Post by mudheart on Aug 25, 2015 15:35:34 GMT -5
| mudheart | | shadowclan |
| tom | 41 moons | | elder |
Once a handsome tom, all of that changed for Mudheart several moons ago following an incident near the Thunderpath with two-legs and lighter fluid. Previously named Lizardtalon, Mudheart’s name was changed following his lengthy recovery process. He is an exceptionally tall, long-legged cat with patchy fur and countless bald spots and splotches with burn scars. Most often, Mudheart appears stern and withdrawn from other cats, but to be fair he isn’t unpleasant or unduly rude—he simply avoids small talk and prefers keeping to himself these days. His nature only seems to make his appearances look worse than they actually are.
Standoffish. It’s not that Mudheart is rude or unpleasant—it’s more that there’s just something off about him. He seldom (if ever) initiates interactions. He does not seek out companionship, but he also doesn’t ever refuse it, either. It’s incredibly difficult to tell just what Mudheart is thinking (especially in regards to his thoughts on another cat) because he doesn’t often share his feelings. The thought simply doesn’t occur to him. Quite frankly, it seems as though Mudheart wouldn’t care one way or the other if he had any semblance of companionship. He often comes across as being rather stern and no-nonsense. It’s debatable as to if he has a sense of humor at all. Jokes seem to be lost on him.
Protective. He’s not the first cat that others would think of when they were asked of protective clan mates. At least, he wasn’t before the incident at the Thunderpath. Mudheart has always kept a watchful eye on the other cats of Shadowclan, and while he prefers not to intervene directly in anyone’s personal business, Mudheart has small, almost imperceptible ways of being there on an emotional level for his peers. When it comes to duty and scraps—there’s no question where Mudheart’s loyalties lie. He will and has put himself on the line for others without being asked.
Unimaginative. Even as a kit, Mudheart—then Lizardkit—struggled with games of pretend and coming up with things to do. He likes having purpose and direction in life, and now that his duties as a warrior have been robbed (it’s questionable as to if his status as an elder is permanent or not, he seems to be doing better as the moons go by) of him, Mudheart often finds himself miring in boredom, unable to figure out what to do. As a result, he has a tendency to go off on his own into the marshes quite a bit, hunting and seeing what there is to see. Though he doesn’t have much of an imagination, Mudheart can appreciate the simple things in life well enough to make up for it.
Protective. He’s not the first cat that others would think of when they were asked of protective clan mates. At least, he wasn’t before the incident at the Thunderpath. Mudheart has always kept a watchful eye on the other cats of Shadowclan, and while he prefers not to intervene directly in anyone’s personal business, Mudheart has small, almost imperceptible ways of being there on an emotional level for his peers. When it comes to duty and scraps—there’s no question where Mudheart’s loyalties lie. He will and has put himself on the line for others without being asked.
Unimaginative. Even as a kit, Mudheart—then Lizardkit—struggled with games of pretend and coming up with things to do. He likes having purpose and direction in life, and now that his duties as a warrior have been robbed (it’s questionable as to if his status as an elder is permanent or not, he seems to be doing better as the moons go by) of him, Mudheart often finds himself miring in boredom, unable to figure out what to do. As a result, he has a tendency to go off on his own into the marshes quite a bit, hunting and seeing what there is to see. Though he doesn’t have much of an imagination, Mudheart can appreciate the simple things in life well enough to make up for it.
If Lizardkit’s experience in the nursery could be described as anything at all—it would be ‘uneventful.’ He was mild tempered and not much fuss, often allowing other kits to lead the way with games and adventures. In his youngest moons, Lizardkit was often regarded as being slow in comparison to his peers. He didn’t seem to learn things as quickly, and his instincts didn’t seem to be present in regards to certain things. In play fights, where another kit might run or fight back, Lizardkit simply stood very still and stiffened, not knowing or understanding what he was supposed to do.
