Post by Robinleap on Sept 3, 2016 8:16:22 GMT -6
shadowclan
robinleap
AGE
35 Moons
GENDER
[trans] male
RANK
deputy
APPEARANCE
[ small ginger and white tom with blue eyes ]
Robinleap is a small cat. He’s slender and short, with legs and a tail a little too long to be considered quite proportionate. Being AFAB, he’s always been slighter than most toms and for a large portion of his youth found his smaller size a source of constant agitation. He’s built leanly; wiry muscle and legs designed for speed as opposed to brute strength. He’s never going to have the physical power to overwhelm a larger cat but what he lacks in size he makes up for with his agility; quick to move and very rarely in one place for long.
This a particularly elegant cat. He moves with an easy, fluid gait, his pawsteps light on the earth, deliberate and soft to minimise sound. His short fur is brighter than, perhaps, would be ideal but he does his best to work with what he has. Ginger tabby fur spreads across his back and along his tail, down to his toes on both hindlegs and one foreleg, the final leg (and all four toes) being white which spreads up across his chest and muzzle. His belly and the tip of his tail are also white. His nose and paw pads are a typical ginger pink, his eyes sky blue.
PERSONALITY
Hard-work, dedication and passion are the cornerstone of any strong personality, yet underpinning these strengths is a crumbling foundation of insecurities and anxiety. Robinleap has always struggled with his own imperfections: he’s not big enough, strong enough, fast enough, smart enough – from his early apprentice days all the way to the present these are fears he’s held. He’s always been an ambitious cat, infatuated with the idea of achieving greatness: as a kit he boasted about becoming the greatest warrior in the Clan. As an apprentice he worked until his paws ached, tried to force himself to just be stronger, to be bigger – tried to force his body to entirely ignore its own physicality. He was going to be better than other cats. To this day he’s not sure if it was supreme arrogance or deeply rooted insecurities which fronted that desire.
In any case, he drove himself stubbornly into the ground, exhausted and frustrated at his own inadequacies. His mentor taught him a very important lesson, one that he strives to remember now: sometimes things have to fall to pieces for you to start recovering from them. As it is he’s grown, though those seeds of insecurity are still there and sometimes, in his darkest moments he still wonders if he’s ever going to be good enough for any of it. As a warrior, as a cat, as a deputy. His ancestors are watching him; and there’s still a part of him that can’t shake the feeling that he’s failing in their eyes. He can only push himself harder, force himself to breathe more and think clearer. So, it’s debatable really how much he’s grown.
The instinct to charge in head first is still there; he’s learned enough to really pull himself up from simply doing. To look around, consider the pros and cons and find the best way to proceed. Yet no matter how hard he tries to make himself cautious, considered and thoughtful Robinleap is still a creature ruled by his heart. If given the option between thought and action he’d actively tell himself to think even as his paws were spurred into movement. This sort of internal balance is still a work in progress. So much of him feels like a work in progress, striving to improve himself, to be worthy of the trust that’s been placed in him.
Robinleap is a passionate cat and highly confrontational. He’s painfully aware of his slight build, conscious that in a close range one on one fight he needs to think about five moves ahead to avoid being overwhelmed, but still he’s not at all inclined to back down from a fight. Whether the fight be physical or verbal, Robinleap’s not one to be seen as weak. He knows his own strengths almost as well as he knows his many flaws and his pride refuses to allow him to back down from a clear challenge. He's stubborn as a badger and twice as nasty when cornered, though mostly this comes from his dedication to do what he believes is right.
Of course it isn’t all flaws and fights with him. Robinleap is a hard worker who throws himself into any duty he’s been set with his entire being. The same dedication and passion which can make him stubborn and bullheaded also mark him as highly loyal. Robinleap bleeds for his Clanmates, desperate to be worthy of their trust, and it’s with this intensity that he does anything. This is not a cat who’s used to doing anything by half, he’s an all in kind of cat. While this certainly benefits his Clan, it’s not doing any favours to his stress levels.
Of course, as his father once declared, he’ll have plenty of time to rest when he’s dead.
HISTORY
To Morningwhisker and Oaknose was born a single little wriggling bundle of trouble; they named him Robinkit for his little tufts of ginger fur. Robinkit was healthy, born strong at the start of Greenleaf and the new parents couldn’t have been more relieved.
