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Post by Fia on Feb 7, 2011 20:54:01 GMT -8
Name: Black
Prefix Meaning: Named for his black fur.
Suffix Meaning: N/A
Age: 28 moons
Rank: Loner
Clan: N/A
Description: As if his name weren’t any indication, Black is dark as a moonless night. The darkest of fur covers him from ears to paws to tail-tip, without a speck of white or cream. It’s somehow a soft black, not at all sleek or shiny, and picks up dust irritating quickly. And as flecks of dust show up so clearly on black, the poor tom must spend more time than he would like on grooming his fur, or else look like some filthy, unkempt rogue. Yet for all the grooming he has to give it to keep it clean, his pelt simply refuses to shine. Not that he minds – it only helps him blend in better with shadows, and makes him an exceptional night hunter, for his fur doesn’t catch the moonlight the way the more glossy-furred cats do. He doesn’t have entirely different cold-weather and hot-weather coats, exactly; that is, he’s not longhaired in Leafbare and shorthaired in Greenleaf, but he’s fortunate enough to have a slightly denser undercoat for Leafbare and to shed a little when the days grow warmer again.
As if his blackest-of-blacks fur wasn’t intimidating enough, the tom towers over the average-sized cat. Black isn’t the heaviest cat around, but he’s big and sturdy, tall without being… well, heavy. He’s muscular without any excess bulk. His long limbs are all lean muscle, as are his broad shoulders, and his big, solid paws pack a vast amount of power. They contain large, sturdy claws that are just made for digging into an enemy’s flesh, right down to the bone. Black’s body is not disproportionally short for a cat as tall as him, but his neck is admittedly a little on the short, stocky side. But his head fits his body well, and he’s got a good long, thick tail for a tom his size. Now, as stated, he doesn’t carry any extra weight, just enough for a cat as big as him, but naturally his size limits his agility. Obviously he’s still a cat and still impressively agile, but a quick little opponent would have the advantage of maneuverability. But he isn’t a slow runner, for his long, powerful legs give him plenty of running speed.
Black has a big, roundish head, with a strong jaw full of gleaming teeth that crush just as well as they cut. His ears, set high on his head, are rather small in proportion to his big block of a skull, though they work just as well as any cat’s. They end in sharp tips that point upward no matter which direction they twitch, unless he draws them flat against his head. And inside they look almost… purple. Presumably, it’s the pink skin through the thinner black fur, but they actually look very, very dark reddish-purple. His nose is jet black, the only spot of shiny darkness on his body. The whiskers in his broad muzzle are gray, a light silvery gray, and stand out against the deep, deep black. But his eyes draw all attention away from those whiskers. They gleam clear and sharp as ice, bright as the moon in the dark night sky. His eyes are gold, a pale, pale gold, almost yellow but a shade too close to beige. They’re the color of the western sky as the sun begins to set, between the deepening blue and the horizon, before the sky turns amber and scarlet. And they’re as sharp in shape as they are in expression, pointed and slanted, set just close enough together to get the full, eye-catching effect of both at once. Black, though he doesn’t much care, has a proud and very handsome face, in a dark, powerful way. And his rare, slight smiles only ever help that image.
Personality: One’s first impression of Black is that his name reflects his personality; dark, brooding, silent. Give him a little while, though; there’s not a sinister bone in his body. Black is a cat who won’t use two words if one will do, and would really rather not use even the one unless he has to. Black is not fond of strangers, and though he bears no cat any ill will unless it is truly deserved, he is content with the few friends he has and has no wish to make any more. Nonetheless, he is a well-mannered, if formal, tom with a moderate sense of humor and morals that would never allow him to hurt a weaker cat. He would kill in self-defense, but in a fight in which he has an advantage, he does not fight to kill; and should he ever see anyone in trouble, he would roll his eyes but sigh in resignation and offer his assistance. His tough-guy attitude is no façade – he is not emotionless but it takes a lot to trouble or hurt him, inside or out.