Nevertheless, Lizardpaw received his mentor when he reached six moons of age. He was given to Owlfeather, a she-cat with immeasurable patience so that he could learn at whatever pace worked well for him. Despite hosting a temporary inappropriate attachment to Owlfeather, Lizardpaw remained very much the average apprentice in Shadowclan. He didn’t cause trouble, he didn’t complain about his duties (in fact, it seemed he was most comfortable being told what to do and when to do it), and he became the cat that was quite easy to overlook. He was simply there, and he was there so much and so quietly that others began to forget. Until the rats came for the nursery one evening while most of the cats had traveled to attend a gathering. Like every moon prior, Lizardpaw found himself skipped when it came time to choose who might go. Rather than moping about it, he simply set himself back to work, tending to the elders and changing out the nesting materials for his clan mates.
The rats came when the clouds covered part of the moon. Quiet Lizardpaw—the unassuming cat that no one expected very much of—yowled, hissed, and shrieked so loudly while raking his claws across the faces of the rats that he drew the attention of the few adult cats that had been left behind. With assistance, it was easy to fight the dangerous pests, and beyond an infected rat bite, Lizardpaw managed to escape mostly unscathed. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem very proud of his accomplishment. It was just something that he thought he was supposed to do.
He earned his warrior name a little behind schedule due to his slower learning capabilities, as well as time spent recovering from his infection in the medicine cat’s den. None the worse for wear, he became Lizardtalon, in honor of his ferocity when fighting off the rats.
His time as a warrior became as equally unremarkable as his kithood and apprenticeship. He never was given an apprentice of his own, mostly because it was widely known that a tom that struggled to schedule his own day could never properly manage the training of another cat. Instead, he was often told to accompany other mentors and their apprentices out for training and to assist in whatever way that he could.
It was one such day that he accompanied another warrior and their apprentice towards the thunder path. They were aiming to not only teach the apprentice about the dangers associated with the hard path, but also things to listen for, and hints on critters that sometimes lingered near the road—like birds digging through two-leg trash that was left behind. Thinking they were still far enough away from the path, they had separated to allow the apprentice to try and catch something. Instead—a trio of young two-legs found them. They caught the apprentice by the scruff. Not for the first time, Lizardtalon’s stunted instincts proved useful. Instead of running and fleeing from the obvious danger, Lizardtalon barreled out of the underbrush, making the same awful racket that he had the night the rats went for the nursery. The two-legs were startled enough to drop the apprentice on the spot when his claws sunk into one of their legs. He bit and scratched and bought the apprentice enough time to flee back to their mentor—but he forgot to do something incredibly important.
Lizardtalon never ran from the two-legs, even when they let go. He didn’t have the instinctual response to do so.
Eventually, seeing that the cat wasn’t going to get off of them, the boys kicked at him and hit him, eventually managing to grab him and hold him to the ground in the dirt. He twisted and thrashed, and it was a mistake. They poured lighter fluid over his body and all of his movement only ensured that the liquid found its way to many different places on his form. He still doesn’t know how two-legs made fire, but the next he knew, he was burning alive.
The pain was unbelievable, and enough to send him bolting. He didn’t know where he was going, blinded by pain as he was. It was the mud and the swamps of their territory that saved him. He has no memory of the warrior that he had been spending the day with shoving him down into the mud to stop the burning, nor does he remember any of the trip back or the first moon of his recovery. He became very familiar with the inside of the medicine cat’s den as time passed. At the time, the extent of his injuries was so severe that many doubted he could return to his warrior duties.
And so he retired. Not because he wanted to, but because everyone else seemed to think it was what he was supposed to do. He was renamed Mudheart, as the clan didn’t want to remind him of the pain he had gone through, and instead commend him for why he had gone through it. To save one of their own. He was 32 moons old when he joined the elders den. Now, almost 10 moons have passed, and it seems that some of his vitality from before has returned to him. He often goes off to hunt and roam the territory, but he still doesn’t know if he can return to the warrior’s den. Time and more healing will tell.
