Sooooooo my procrastination on uploading new character profiles here has been pretty obvious, but now I'm really stuck: my laptop just died, though the hard drive is likely A-okay this means that I can't access the individual drawings of the characters to post, plus writing up an entire bio on mobile is no fun.
I can share some lore if anyone's interested, but otherwise I'll be quiet here until I'm set up on a new laptop! ^^
au where some events in a cat’s life are shown in patterns on their pelt
pinestar has a light ring around his neck and a white spot where his collar and tag will be
feathertail’s tabby stripes resemble stalactites and stalagmites, and one on her torso looks broken off from the rest
the white spotting on hawkfrost’s throat marks where the wound that kills him will be
brightheart’s tabby patches line up perfectly with the edges of her hairless scars. when she was a kit the rough borders of the patches looked quite odd, but in she grew into them in a way
tigerstar has a thin white stripe all the way down his belly, barely noticeable unless you get really close to him, that marks the future wound that drains him of his lives
medicine cats learning to interpret these markings
warriors trying to avoid the events their markings prophecize, only to have it happen anyway (like oedipus killing his dad)
feel free to add more, i can see this being used for angst and stuff (kinda like what i did)
Ember-eye
Deceased | She’s so wONDERFUL | Desiged by me
Note that she’ll get her own chibi or fullbody in time, but I can’t keep this lovely lady all to myself!! <333
In life, Ember-eye was known as Emberheart for most of her life; she was known for dramatic retelling of Ashclan’s myths and legends and was great at playing the parts. Emberheart was very vocal about her opinions, challenging Snapperstar’s word at every turn (the leader took it with good humor). At first she would have a lot of anxiety after outbursts, but in time she grew to love providing a voice for those who couldn’t to step up.
Emberheart was in a loving poly relationship with her mates Dappledclaw and Locust-tail, providing humor and many an antic to ease any disagreements. She was the point of balance in their relationship, but sometime after their three children (Peeperpaw, Coyotepaw and Leechpaw) were nearing adulthood they decided to end the relationship on amicable terms due to factors inside and outside the relationship.
The three adults took a walk with their children, to explain what was going on and that things likely wouldn’t change too much. Leechpaw, distraught, ended up running off and angering a rutting stag. It charged the apprentice and the rest of the family couldn’t do anything but fight.
When the leaf-litter settled, there was blood everywhere; Emberheart’s family was devastated.
Leechpaw had fled; no one has ever seen or heard from her again.
Peeperpaw had been trampled under sharp hooves.
Locust-tail died on their way to camp.
Coyotepaw survived, barely, with deep gouges in his belly and sides.
And Emberheart, suffering trauma and antler gouges to her head, found her eye filling with blood, her hearing muffled and the feeling in half her whiskers reduced to nothing.
She and Coyotepaw chose to take on new names, Ember-eye and Coyotebelly respectively, to honor the loved ones they had lost.
The remainder of the family carried on with their Warrior duties after healing, with Coyotebelly even finding love with Flyface and expecting a litter with his beau;
Ember-eye couldn’t have been happier for her son, but the trauma from her injuries never fully healed. Her bloody eye became blinded, and in time infection set in; she died the day after Coyotebelly’s kits were born.
But that’s not the end of Ember-eye’s story, oh no; she plays a role as a dead cat too. I’ll keep that under wraps for now, though ;D
Rowanfang snarled, a mess of red-and-gold-and-blackish fur that stung and clung like a burr. Paws grappled and a dewclaw pricked as she crashed down on her foe like a toppled maple.
The wind knocked out of her, Honeypaw willed it back, not letting her chest get flattened by the tortoiseshell’s weight. As soon as it returned to her she screeched. She writhed, flailing and kicking and reaching nothing but thick fur; pinned. She twisted, desperate, only to see green eyes and bright teeth sear towards her neck-
“Not good enough.” Rough words rumbled against a parched throat; Rowanfang stood back to allow Honeypaw to regain her footing. She skirted away, doing her best to project indifference; she knew the sting shone in her eyes all the same.