From there on there wasn’t a great deal of note: he grew as kits are wont to do, inquisitive and playful. He was bold from the first, egged on by his own excitable nature, and caused the usual chaos of kits. Getting under paw of warriors, rummaging through the medicine cat’s hoard, plaguing apprentices for tales of their training or badgering the elders for the stories of old. He plucked up the courage to creep from camp only once, at five moons old, making it mere foxlengths before his harried mother found him and hauled his scruffy little ginger form fright back to camp. He spent the rest of that final moon leading up to his apprenticeship confined, miserably, to the nursery and counting down the days until freedom.
Ashflower was a senior warrior walking the line between service and retirement. She accepted her latest charge with no small amount of surprise; proud to be able to train one last cat before she succumbed to her aching joints.
Almost immediately it became evident that Robinpaw was going to be a pawful. He was headstrong and stubborn, pushing himself to be better, faster, stronger – trying to compensate for his slight form in all the wrong ways. The young cat had a chip on his shoulder in the form of a need to overcompensate. Early in their training, he was determined to go head to head against cats twice his size instead of taking a breath and thinking it through. He acted first and thought second, proving to be just as reckless as he was dedicated. He pushed his body as hard as it would go and then tried to push it further endlessly frustrated by his own limitations.
In the beginning his elderly mentor tried to gently sway him and encourage him to work to his strengths, not try and force himself to overcome weaknesses he would never be able to fix. Yet she was unable to deter him from his path, her apprentice desperately stubborn. So she changed tacts; she allowed him to work himself to the bone, to exhaust himself day after day, she allowed him to fight head on and was waiting when he inevitably came to her. He was furious and hurt, terrified of his lack of progress and desperate to improve.
After that things became easier: Robinpaw forced himself to relax a little, to take a few breaths and actually listen to what his mentor was telling him. She guided him gently but firmly and he warmed to her quickly as she helped him learn how to use his body to his advantage.
So it was that the prickly, angry apprentice became a resilient and dedicated young warrior. He remembers in vivid detail every aspect of those first few moons with pride. The first border patrol he’d been selected to lead, the first hunting patrol, the times he’d agreed or volunteered to lend his talents to other warriors to help their apprentices train. He remembers watching with pride and boundless affection as Ashflower retired to her final rank, winding around her and wishing her moons of warm sun, good fresh-kill and well earned rest.
He remembers the tug in his heart as the old cat was pronounced deceased. The ache in his muscles from that cold night of vigil, watching her body being carried from camp by her denamates for the final time. He remembers the rapid beating of his heart as he was given his first apprentice, terrified that he wouldn’t manage to be even half the mentor that she had been to him. Remembers looking down at the young cat they’d placed in his charge and wondering which one of them was more excited – or nervous. Remembers touching his nose to her’s and making a promise that he was going to be the best mentor he could. This little cat would receive the best training that he could possibly dream up and would make it to her naming ceremony. He kept his promise secret, expressing it with actions rather than ever voicing it to his apprentice.
Ravenpaw, as it turned out, was a quick study. She was a big cat, outgrowing her mentor rapidly, and inquisitive to a fault. Her curiosity got her into trouble regularly (from falling into the lake on her territory tour to aggravating a fox three moons into her training) and Robinleap found that he struggled to keep up with her deft mind. She leaped from point a to point z in a hearbeat, constantly strategising in her own special sort of way. She thought outside the box, a problem solver in a way that Robinleap simply wasn’t: when they both looked at the same problem, while he went for the most practical solution she dreamed up tens of elaborate schemes to get to the same end.
She was charming and rapidly they built a friendship which only solidified when she was given her name. Ravenfeather taking her place among the warriors of ShadowClan – he can’t remember ever being prouder than he was at that moment.
It wasn’t long after that Cloudstar lost his final life and Frostfang stepped up to become Froststar. It was a shock to the Clan but one they would recover from. Far more shocking, in Robinleap’s opinion, was the naming of her new deputy. The tom stunned even as he stepped up to accept the position with grace and gratitude – his parents shouted his name and Ravenfeather shoved him hard with her shoulder, laughing gleefully.