Nevertheless, Lizardpaw received his mentor when he reached six moons of age. He was given to Owlfeather, a she-cat with immeasurable patience so that he could learn at whatever pace worked well for him. Despite hosting a temporary inappropriate attachment to Owlfeather, Lizardpaw remained very much the average apprentice in Shadowclan. He didn’t cause trouble, he didn’t complain about his duties (in fact, it seemed he was most comfortable being told what to do and when to do it), and he became the cat that was quite easy to overlook. He was simply there, and he was there so much and so quietly that others began to forget. Until the rats came for the nursery one evening while most of the cats had traveled to attend a gathering. Like every moon prior, Lizardpaw found himself skipped when it came time to choose who might go. Rather than moping about it, he simply set himself back to work, tending to the elders and changing out the nesting materials for his clan mates.
The rats came when the clouds covered part of the moon. Quiet Lizardpaw—the unassuming cat that no one expected very much of—yowled, hissed, and shrieked so loudly while raking his claws across the faces of the rats that he drew the attention of the few adult cats that had been left behind. With assistance, it was easy to fight the dangerous pests, and beyond an infected rat bite, Lizardpaw managed to escape mostly unscathed. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem very proud of his accomplishment. It was just something that he thought he was supposed to do.
He earned his warrior name a little behind schedule due to his slower learning capabilities, as well as time spent recovering from his infection in the medicine cat’s den. None the worse for wear, he became Lizardtalon, in honor of his ferocity when fighting off the rats.
His time as a warrior became as equally unremarkable as his kithood and apprenticeship. He never was given an apprentice of his own, mostly because it was widely known that a tom that struggled to schedule his own day could never properly manage the training of another cat. Instead, he was often told to accompany other mentors and their apprentices out for training and to assist in whatever way that he could.
It was one such day that he accompanied another warrior and their apprentice towards the thunder path. They were aiming to not only teach the apprentice about the dangers associated with the hard path, but also things to listen for, and hints on critters that sometimes lingered near the road—like birds digging through two-leg trash that was left behind. Thinking they were still far enough away from the path, they had separated to allow the apprentice to try and catch something. Instead—a trio of young two-legs found them. They caught the apprentice by the scruff. Not for the first time, Lizardtalon’s stunted instincts proved useful. Instead of running and fleeing from the obvious danger, Lizardtalon barreled out of the underbrush, making the same awful racket that he had the night the rats went for the nursery. The two-legs were startled enough to drop the apprentice on the spot when his claws sunk into one of their legs. He bit and scratched and bought the apprentice enough time to flee back to their mentor—but he forgot to do something incredibly important.
Lizardtalon never ran from the two-legs, even when they let go. He didn’t have the instinctual response to do so.
Eventually, seeing that the cat wasn’t going to get off of them, the boys kicked at him and hit him, eventually managing to grab him and hold him to the ground in the dirt. He twisted and thrashed, and it was a mistake. They poured lighter fluid over his body and all of his movement only ensured that the liquid found its way to many different places on his form. He still doesn’t know how two-legs made fire, but the next he knew, he was burning alive.
The pain was unbelievable, and enough to send him bolting. He didn’t know where he was going, blinded by pain as he was. It was the mud and the swamps of their territory that saved him. He has no memory of the warrior that he had been spending the day with shoving him down into the mud to stop the burning, nor does he remember any of the trip back or the first moon of his recovery. He became very familiar with the inside of the medicine cat’s den as time passed. At the time, the extent of his injuries was so severe that many doubted he could return to his warrior duties.
And so he retired. Not because he wanted to, but because everyone else seemed to think it was what he was supposed to do. He was renamed Mudheart, as the clan didn’t want to remind him of the pain he had gone through, and instead commend him for why he had gone through it. To save one of their own. He was 32 moons old when he joined the elders den. Now, almost 10 moons have passed, and it seems that some of his vitality from before has returned to him. He often goes off to hunt and roam the territory, but he still doesn’t know if he can return to the warrior’s den. Time and more healing will tell.
poots ☆ Snowpaw ☆ Image
