Breezepaw ♥

[Nanakin ♥]

BREEZEPAW
click to see her! =3

Gender:

Female

Age:

7 moons

Clan:

HeatherClan

Rank:

Apprentice (or MCA...?)

Description:

Breezepaw was always smaller and less fit that the other kittens. She didn't hold a grudge about it though, knowing she would grow. However, she never did. She stayed about the same size that she was when she was three moons old. So she has now accepted that she will always be smaller than the other cats. Aside from her smallness, Breezepaw is an average cat. She is not that beautiful, with her thin gray pelt and white paws, but she is healthy. She is quite muscular, and has unusually strong back legs, letting her spring easily into the air. Her smallness is an advantage to her, as it is harder to spot a small cat rather than a large one. She enjoys the praise from warriors for being good at hunting. Breezepaw has pale amber eyes that always seem a tad sad. Overall, Breezepaw is a truly unremarkable cat and is sometimes looked over by other cats.

Summary:

A small gray she-cat with white paws and amber eyes.

Personality:

Breezepaw has always been a kind cat. However, her acts of kindness are sometimes overlooked. She doesn't mind, however, and just continues to focus on the tasks given to her. There is always a sad air about her, as if she has a secret that she is not willing to share. Unfortunately, this is true. But Breezepaw is a loyal, eager cat, and is always looking to prove herself to her leader. She is extremely devoted to the warrior code and would do anything to defend it if needed. Breezepaw is easily fooled, however, and can be drawn into doing something that she should not be doing, such as eating prey when she should be taking it back to the clan. She claims that her someone... or something tells her to do this, but most cats don't believe her. Breezepaw has always been slightly out of whack however, which probably has something to do with the terrible circumstances under which she was born. She likes to do what is told of her, although sometimes it seems slightly robotic and forced. More than one cat has guessed there is something just a little not right with Breezepaw. That is why they are hesitant to let her become their medicine cat apprentice. Breezepaw is strange, but her actions are meaningful. She doesn't mean to be so different.

History:

Breezepaw was born on a cold, stormy night. She actually wasn't supposed to be born. Her parents hadn't planned to have any kits, but it had happened. She was the only kit in the litter. Frankly, her parents didn't mind much. They didn't want to deal with three or four kits at once. Her birth was a hard one. It took Breezepaw an hour to be born, and she came out wrong anyway. She came out back paws first, so the medicine cat had to intervene. Upon her birth, her mother deemed her unhealthy, runty, and ugly. She called her Breezekit, the name chosen before she was born, even though her mother said that she was "not worthy of such a good name." The medicine cat said that Breezepaw had already caught a chill, and wasn't expected to make it through the night. She did, however, to the great disappointment of her parents. Breezepaw's life in the nursery was unremarkable and short-lived, and she was soon on her way to apprenticeship.

At six moons, Breezepaw was hardly bigger than she had been at three moons. It didn't seem to bother her, however. Her mother was glad to be rid of her in the nursery and didn't even show up to watch her own kit's apprentice ceremony. (Supposedly she was out hunting.) Breezepaw was named and given a warrior for her mentor. Her mentor seemed angry yet unsurprised that they were given her. Breezepaw went to the apprentice's den that night with her tail low and her spirits down. She had no idea that the next day was going to change her life forever.

It was sunny the next morning, and Breezepaw came out of the nursery to see her father. He had always liked Breezepaw better than her mother had, and he said he had something to show her. As they walked through the forest, Breezepaw begged him to tell her what the surprise was. "Oh, you'll like it." was all he would give for an answer. Soon they came upon a large tree where Breezepaw recognized her mother hunting. She opened her mouth to call out, but her father slapped his tail to her mouth. "No." he hissed. "Don't let her know we are here." Breezepaw looked confused. "Why not?" she asked timidly. "Because we are going to kill her." he snarled. Breezepaw's eyes widened in alarm. She turned to run back to came to warn the leader, but her father pounced on her. "No. You will not warn anyone, or tell anyone. Otherwise you will be dead." he growled. Breezepaw swallowed hard and listened.

Soon they were creeping up behind her mother. "You attack first." her dad hissed. "Grab her on the shoulders and I will finish it." Breezepaw nodded uncertainly. Then she bunched up her muscles and leaped, grasping hold of her mother's thick fur. Before her could so much as react, her father rushed up and sliced her mother's throat. "There. It is done." he said quietly, turning to leave. Then he spun back around, glaring at Breezepaw, who still had a hold of her mother's lifeless body. "If you tell anyone about this, you will die."

Since that day, her father has died. However, she is still haunted by him, and she believes that he still commands her in her head and still holds that threat to be true. Breezepaw will probably never truly be whole again, unless she can bring herself to tell someone about that day. Until then... there is nothing that can be done to save her from herself.

Role-Play Sample:

(From a street-dog roleplay.)

Ah, the sweet smell of the junkyard. Sickly sweet, that was. Rushkin wrinkled his nose in distaste. He weaved his way through the trash, being careful not to step on anything too disgusting. Oh sure, Rushkin was tough. But getting his paws dirty was not something he enjoyed, in neither the literal or figurative sense. Grumbling to himself, he found a relatively clear spot near the center of the junkyard where he could observe. Sighing lightly, he dropped to his haunches and turned his gaze toward the horizon line. As he stared blankly into the distance, a seagull flew overhead, calling that annoying call they all had. Not in a good mood at this point, Rush stood up and barked; "Shut the hell up you bastard!" Cussing under his breath, he turned to leave when he caught the scent of another dog. Immediately, he stiffened, and his hackles rose. Out here, even as a loner, you learned not to trust anyone. Rushkin took a cautious sniff, and became even more wary when he realized it was a stupid person. He carefully picked his way through the trash as he tried to pinpoint her location.

Finally, he spotted her. She looked thin, as everyone did these days, but also unhappy. He watched as a squirrel escaped from underneath her paws. Rushkin whined low in his throat. Should he go and talk to her? He knew from experience that most dogs didn't like talking to strangers. But he needed some kind of acquaintance in this desolate world, so why not? Rushkin padded toward her, still avoiding the trash. "Hello there." he said quietly, but loud enough for it to be audible. He sat down and bent his head slightly, to show that he meant her no harm, he merely wanted to talk. However, that gesture didn't always work. Rushkin just might be getting his head bitten off today.

(Eeep. Sorry about the language. =p)

Password:

Doughnuts. =D