Adjusting to being deputy took moons. In the early days he found himself making constant mistakes: forgetting to send out patrols or double booking cats when he did remember. Putting all his best hunters on the borders and his most diplomatic in hunting parties – it was a comedy of errors and he felt the old chip beginning to itch at his shoulder. The desire to simple barge headfirst into his job until he got it right – but he pulled himself up, forced himself to calm, to really think before he made a call. Plan the patrols the night before, adjust if something didn’t work in the morning. Slowly but surely he got the hang of things – until, finally, everything began to just work.
Of course, when everything’s going well you really should brace for it all to fall to pieces in front of you.
His parents passed an early wave of the mystery illness; first Oaknose whose body was far too old now to handle it, he was driven mad by the fever and the pain, foaming at the mouth he’d attacked his own mate. Morningwhisker was younger, her body far stronger – but there was no surviving this. It was fatal without exception and one by one cats began to fall; the illness spreading with each cat who was attacked. Froststar ordered a quarantine, binding the sick cats in vines to prevent them from ambushing their Clanmates but still things worsened. ShadowClan was no longer the only Clan infected.
It took all of his strength when Froststar declared her intentions not to fight her on her call. The other Clans had made their decision: there was nothing left but for ShadowClan to follow suit. So he stood grimfaced and uncharacteristically sombre as they drove from their borders cats whom they had all known. Whom they had all loved. He stood by his leader when she made the call to drive his best friend from their border’s no matter how his heart broke with it. They’d all lost cats: the sickness stripped everything from them and left a husk of a Clan behind. Robinleap himself is exhausted from the loss; the sickness stripped from him time and time again, his parents and his best friend all lost to its cruelty. He's struggling to keep himself going, working hard to be everything expected of him, and it's slowly coming together. The longer they endure after the tragedy of the Great March the closer they get to being well and truly okay.
He can only hope that, now, they have a chance to rebuild. That every cat whose heart was marked by grief can find some way to keep themselves going. For Robinleap, that’s the act of doing.
SEXUALITY
homosexual.
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
Robinleap drew in a shaky breath, focused on the cries of his Clanmates in the wake of their leader’s bombshell. Opinions seemed divided: some saw the wisdom in her decision, others – most notably her mate – shouted their dissent. How could they do this to their own Clanmates? To their siblings? Their parents? Their friends? Their mates? Their kits? He wanted to close his eyes, to try and block out the outcry – but still he remained. His head held high and body stiff, he didn’t agree with what they were about to do, how could he when his own apprentice was amongst those being driven from her home? But he had a job to do. A duty to his leader and to his Clan – his mother had been right. She’d always been right, damn her. There was a time to speak and a time to keep his smart mouth shut.
Besides. Froststar’s own son was among those being driven out. They didn’t have any other options here. They couldn’t seem weak in front of the other Clans and the definitely couldn’t continue to put their own cats at risk. Still. There was nothing natural about what they were doing.
He lashed his tail, claws sinking into the soft earth beneath his paws and bit back on the urge to howl his frustration at the skies. The infected raged from the outskirts, confined to their quarters by their vines. He knew without looking that Ravenfeather was amongst them, frothing and raging, her heart fuelled by that inexplicable out of character hatred that had taken charge of all of their sick Clanmates.
He listened to the elderly cat volunteer to lead the sick cats to their exile, to their deaths – sick to his stomach at the sacrifice they were asking an elder to give. ‘We’re making a mistake!’ He wanted to scream it at the top of his lungs. He wanted to turn and do something, fight someone, run until his pads cracked and bled, hunt herbs until he could barely stand. Something. Something. Anything. There was nothing he could do that hadn’t already been tried. This wasn’t something he could fight. This wasn’t something which he could save his Clan from. The only way to keep any cat safe now was to get rid of the source.
This was so wrong.
They had no choice.
He dipped his head in forced acknowledgment of the bravery of their noble elder. He couldn’t let the Clan see how heartsick he was, he looked to his leader, took in a ragged breath and pulled himself to his paws. For a few heartbeats he let his eyes drift across the assembled cats; taking in their grief, their desperation and their resignation. It was all too easy to read emotions he felt so deeply etched into his own being.
The delicate ginger and white tom allowed himself one last moment of stillness before he set to organising the day’s patrols. The world couldn’t stop because they were grieving. They'd done what they had to in order to survive and his warriors needed all the distractions they could get.
“StarClan give me strength.” He muttered as he turned to go find cats to send out hunting. The Clan needed structure and normalcy as soon as possible.