Sitting down, the young Warrior watched a boar-beat roll by to let Honeypaw smooth her ruffled coat and the onlookers consider their verdict. Honeypaw glowered; they weren’t doing a very good job of it, for all that her scuffle in the sand was worth.
Applepaw’s blue eyes searched for her own, lighting up with Honeypaw met her gaze with as much enthusiasm as she could muster; Creekpaw was completing her third lap around the training hollow and seemed to pay more attention to her pawsteps than the lesson.
Rowanfang veered towards her. “Creekpaw; what did Honeypaw do right?”
The patched kitten was jarred out of her path, looking up. Already the pupils within her yellow eyes were too dilated for such a clear morning; she looked at Rowanfang’s brows, not her eyes.
“She didn’t protect her neck; she grappled your shoulders and arms instead of trying to control your head, which left her vulnerable to that ending... sorry, Honeypaw.”
“Don’t say that; it’s well-deserved, and if I know my weaknesses I can work on them,” the flame point replied; she could see Applepaw’s tail waving from the corner of her eye.
A whistle of breath slid between Rowanfang’s teeth. “Oh, she definitely has a bit to work on; not too bad being Lichencloud’s apprentice and all... “
The fur along her spine rippled; she worked to keep it down under the Warrior’s eyes.
“I’m not asking that; I’m asking what she did right.”
Creekpaw blinked. “Oh, yeah.”
“Sheath your tongue, Rowanfang,” a new voice crested the riverbed; all four cats swiveled towards it. “Honeypaw didn’t let you get a grip on her all the same. Though trying to control the pointy bits in such tight quarters is essential, she was just about ready to knock you off balance and scramble off anyways. Could use some work, but not as much as you’re implying.”
A pretty pale molly stood where a pool would once have rested; she trotted down the shallow banks, shadowed by a chocolate ticked tabby. Her movements were stiff as the older cat’s thanks to a tailless rump; her smile was flexible and reached every gaze gathered.
“Pansypelt!” Applepaw bounded forward, leaving Honeypaw feeling flustered as her sister shared an affectionate greeting with her mentor. Her enthusiasm carried her to the next visitor easily. “Oh, Sandfang! What are you doing here?”
Honeypaw had to note the strangeness of the situation; Sandfang, all scrapes and nicked ears with shoulders too broad for his body, was an Elder, retired long before Applepaw and Honeypaw had ever dreamed of Ashclan, let alone forest. She'd never spotted him out and about, not even sunbathing with Bramblecloud and Frogthroat. Seeing the retired Warrior in the sunlight was almost intimidating; even at his age he was a handsome face.
He did not quite look at Applepaw as he answered her.”I’m the last survivor of the Blight to bear -fang; we thought it wise to pass on even a bit of that before I get confined to my den.” Honeypaw tried to follow his gaze; it shifted before she could pinpoint who -or what- had him looking so severe.
“Aren’t you always in there?” Rowanfang quipped; jib or not, there was a sharp tone to it. Was the tortoiseshell intimidated?
Bristling fur foretold another comment; Sandfang’s ears slicked back as he streaked forward. Honeypaw’s heart dove down.
“Wait- stop-” Creekpaw yowled. Rowanfang snarled, bunching up and bracing for the impact. Sandfang collided with her side, sending both cats rolling. Applepaw looked to Pansypelt for help; the Warrior had already skittered as fast as her bad back could take her, tugging Creekpaw away from the hissing, spitting ball that swung in all directions.
The other Apprentices were panicking, crowding around the only form of authority that wasn’t thrashing like mad; Honeypaw, however, couldn’t help but watch. She knew little of the techniques; leaves and roots and flowers were more to her liking, the reflexes and quick thinking required in such brawls were beyond her, but it was thrilling to watch. Rowanfang was a bulky, massive cat built of mismatched, thick fur. With indignant rage she would come out on top, pinning her senior in a cloud of grit and pebbles. Sandfang, sleek and a little lean in his age, nonetheless consistently toppled her, forcing the rolling grapple to continue on as soon as she would take a moment to breath.
