Post by Husky on Nov 29, 2012 0:22:39 GMT -5
foxsnarl
[/b][/size]fox-- silver like a fox with a silver coat, rather than the traditional idea of foxes being orange in coloring; snarl-- for his personality; rude and snappy, short and harsh, blunt and uncensored, coarse and bitter[/font]
[/center]AGE sixteen moons
GENDER tom
RANK medicine cat apprentice
CLAN forestclan
LOOKS you're so vain Foxsnarl is a very handsome tom-cat. He is a brawny silver tabby with a wide jaw that makes his face appear less triangular. Despite being a medicine cat, muscles are clearly visible under a sleek silver, gray, and black pelt of well-kept fur. The bridge of his nose is wide, with a substantial gap between his large, round eyes. Perhaps his most noticeable attribute, Foxsnarl's eyes are a beautiful, rich golden color, captivating in the density of their hue. His nose is a dark pink, ridged with black, his cheeks a pale gray that separates crisply into white on his muzzle. The whiskers extending from both sides of his nose are much longer and more noticeable than those at his eyebrows.
LIKES midday, spring, healing, fighting, forestclan, rowanclaw (mother, deceased), being occupied, taking walks, keeping to himself, organizing herb stores
DISLIKES sleeping, kits and young cats, hunting, cloudclan, chit-chat, most everyone individually, arrogant toms, flirtatious she-cats, leafbare, being disorganized, being surprised
FEARS losing those he loves, screwing up (and causing someone to die, or failing to heal someone with permanent consequences), nightmares, commitment, weakness in himself, getting lost, losing faith in himself/his abilities, water, drowning, disaster
HOPES to and plans to do everything in his power to keep his clan healthy, for easy seasons and good weather, to stay under the radar, that no one will figure him out
OVERALL I'll bet you think this song is about you Foxsnarl isn't really a rebel intentionally, but he is very opposed to authority. He doesn't like anyone telling him what to do, and he will snap back whether they're the clan leader or an elder. He simply doesn't trust authority to get the job done, or have any foolish beliefs that their leader can pull them through anything. He doesn't trust authorities to take care of him; he believes he has to take care of himself and those that he cares about, something he learned the hard way from his mother's death. Independent so much so that the very thought that he might comply to even the warrior code is insulting to him, Foxsnarl finds it difficult to get along with more strict warriors. He is as self-reliant as possible. He does not believe in Starclan, and finds those that do blissfully ignorant sheep, following the rules set down by invisible cats. Foxsnarl is set in his ways and once he makes up his mind about something, there's no changing it; he's ridiculously stubborn and hardheaded. His bite is definitely worse than his bark, and most go out of their way to avoid him. Cold and distant, Foxsnarl is no conversationalist and tends to be, to put it mildly, aloof.
His experiences have made him a very bitter and jaded individual, especially considering how young he is. When speaking to others, he is blunt and callous, rarely using tone or words to soften the blow of his verdicts. If he thinks you're an idiot, he won't hesitate to tell you so. It is extremely difficult to get anything but short, harsh words out of him; Foxsnarl responds with a general hostility towards everyone, even those that try to be friendly with him. If you wrong him, or say something ill about his family, mentor, or someone he loves, he can be unforgiving. Particularly as a fighter, he is merciless and very vengeful.
Of course, not all of Foxsnarl's traits are negative. As a medicine cat, he's very gifted. He shows a level of motivation unseen by most, tending to the needs of every cat and looking out for potential problems and outbreaks of illnesses. He is determined to keep the members of his clan alive and well, devoted to their well-being, and in this passionate way he loves them, even if not individually. He is well-known for joining in battles, being a brave fighter who will double as a medic in the field, even if his superiors order him not to put his own life at risk.
Foxsnarl can also seem a little OCD. As mentioned, he's a gifted medicine cat, and there's a reason for it. Little things may irk him, but once he gets focused in on treating a patient, nothing in the world can distract him. He obsessively organizes the herb stores, being the first to point out when something is even a little low, and becoming very agitated if others mess up his neat work; he does everything systematically, and can be described as detail-oriented. He makes practical decisions about the conditions of others, treating every life as if it were his own, and greatly respects life itself, knowing that it is fleeting and cruel at best. He may not seem anxious externally but late at night when he can't sleep (by far the worst and most hated of things, for him) disaster scenarios reel through his mind. He fears terribly how fragile life is, and that he might not be able to make the difference between life and death for another. Sometimes, when he finds himself alone (which is quite often), he is simply seized with terror that something might go horribly wrong. Foxsnarl tends to be logical and systematic, so it bothers him when things happen without his having any prior knowledge or ability to predict them.