But Black does have a temper, and it’s rather shorter than that of his near-constant companion Pine’s. To put it bluntly, he doesn’t take fox-dung from anyone, and has no objections to settling conflict with teeth and claws. He is not a battle-hungry tom, but never denies that he enjoys the thrill of paw-to-paw fighting. He doesn’t go picking fights for the fun of it, but insult him enough and expect to see a raging whirlwind of black fur and flashing claws come flying at you. Black doesn’t hold grudges after one-time clashes, though; he doesn’t see the point, and he likes to keep his life as straightforward as possible. Continued provocation, however, will make a real enemy of him, and when he runs into anyone who’s got it in for him, he’s immediately hostile. As for the cats he does like, Black is loyal in the extreme and ferociously protective; he’d kill in their defense in a heartbeat, far more quickly than he would be willing to kill to protect himself. And he’ll fume for days afterward, without a trace of guilt, but rather with lingering rage and terror of new threats to the few who matter to him. He doesn’t show the fear, of course; he seethes in silence and only makes it known with his glaring gold eyes and refusal to speak to even those he would protect.
But he’s not all strength and silence. He isn’t the easiest cat to develop any sort of relationship with, but he is not an actively anti-social tom. He doesn’t mind company, so long as said company doesn’t chatter incessantly or offend him; and with the friends he does have –basically, Pine; Black loves Pine with every fiber or his being- he’s almost a different tom. He’s more likely to act his age: a young adult capable of maturity but still ready for fun and excitement. He doesn’t particularly care to chase feathers (though he has his moments) but he enjoys talking and laughing, play-fighting and exploring. He’d jump in a stream if dared to do so, or climb the tallest tree around, and would be only too delighted to find a long, dark tunnel and follow it to the very depths of the earth. So long as Pine is there to share the excitement.
For Black secretly dreams of adventure, of epic quests and dangerous missions, and it sometimes frustrates him to the point of pacing around his little field, glaring up at the sky and snarling at anything and anyone that approaches him. Perhaps it’s a trait leftover from his early days as a constant traveler, but Black is a restless soul. He dislikes being idle for long and, while he does enjoy lazy afternoons and peaceful nights watching the stars, he is easily bored and has been known to simply get up and take off running. He’ll run as far and fast as he can, then wander around in new territory awhile, and then simply find his way back home as if returning from a long journey of unimaginable importance. (Much to his gratitude, though he shrugs it off, he always receives a hero’s welcome from Pine.) Fortunately, these occasions are few and far between in the generally uneventful days of his life. He can distract himself from the burning restlessness with hunting, exploring, just talking with his friend. He won’t ever admit any of this, though; in his mind, it’s childish, illogical, and he shouldn’t let it bother him so. But it does, and he spends every day wondering if he must spend his entire life trapped, as he thinks of it, in an endless routine of day to day existence.
History: Black’s parents were wanderers long before he was born, forever on the move, never staying in one place for long. They had no choice but to stop, however, just before Black and his littermates were born; it was Leaf-fall, turning cold and a dangerous time to be having kits, and the clever, powerful loner Soot was taking no chances with his mate and kits. Mint protested, but with good humor, and settled agreeably enough in a pretty forest of colorful, half-bare trees. The kits were born in a long-abandoned fox hole, a cozy little home: two dark toms, Black and Bat; and the pale gray she-cat with the faint, cloudy markings, Haze. Bat was born frail and sickly, with a rasping, wheezing cough from the moment of his first breath; his parents had no way of knowing what the problem was, that his lungs simply hadn’t developed right, and he lived only a few days. Soot and Mint were naturally devastated, but Black and Haze never laid eyes their brother.
Weeks passed, and the two kits opened their eyes, began to crawl about; their father left home only to hunt for his mate, for he was naturally protective and slightly paranoid after the loss of his tiny son. Black and Haze first glimpsed the world outside their den on a bright, clear afternoon, with sunshine lighting up the trees and turning them flaming red and gold. Black remembers little of his earliest days of life, but he can still summon up that sight in his mind.
