an oddity among your den mates. your brother, the spitting image of the cat that sired you, is fearless, driven even at the young age of three moons to push boundaries and cross lines. your mother wraps her tail protectively around you, her delicate flower, and watches toadkit with warmth.
you long to race after him, to tackle him from behind and squeal with delight as you play fought, but the rules are clear. you are to be protected, taught manners and to be seen and not heard. it is at this age that you become heavily acquainted with the all encompassing feeling of jealousy. you speak to your mother in polite tones, never holding her gaze for too long, as she told you it is rude to do so. you pick your words carefully, and hold your tongue when venom threatens to spew forth. you begin to repress your emotions of displeasure, perfecting your face smile.
"no one will like you if you're rude, my sweet. you must speak only when spoken to, and to remain silent otherwise." you lose count of how many times you hear her say that to you while you wait patiently to become an apprentice. your brother taunts you from a distance, always just out of your reach. your mother tells you that he is just like your father - a fire that cannot and will not be bridled. there are different rules, you learn, of how she-cat and toms are allowed to act. you know you're not the smartest kit, but you are observant, and catch yourself gasping as one of the apprentices talks about to her mentor. perhaps, you allow yourself to think, your mother is the only one that believes that she-cats should act differently. of course, you keep this revelation to yourself, because starclan would not like it you were rude.
eat, train, sleep. remember your manners, my sweet. . .
even though you are as excited as your brother about your apprentice ceremony, you appear as calm as a seasoned warrior. the tip of your tail twitching is the only thing betraying your excitement whereas your brother sits shuffling his paws and looking around frantically. you are almost embarrassed for him, but you remember once again that he lives under a different set of rules. he is called forth first, and his mentor is a strong she-cat that you have admired from a far since you first set paw out of the nursery. she exudes confidence, and while she intimidates you, you want to be her when you become a warrior. you politely call out your brothers' name with the rest of the clan, and then, finally, it is your turn.
with a calculated walk, you move towards the leader and look up at him, but don't meet his gaze. ”toms see that as a challenge, sweet kit. mind your manners." you touch noses with your mentor, a senior warrior that demands everyone's attention just with his presence. his captivating blue eyes draw you in and you find yourself staring, everything your mother taught you forgotten in that morning. as you lay in your nest that night, your ears burn with embarrassment at the memory.
it's not surprising, really, the more you think about it. of course toadpaw is great at everything right from the get go. he's quick as an adder as he hunts, and his movements are a river, fluid and graceful. your green eyes burn into his pelt and you curse his name to starclan. seeing his success ignites a smoldering hatred deep within your soul into a full blown inferno. you refuse to be left behind, but you will not reach for success the same way your brother has.
you have your own talents, ones that will get you farther than brute strength. you sweet talk your mentor into showing you easier battle moves, and you use your size to your advantage. where your brother is rippling and strong, you are more agile, your build smaller than his and you slowly begin to work your way up to his level. you have yet to surpass him, but you are no longer a distant memory. despite what you were told from a young age, you begin to feel confident in your abilities, though your brother calls it arrogance. you couldn't care less what he thinks.
your blood boils at the sight of the small apprentice quivering in fear as toadpaw decided he needed to learn respect. the apprentice had done nothing wrong, merely tread on his tail while trying to maneuver the den. a small mistake blown out of proportion by your crowfood eating brother. you watch, holding your tongue as your mother insisted, until you can no longer take it. you want nothing more than to launch at him, pin him down and show him no mercy, but you were raised better than that. instead, you calmly walk over, and wrap your tail protectively around the frightened apprentice.
"toadpaw, dear brother, is that any way to treat someone who is just learning?" you smile, but it holds no warmth, your eyes betraying the contempt you feel at the sight of his smug face. he opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off. "forgive my rudeness, but I think it is time that you went and found something more useful to do with your time. how do you ever expect to become a warrior and a mentor if you cannot control that despicable temper? take a walk, brother. and come back when you have learned some manners." by the time you finish speaking, your heart is racing and it takes everything in your power to steady your tail. toadpaw stares at you in disbelief, as if you had struck him upon the maw. you dip your head to your brother politely before escorting the apprentice away and ensuring that he is alright. you allow yourself to feel a moment of pride, but repress it just as quick. if there was one thing you are good at, it's repressing your feelings.
honor your clan, fight to the death, and always remember to smile. . .
lilycloud. you enjoy the way it rolls of your tongue. you are named for your gentle and caring personality, and though your brother has not said a word to you since that day with the apprentice, he still chants your name. you realize with humour that he finally found his manners. you do not honor him. you keep your mouth shut as the rest of the clan echoes his new name. your mother would later call you petty, but you find it hard to care. despite your beliefs, everything that was instilled in you since you could walk, you stood up to him, and while it didn't change who you are, you know what you are capable of. your first few moons as a warrior are uneventful and filled with the monotonous tasks that you will spend the rest of your life doing.
your prowess as a warrior doesn't go unnoticed by one of the older warriors. weaselstrike. a dark brown tabby tom with yellow eyes, his pelt long like yours. he's quite lovely to look at, all burly, and meticulously groomed, but you feel no pull towards him. he says all the right things, and brushes you with his tail when you laugh at his jokes, though you are only trying to be polite. weaselstrike tells you finds it charming that you can't seem to hold eye contact with him, and mistakes it for shyness. you want to correct him, but that would be rude. despite your lack of feelings for the tom, you go along with it all. you sneak out of the camp with him at night, and rendezvous under the stars, even though your mother would say that's not what good she-cats do.
everything was fine, until he announced that you were his mate and that you would soon be having kits. you never wanted kits, though you had a maternal side to you. you offered compassion where it was due, and discipline when needed, but kits of your own? it just seemed like so much responsibility. you knew you were going to have to break his heart, tell him that you didn't see him that way, that you didn't see any toms that way, but for the first time in your life, your words failed you. this was one time when it was not polite to keep your mouth shut. staying with him would mean robbing him of a chance at family, and you the chance at true, unadulterated love. you should've ended it before it began, but you didn't want to be rude.
"weaselstrike, my sweet, i do not wish to hurt you. however," you had met where you always did, between the roots of two intertwined trees, with a hole in the canopy just large enough to bathe it in moonlight. you wanted to look him in the eye while you spoke, let him see and feel how sorry you were for tearing his world apart, but your courage is lost in the breeze. you stare at your paws. "i cannot be your mate. i do not feel for you, the way you do for me. it would be unfair to stay as your mate, when i do not wish to give you kits that you so badly desire." you can feel the pain in his gaze, though you still don't meet it. you pray to starclan for an easier way, but they are silent as stars. "i adore you, and you are my best friend. that is why i must let you go so that you can be happy." silence falls between you, and when you look up, weaselstrike is gone. you curled up among the roots of the trees and watched the sky lighten. you have never felt so small.
keep your head up, and don't let them se your pain. . .
it's more painful than you thought it was going to be when weaselstrike and his new mate have their kits. they are beautiful, and for a moment, your heart aches for what could've been. but you know that your future does not lie in kits, and sitting idly by. you are to be a warrior of meadowclan, strong and brave, with a fire in your soul so strong not even the mightiest rivers can douse it. maybe one day you will have a mate, though it will not be a tom. for now, you smile politely to those around you, and carefully maneuver your way through clan life.