35 Moons
GENDER
[trans] male
RANK
deputy
APPEARANCE
[ small ginger and white tom with blue eyes ]
Robinleap is a small cat. He’s slender and short, with legs and a tail a little too long to be considered quite proportionate. Being AFAB, he’s always been slighter than most toms and for a large portion of his youth found his smaller size a source of constant agitation. He’s built leanly; wiry muscle and legs designed for speed as opposed to brute strength. He’s never going to have the physical power to overwhelm a larger cat but what he lacks in size he makes up for with his agility; quick to move and very rarely in one place for long.
This a particularly elegant cat. He moves with an easy, fluid gait, his pawsteps light on the earth, deliberate and soft to minimise sound. His short fur is brighter than, perhaps, would be ideal but he does his best to work with what he has. Ginger tabby fur spreads across his back and along his tail, down to his toes on both hindlegs and one foreleg, the final leg (and all four toes) being white which spreads up across his chest and muzzle. His belly and the tip of his tail are also white. His nose and paw pads are a typical ginger pink, his eyes sky blue.
PERSONALITY
Hard-work, dedication and passion are the cornerstone of any strong personality, yet underpinning these strengths is a crumbling foundation of insecurities and anxiety. Robinleap has always struggled with his own imperfections: he’s not big enough, strong enough, fast enough, smart enough – from his early apprentice days all the way to the present these are fears he’s held. He’s always been an ambitious cat, infatuated with the idea of achieving greatness: as a kit he boasted about becoming the greatest warrior in the Clan. As an apprentice he worked until his paws ached, tried to force himself to just be stronger, to be bigger – tried to force his body to entirely ignore its own physicality. He was going to be better than other cats. To this day he’s not sure if it was supreme arrogance or deeply rooted insecurities which fronted that desire.
In any case, he drove himself stubbornly into the ground, exhausted and frustrated at his own inadequacies. His mentor taught him a very important lesson, one that he strives to remember now: sometimes things have to fall to pieces for you to start recovering from them. As it is he’s grown, though those seeds of insecurity are still there and sometimes, in his darkest moments he still wonders if he’s ever going to be good enough for any of it. As a warrior, as a cat, as a deputy. His ancestors are watching him; and there’s still a part of him that can’t shake the feeling that he’s failing in their eyes. He can only push himself harder, force himself to breathe more and think clearer. So, it’s debatable really how much he’s grown.
The instinct to charge in head first is still there; he’s learned enough to really pull himself up from simply doing. To look around, consider the pros and cons and find the best way to proceed. Yet no matter how hard he tries to make himself cautious, considered and thoughtful Robinleap is still a creature ruled by his heart. If given the option between thought and action he’d actively tell himself to think even as his paws were spurred into movement. This sort of internal balance is still a work in progress. So much of him feels like a work in progress, striving to improve himself, to be worthy of the trust that’s been placed in him.
Robinleap is a passionate cat and highly confrontational. He’s painfully aware of his slight build, conscious that in a close range one on one fight he needs to think about five moves ahead to avoid being overwhelmed, but still he’s not at all inclined to back down from a fight. Whether the fight be physical or verbal, Robinleap’s not one to be seen as weak. He knows his own strengths almost as well as he knows his many flaws and his pride refuses to allow him to back down from a clear challenge. He's stubborn as a badger and twice as nasty when cornered, though mostly this comes from his dedication to do what he believes is right.
Of course it isn’t all flaws and fights with him. Robinleap is a hard worker who throws himself into any duty he’s been set with his entire being. The same dedication and passion which can make him stubborn and bullheaded also mark him as highly loyal. Robinleap bleeds for his Clanmates, desperate to be worthy of their trust, and it’s with this intensity that he does anything. This is not a cat who’s used to doing anything by half, he’s an all in kind of cat. While this certainly benefits his Clan, it’s not doing any favours to his stress levels.
Of course, as his father once declared, he’ll have plenty of time to rest when he’s dead.
HISTORY
[ robinkit robinpaw robinleap ]
To Morningwhisker and Oaknose was born a single little wriggling bundle of trouble; they named him Robinkit for his little tufts of ginger fur. Robinkit was healthy, born strong at the start of Greenleaf and the new parents couldn’t have been more relieved.