Deep below his cold, arrogant surface, he truly cares about others, but he tries not to, to avoid getting hurt by the losses. He's the most trustworthy cat around, and if he says he'll keep his mouth shut, he will, no matter what; so long as you can get him to agree, that is. Honest to a fault, you can be certain that his opinion of you is genuine, as well; his honesty is not always a great quality. Others are often insulted by his rude, harsh behavior. So few are the ones he loves that, if you become one of them, he will do anything to ensure your protection and well-being; anything.
PAST
Rowanclaw's labor was long and difficult, but she survived it, producing just two very attractive kits, a silver tabby, like the father, Stonestripe, and a russet-colored she-cat, in the likeness of herself. Rowanclaw was not visited by Stonestripe after the birth, as they were not mates, and she named her kits independent from other influences; Foxkit, her son, and Redkit, her daughter. She cherished them both, and gave them each ample attention, pointing out little things to them and never keeping knowledge from their eager minds. They knew all there was to know about their father, who was Rowanclaw's best friend, and who, once they were a few moons old, also began to spend quite a bit of time with them. Rowanclaw and Stonestripe were both quite young, Rowanclaw just nineteen moons old, and Stonestripe seventeen moons, and both were very strong and courageous, in Foxkit's eyes. He adored and admired both his warrior mother and her gentler counterpart, Stonestripe, who made corny jokes and made his kits laugh with his playful antics.
Rowanclaw was perfectly healthy until Foxkit and Redkit were four moons old, when she was stricken with an incurable illness, which made her frailer and frailer, despite her youth. Foxkit watched in dismay as his beloved mother grew closer and closer to death, suffering through the duration of his kithood into the leaf-fall that he became Foxpaw, a warrior apprentice, with his sister, Redpaw. Foxpaw didn't get much training done, however. He spent much of his time in the medicine cat's den, and even when he was sent out on patrols, if his mother was awake he would ignore his duties to stay with her, constantly harassing the medicine cat to help her somehow. When he did go out training or on a patrol, as soon as he got back to camp he went to the healer's den to bring Rowanclaw prey or check up on her. Redpaw and Stonestripe visited her often as well, but neither quite as obsessively as Foxpaw, who loved her the most, and who she loved the most, as well.
It was the worst thing in the world for young Foxpaw, seeing his strong, proud mother made weak by things beyond her control. Watching her suffer broke his heart; Foxpaw became cold and introverted, making no friends and acting snappish with his denmates, ignoring his mentor rudely. Even when his father tried to talk to him he would shrug him off, walking away quickly or remaining silent. Redpaw was frightened by his hostility, and kept her distance, often shooting him reproachful glances; she never understood where her bright, adventurous brother had gone. The only one whom he held warmth for now was Rowanclaw.
One night, Foxpaw had gone out on a patrol with his clanmates, and returned, irritated by their presence. Just as he was returning to camp the medicine cat rushed to him and urgently told him to come with him/her. When Foxpaw entered the medicine cat's den, he saw Rowanclaw, laying in her nest with heavily lidded eyes. Stonestripe was still out on a late-night patrol, but Redpaw was crouched beside her, licking her mother's flank and looking terrified.
His mother was at her weakest; it was deep into leafbare by then, and he knew she was going to die; she could not carry on any longer, even she knew this, but when she tried to tell Foxpaw, he ignored it. He was filled with anger, and turned to lash out at the medicine cat, causing Redpaw to flinch. "Do something! Save her! How can you just watch her die!?" he screamed over and over again at the medicine cat, knowing full well this illness was unknown, and nothing could be done for her. He lay beside her all night, and when Stonestripe joined them at moonhigh, he said nothing to his father.
The next morning, Rowanclaw was dead. Foxpaw buried her alone, outside of camp, refusing to allow anyone else to accompany or help him, even when his sister and father protested. He didn't return until late that night, but no one had expected him to, and no one had gone looking. Foxpaw was dirtied and weary; his eyes were bleak and cold. He went straight to the medicine cat's den and said, "I'm abandoning my duties as a warrior apprentice. I wish to pursue the path of medicine cat apprentice now. Will you have me?"
For many moons after, he still woke up from nightmares about her death, yowling, "Save her, please, save her." Sometimes, he still does. After her death he lost all faith in Starclan, but was determined to train as a medicine cat anyway, in her honor and memory. It was a hard road, but he never gave up or relented. Eventually he earned his full name, although not one in the traditional sense of a medicine cat, due to his lack of faith. Even so, he dreamed of Rowanclaw, congratulating him, and when he received the name Foxsnarl, he thought he heard her amused purr softly in his ears. He still trains under the older medicine cat, and has never been quite the same.
