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Post by }xx.£eaƒm∞n , , on Nov 28, 2010 0:42:50 GMT -5
- When asked my name, I proudly cry, "Burnedthroat!"
- I was born a male, and a chivalrous one at that.
- The frame of a cat, I was crafted upon.
- 32 moons I have survived with enthusiasm.
- A tabby-point Siamese is what I would be, if labeled by twolegs.
- Film exists containing my image. It is here.
- Details, you say? A base of white tinted with cream, then shadowed with mocha across my back, shoulders, and flanks. A face shaded with black, brown, and tan, then lightly inked over with narrow tabby stripes. Ears are satiny chocolate, with thin coffee stripes along my back and legs, becoming black and silver along a long and tapered tail. Build is tall and light, lithe and agile, trimmed and slim, angular and artistic. Eyes are a pale sky blue, often narrowed in amusement or half-closed in contentment.
- I can call myself a follower of the cult.
- What's within such a psyche as mine? Well, for starters, I am a generally friendly cat, with few desires and many contentments found upon this earth. Some could call me lazy or simple-minded, but it is not so. I simply don't see a need to waste a lot of effort to achieve something, when you could get the same result by taking your time and letting things come as they come. Example, why spend a day hunting to fill the kill-pile when you can just as easily leave out a trail of seeds, and let the prey come to you? It's smart-thinking, really.
If you couldn't tell by now, I'm more of the peaceful, easy-going type. Not easily shocked, startled, or angered, I'm low-key and cool most of the time. If bad things happen, they happen; I take them in stride because without bad times to compare them to, how would we appreciate the good times? Life is but a balance, an ever-changing shift between good and bad, dark and light, hunger and being full. I accept both equally, though of course I enjoy good times over bad ones. I'm rambling now, aren't I? I apologize. I like to share my philosophies, you see. An afternoon spent grooming in the sun and discussing life itself is a well-spent one, to me. Leave war and suffering to the fools who burden themselves with petty things.
- The things that came before this? My life began alright, in retrospect. I had a Siamese mother who, upon turning down the numerous pedigree toms offered to her, went out to find her own mate in the forest. She came across a sturdy, dark tabby tom by the name of Jace, who became captivated with her, so they both settled down near the forest edge once the litter was due. Chime was her name. There were three of us, each distinctly marked as a Siamese should be as we grew older, but it was also clear that our blood was mixed. My brother Wheat was lighter, more tan in color, my other brother Barley was darker and more sturdily built. My birthname was Oat, and I had the most distinct stripes of us three. Needless to say, the twolegs didn't approve much of our mother's choice - or us - so as soon as we were weaned, we were turned out to forest life while my mother returned to kittypet life. I haven't seen her since.
Luckily, Jace stepped up as a good father and mentored us in the ways of hunting and fighting, so that we would know how to defend and feed ourselves. Through hours of training over a few moons, Wheat and Barley and I were ready to live feral lives on our own, as Jace wasn't a young cat anymore, and was more apt to be fed by a local twoleg and nap in her sunny garden. The three of us set out, together at first, but as time often does, we drifted apart. Wheat found a pretty she-cat who wanted to share a territory with him, and he settled down in the Greensun Woods. Barley decided he preferred at least a little of twoleg life, so he returned near to where we grew up. I continued to wander the forests alone, sleeping and hunting wherever I chose. It was a boring, even lonely existence at times, but it was enough.
Soon enough, though, something plenty exciting happened.
A dry summer had taken hold of the forests and plains, making the plants brittle and wilting, the hair still and heavy with heat. While I was exploring a possible den near Swimmers' Lake (in between the two northern creeks), a prairie fire had started on the other side of Running Hare Creek. Though alarmed, I stayed on my side and watched with concern as the land was engulfed in flame and smoke, numerous animals leaping to safety across the creek- or in it. I made the mistake of turning my back on the fire, thinking the creek would contain it, when hot ashes and bits of debris began blowing across the creek from a sudden wind. A twig that had caught on fire flew across, hitting me across the throat and chest, instantly catching my fur and the ground nearby on fire. Panicked, I ran to Frozen Feather Creek and leaped in, anything to stop the horrendous burning that was evaporating my tears and singing my skin. Luckily the water doused it, but as I swam to shore and shakily climbed out, I could feel a screaming pain all across my neck, chest, and shoulders, like a thousand little cuts merging at one focal point. For days, I suffered in silent agony, yelping when the pain was too much, bidding my body to heal. I knew there were remedies to treat the burn, but I knew none. I wandered hopelessly along the shores of Swimmers' Lake, until I came across another cat.
The other cat was quite friendly, and sympathetic about my injury. He led me to the home-base of something called the cult, a group of cats that followed a leader, her sequel, and a single healer that was an expert at all things remedial. The healer took me into his den and watched over me for days, applying salves and checking my wound, until he was satisfied that it had healed correctly. The other cats kept me fed and reassured I would find no more harm. I was alive, and I was grateful. With such a burn as I had, it was very hard to hunt, and I would have surely perished in the end.
I told them my name, Oat, but decided I wanted a name like theirs, which seemed so special and full of meaning. Burnedthroat is what I came up with, because I was grateful that such a potential disaster ended up saving my life, and showing me the ways of the cult. I humble myself with the name, yet carry it proudly. And now I was a follower of the cult.
A short time later, a group of rogues encountered a morning hunting patrol I was in, a pretty tortoiseshell among them. She didn't really meet my gaze, which was expected I guess, so I kept an eye on the fierce-looking male that seemed to lead the group. He seemed to have intents of attacking us, which of course I didn't approve of, but before he could, the tortoiseshell spoke up. Infuriated by what she said, I saw him prepare to attack her, and the next thing I knew, I had bolted forward with the cat's neck in my grip, absolutely appalled that any cat would dare touch a she-cat like he had tried. Realizing what I had done, I let go of the male's throat, but it was too late. He quickly bled to death, a look of shock on his face. As I stood there in disbelief of what I had done, the rest of the patrol chased off the rogues, leaving just the she-cat. She showed interest in joining us, so I guided her to our customs and ways; how we gave thanks for prey and looked up to StarClan; how we had rules and ranks and routines to uphold. She adapted easily, and we became great friends... perhaps more.
The dear old healer that had nurtured me when I arrived finally passed on to join Moonmother and the other Starchildren, and when he did, Angelwing took his place. Even so, we stayed close, and the cult thought that we would become mates, despite that traditionally being taboo. Another tom came to the cult one day, though, and I noticed Angelwing spending more and more time with him, laughing at his jokes and always preening her coat before she went to see him. I have my suspicions, yes. I know he was badly hurt when he came to join us, but he is young and naive, and has not known Angelwing near as long as I have. If there is a contest here I must win, I will. As cool and calm as I may generally be, I have my moments when it's all too much. Like when Angelwing's father tried to attack her... and like now.
- I have my connections.
Mother - Chime - unknown
Father - Jace - unknown
Brother - Wheat - alive
Brother - Barley - alive
Angelwing - close friend - alive
- This life is what I have - & I plan to live it.
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