From there on there wasn’t a great deal of note: he grew as kits are wont to do, inquisitive and playful. He was bold from the first, egged on by his own excitable nature, and caused the usual chaos of kits. Getting under paw of warriors, rummaging through the medicine cat’s hoard, plaguing apprentices for tales of their training or badgering the elders for the stories of old. He plucked up the courage to creep from camp only once, at five moons old, making it mere foxlengths before his harried mother found him and hauled his scruffy little ginger form fright back to camp. He spent the rest of that final moon leading up to his apprenticeship confined, miserably, to the nursery and counting down the days until freedom.
[ robinkit robinpaw robinleap ]
Ashflower was a senior warrior walking the line between service and retirement. She accepted her latest charge with no small amount of surprise; proud to be able to train one last cat before she succumbed to her aching joints.
Almost immediately it became evident that Robinpaw was going to be a pawful. He was headstrong and stubborn, pushing himself to be better, faster, stronger – trying to compensate for his slight form in all the wrong ways. The young cat had a chip on his shoulder in the form of a need to overcompensate. Early in their training, he was determined to go head to head against cats twice his size instead of taking a breath and thinking it through. He acted first and thought second, proving to be just as reckless as he was dedicated. He pushed his body as hard as it would go and then tried to push it further endlessly frustrated by his own limitations.
In the beginning his elderly mentor tried to gently sway him and encourage him to work to his strengths, not try and force himself to overcome weaknesses he would never be able to fix. Yet she was unable to deter him from his path, her apprentice desperately stubborn. So she changed tacts; she allowed him to work himself to the bone, to exhaust himself day after day, she allowed him to fight head on and was waiting when he inevitably came to her. He was furious and hurt, terrified of his lack of progress and desperate to improve.
After that things became easier: Robinpaw forced himself to relax a little, to take a few breaths and actually listen to what his mentor was telling him. She guided him gently but firmly and he warmed to her quickly as she helped him learn how to use his body to his advantage.
[ robinkit robinpaw robinleap ]
So it was that the prickly, angry apprentice became a resilient and dedicated young warrior. He remembers in vivid detail every aspect of those first few moons with pride. The first border patrol he’d been selected to lead, the first hunting patrol, the times he’d agreed or volunteered to lend his talents to other warriors to help their apprentices train. He remembers watching with pride and boundless affection as Ashflower retired to her final rank, winding around her and wishing her moons of warm sun, good fresh-kill and well earned rest.
He remembers the tug in his heart as the old cat was pronounced deceased. The ache in his muscles from that cold night of vigil, watching her body being carried from camp by her denamates for the final time. He remembers the rapid beating of his heart as he was given his first apprentice, terrified that he wouldn’t manage to be even half the mentor that she had been to him. Remembers looking down at the young cat they’d placed in his charge and wondering which one of them was more excited – or nervous. Remembers touching his nose to her’s and making a promise that he was going to be the best mentor he could. This little cat would receive the best training that he could possibly dream up and would make it to her naming ceremony. He kept his promise secret, expressing it with actions rather than ever voicing it to his apprentice.
Ravenpaw, as it turned out, was a quick study. She was a big cat, outgrowing her mentor rapidly, and inquisitive to a fault. Her curiosity got her into trouble regularly (from falling into the lake on her territory tour to aggravating a fox three moons into her training) and Robinleap found that he struggled to keep up with her deft mind. She leaped from point a to point z in a hearbeat, constantly strategising in her own special sort of way. She thought outside the box, a problem solver in a way that Robinleap simply wasn’t: when they both looked at the same problem, while he went for the most practical solution she dreamed up tens of elaborate schemes to get to the same end.
She was charming and rapidly they built a friendship which only solidified when she was given her name. Ravenfeather taking her place among the warriors of ShadowClan – he can’t remember ever being prouder than he was at that moment.
It wasn’t long after that Cloudstar lost his final life and Frostfang stepped up to become Froststar. It was a shock to the Clan but one they would recover from. Far more shocking, in Robinleap’s opinion, was the naming of her new deputy. The tom stunned even as he stepped up to accept the position with grace and gratitude – his parents shouted his name and Ravenfeather shoved him hard with her shoulder, laughing gleefully.