OTHER This is the last post that I wrote;
Blackness… in the lake again… no one here… dark… “Mmmmph…” from the lump of silver and black fur a low moan emanated. The noise frightened away a small crowd of black birds scattered all around the thing. They no longer had recognized it as a predator; it had been very still for a long time now. It was merely a piece of land, up until it had decided to cry out. “Dark,” it whimpered fearfully, jerking. The tone seemed to become clearer as the thing rose to the surface from sleep, but the words that came next were still very much muffled, almost slurred, barely recognizable despite their simplicity. “Sun… light...warm...” More clearly just after that, one word: “Burning.”
Am I alive? He was drowning, looking up through the crystal clear water up into the sun. The water retained the golden light from the sun, and it was hot, so hot, but terribly still around him, unmoving. He was bodiless. How was he drowning? He had no lungs. He breathed in. The water was dark, but it burned with the radiance of the light shining blindingly down upon him. He tried to paddle upward; he had no legs. He floated closer to the glistening surface, to the robin egg blue sky, through the dreamy water. It was growing darker, the closer the light got; he had no eyes, yet he saw this. The surface was closer, but he did not break it. He continued to float. “Dark…” Coldness ran through him; his body that was not a body jerked, and very suddenly, he was out of the lake and nowhere at all.
He lay dry and paralyzed in the shade of a tall, moss-covered tree. His amber eyes flashed open and took in the scene without any sense of recognition whatsoever. After several minutes, his muscles screamed and leaped of their own accord once more, causing him to spasm painfully; then he was in control again and he sat up and glanced around blearily. He had a body. He took inventory. My name is Fell, thought the thing; and it was. Fell yawned, all jaws with shiny white teeth and black and pink gums. I am a fox, thought Fell; and he was. I have just been sleeping. He looked down at the uncomfortable spot he had “chosen” to lay down in, noticing a tendril of thorns ending at the edge of the grass indentation in the dirt. I'll take care of those later. The area was well compressed, but that told him little as to just how long he had been sleeping; minutes, hours, days? Fell wracked his memory and recalled that the sun had just risen, last he remembered. Now it was in the middle of the sky; chances were good that at least a day had passed since he’d stopped here. He didn't know why, but he knew it had been longer than hours, when he thought of that.
What else did he know about himself? Static, the fox delved into his mind carefully. Things were still rather fuzzy. My mother’s name… Celeste. And he felt he could see the lovely, pale vixen in his head. This conjured a happy memory in his still dream-addled mind, but it was sharply interrupted by something else on the inventory: she’s dead. He nodded slightly to himself. He was four years old; Celeste had died when he was young, just a kit. He had other family, but he did not remember- no, that's not right, he did not want to think of them. Grimm… Roth. Brother... father. A little grimace played with the edges of his lips. Why? He didn't care to add it to the inventory. Family, he clarified silently, and then aloud, “Alive. Somewhere in Southern Hexasol." Lovers, and fights picked or challenges accepted, passed through his mind. The memories attached to each followed along, as though attached flimsily by strings; some golden, and happy, some filled with anger, lust, denial, sorrow. He tried not to linger on several.
Lingering exhaustion had cleared from the fog in his mind, and now he was sharpened and awake. The nap, however long it had been, had rejuvenated him thoroughly. Still, he knew he would probably be tired in a few hours. But regardless, Fell was back, in full swing. All he could not remember was what he had been doing before the sleep attack- but that was hardly important to him. He inspected his body, but did not find any evidence that he’d struggled with anyone; no cuts, bruises, scrapes, unidentifiable pains. No one was around; he was completely alone. That was pretty common, though. He had only awoken to find someone else there a few times, mostly when he was younger, and nearer to more populated land. There was only stiffness, and something else that he hadn’t noticed at first, attributing it to being underwater; his stomach ached.
The fact that he was extremely hungry made Fell rethink his estimate of how long he’d slept. Normally he didn’t eat all that much, so it may have been two days, even, since he’d been awake and fully functioning. It was times like this that he wondered whether he ought to have a companion to make sure he was protected during his sleep attacks. Someone who might stay with him and be able to tell him how long it had been. Maybe help him figure out why they occurred. Those were the only times he considered companionship, though. It was alright for a short time, but not permanently. Others always disappointed him.