The kits weren’t two moons old before the family was on the move again. They travelled slowly, at a pace the kits could manage, and Soot and Mint would simply pick them up and carry them when they grew too tired to walk any further. Black and Haze were confused at first, and frequently asked when they were going home. “The world is our home,” Soot would explain. “We’re going to see as much of it as we can.” It took Haze a while to grow accustomed to the idea, and she kept wishing for her pretty red and gold forest, but Black adapted quickly to the constant travel. He looked forward to seeing a new forest, a new field, a new stream each day, and enjoyed the freedom of having no attachments to any place or anyone other than his family. They rarely spoke to strangers, except to explain that they were only passing through their land, not looking for a place to settle; and so young Black never learned to associate with cats he didn’t know. It would be moons before he would make a single friend, and in the meantime, he was happy with his family; at least, until the age of five moons.
Mint had always been a fairly hard-headed she-cat; not unpleasant, but stubborn as stone. And when, one day, she decided she wasn’t as young as she had once been and that it was time she and her family settled down, there was just no getting the idea out of her head. Soot was stunned – long ago, he and his mate and agreed that the life for them was a life on the move. Mint countered that they had been young and restless, and that it was time they mellowed out and made a real home for their kits. Hadn’t the kits been happy, travelling? Soot demanded, and so they turned to Haze and Black. The poor little she-cat, who would have been happiest in a lifelong home, suggested timidly that maybe they should give it a try, living in the pretty grove of maples they had found. Black only commented that he thought the place was perfectly nice, but that lots of places were just as nice and it made no difference to him which one they slept in.
Well, that didn’t solve anything, and in the end, Soot took his son and left in a fit of rage. Black, shocked and frightened by his father’s fury, didn’t dare disobey, despite Haze’s pleading with him to stay. He hurried after his father, struggling to keep up, afraid to speak until they stopped by a stream that night and Soot directed him to a hollow under the roots of a tree. Would they ever see Mint and Haze again? Black dared to call after him as the dark tom left to hunt. Soot turned, was silent for a moment, and then said quietly that he doubted it, unless the she-cats had decided to come along after all.
And so Black and his father went on as usual, and Black found that travelling without his sister was simply miserable. His father was still the same as ever, if distracted sometimes, but Black wished for someone his own age for company. The two travelled for moons, until at last Soot grew weary of constant movement; if they found just the right place, he told his baffled son, they would stay awhile. Black was eight moons old by then and accustomed to relative solitude; and it was then that he found himself in a fight with a pathetically harmless young tom. He was moments away from sending the furball running off in defeat when his father and a strange gray tom burst into the clearing. To his utter fury, Soot knocked them apart and forced an apology out of each of them. They left then, and Black was horrified to hear his father comment that the two strange toms seemed like very pleasant neighbors. He grudgingly agreed that there could be worse and that at least they probably wouldn’t see each other much; but to Black’s utter astonishment, he found himself face to face with the young ginger and white tom while exploring the next day. I can show you around, offered the stranger, who called himself Pine. I can find my own way around, Black growled. Well, then I’ll just keep you company, Pine told him, and Black protests did no good. They spent the afternoon together, and ran into each other many days after that. Without their realizing it, they fell into a routine; they would meet at a certain time, in a certain place, and part each evening as it began to get dark. And so they grew up together.
Ten moons after they met, the two decided that they ought to move out on their own, but together. Black had no quarrel with his father, but he and the aging tom had their differences and, by then, wanted their own space. So he and Pine found a home of their own, and then Black found a place for himself just across the field they called home. But they remain inseparable, besides each having his own living quarters; they hunt together, they prepare for Leafbare together, they fight off threats together, and on occasion, they mess with the Clans together. What to do? They’re young, they’re guys, they’re idiots.
Picture: {Link}
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