Adjusting to being deputy took moons. In the early days he found himself making constant mistakes: forgetting to send out patrols or double booking cats when he did remember. Putting all his best hunters on the borders and his most diplomatic in hunting parties – it was a comedy of errors and he felt the old chip beginning to itch at his shoulder. The desire to simple barge headfirst into his job until he got it right – but he pulled himself up, forced himself to calm, to really think before he made a call. Plan the patrols the night before, adjust if something didn’t work in the morning. Slowly but surely he got the hang of things – until, finally, everything began to just work.
Of course, when everything’s going well you really should brace for it all to fall to pieces in front of you.
His parents passed an early wave of the mystery illness; first Oaknose whose body was far too old now to handle it, he was driven mad by the fever and the pain, foaming at the mouth he’d attacked his own mate. Morningwhisker was younger, her body far stronger – but there was no surviving this. It was fatal without exception and one by one cats began to fall; the illness spreading with each cat who was attacked. Froststar ordered a quarantine, binding the sick cats in vines to prevent them from ambushing their Clanmates but still things worsened. ShadowClan was no longer the only Clan infected.
It took all of his strength when Froststar declared her intentions not to fight her on her call. The other Clans had made their decision: there was nothing left but for ShadowClan to follow suit. So he stood grimfaced and uncharacteristically sombre as they drove from their borders cats whom they had all known. Whom they had all loved. He stood by his leader when she made the call to drive his best friend from their border’s no matter how his heart broke with it. They’d all lost cats: the sickness stripped everything from them and left a husk of a Clan behind. Robinleap himself is exhausted from the loss; the sickness stripped from him time and time again, his parents and his best friend all lost to its cruelty. He's struggling to keep himself going, working hard to be everything expected of him, and it's slowly coming together. The longer they endure after the tragedy of the Great March the closer they get to being well and truly okay.
He can only hope that, now, they have a chance to rebuild. That every cat whose heart was marked by grief can find some way to keep themselves going. For Robinleap, that’s the act of doing.
SEXUALITY
homosexual.
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
Robinleap drew in a shaky breath, focused on the cries of his Clanmates in the wake of their leader’s bombshell. Opinions seemed divided: some saw the wisdom in her decision, others – most notably her mate – shouted their dissent. How could they do this to their own Clanmates? To their siblings? Their parents? Their friends? Their mates? Their kits? He wanted to close his eyes, to try and block out the outcry – but still he remained. His head held high and body stiff, he didn’t agree with what they were about to do, how could he when his own apprentice was amongst those being driven from her home? But he had a job to do. A duty to his leader and to his Clan – his mother had been right. She’d always been right, damn her. There was a time to speak and a time to keep his smart mouth shut.
Besides. Froststar’s own son was among those being driven out. They didn’t have any other options here. They couldn’t seem weak in front of the other Clans and the definitely couldn’t continue to put their own cats at risk. Still. There was nothing natural about what they were doing.
He lashed his tail, claws sinking into the soft earth beneath his paws and bit back on the urge to howl his frustration at the skies. The infected raged from the outskirts, confined to their quarters by their vines. He knew without looking that Ravenfeather was amongst them, frothing and raging, her heart fuelled by that inexplicable out of character hatred that had taken charge of all of their sick Clanmates.
He listened to the elderly cat volunteer to lead the sick cats to their exile, to their deaths – sick to his stomach at the sacrifice they were asking an elder to give. ‘We’re making a mistake!’ He wanted to scream it at the top of his lungs. He wanted to turn and do something, fight someone, run until his pads cracked and bled, hunt herbs until he could barely stand. Something. Something. Anything. There was nothing he could do that hadn’t already been tried. This wasn’t something he could fight. This wasn’t something which he could save his Clan from. The only way to keep any cat safe now was to get rid of the source.
This was so wrong.
They had no choice.
He dipped his head in forced acknowledgment of the bravery of their noble elder. He couldn’t let the Clan see how heartsick he was, he looked to his leader, took in a ragged breath and pulled himself to his paws. For a few heartbeats he let his eyes drift across the assembled cats; taking in their grief, their desperation and their resignation. It was all too easy to read emotions he felt so deeply etched into his own being.
The delicate ginger and white tom allowed himself one last moment of stillness before he set to organising the day’s patrols. The world couldn’t stop because they were grieving. They'd done what they had to in order to survive and his warriors needed all the distractions they could get.
“StarClan give me strength.” He muttered as he turned to go find cats to send out hunting. The Clan needed structure and normalcy as soon as possible.