After a breathless time, one final tumble sent them spiraling appart. Rowanfang grumbled low in her throat, nub of a tail swishing in defiance; Sandfang acknowledged her with a chuff. Despite his demeanor, the old tom was just as winded as the prickly Warrior.
“Who mentored you again?”
Amber-and-ginger fur parted every whichway, Rowanfang watched him under low brows. “Cootheart. He taught me everything I know about the Code, our Clan and how to serve it and survive.”
Sandfang considered her answer, giving her fur time to lie flat. “He’s a determined one… on the nimble side of things, born to weave and dance.” He seemed like he wanted to say something else, but a shared look with Pansypelt made the ticked tabby swallow the thought.
“You are a skilled Warrior; I can see why Scalestar took you in,” Sandfang said at length. Honeypaw looked over the scene to meet Applepaw’s eyes; wasn’t Sandfang the only Clanborn cat in the clearing anyways?
“However,” he continued, “you would have suited better under their own tutelage. Maybe Cootheart should have asked for Bramblecloud to oversee a session, or even Pansypelt.”
The stars came out behind Honeypaw’s eyes. “They’ve all got less tail than most,” she said.
Pansypelt seemed to understand as well, taking a few steps forwards; her flank still touched Creekpaw, Applepaw followed the movement. The trio didn’t move much, and for good reason: Rowanfang’s eyes raked over the elder like claws, limbs stiff trunks.
The wind was stagnant; from what little Honeypaw had gathered from Crowstorm’s rambles, mentors were a big thing in Ashclan. She’d doubted it, feeling no bond clinging between her pelt and Lichencloud’s… seeing her sister leeched to Pansypelt’s side, seeing Rowanfang’s eyes blaze at an apparent slight against her mentor’s credentials, it gave weight to it.
Creekpaw lurched forward, scampering into the space between both cats before Pansypelt could drag her back. She scented the air with wide eyes and paused whiskers from Rowanfang.
Honeypaw hissed. “Creekpaw! Get back-”
“No!” she bit out, twisting to face the tortoiseshell instead. “You! You stop that; just ‘cause you’re a ‘fang doesn’t mean you know everything. Don’t you want to get even better?” Seeming to sense the tension in the air, or maybe realizing how blunt she sounded, the patched cat’s tail fled. “Sorry.”
Rowanfang glowered; Honeypaw couldn’t quite see what exactly those green eyes searched for. A beat later they drifted down, past the disturbed sand and stones. “I’ve earned my name, one of the best despite not being born here. Cootheart dragged me back by the ear when he found me sneaking away to find my brother; he dragged himself through mud to teach me how to swim though he barely could; he stayed up days and days asking you, and Loonfur, Bramblecloud, about the heritage of this Clan, of everything I’d need to know.”
“And you’re telling me his effort wasn’t enough?”
Pansypelt spoke up. “No, it was not. It takes a Clan to raise a Warrior; do you expect a single mentor to be able to understand and be able to work on every weakness their apprentice has?”
Sandfang nodded. “Cootheart has a tail; you do not. I’m certain he offered you as complete an education as he could, but he can’t dock his rear to better teach you how to stabilize yourself against more agile enemies. He did well; you are still Rowanfang, not Rowanstripe or Rowanstorm. You both earned that name.”
Rowanfang’s fur had begun to lie smooth; she still had not relaxed, though. Unable to glare at Sandfang, she seemed to have taken to glowering at Creekpaw instead; the kitten seemed only barely aware of this. “Why didn’t Scalestar train me themselves, then? Or make Pansypelt take me on, or drag your mate out of retirement-”
“Best friend; Bramblecloud helped me have the kittens I’d always wanted and our bond never extended beyond that.” Sandfang’s tone grew thorns; it took visible effort to calm down. “Regardless, it is the Mentor’s responsibility to seek out any extra lessons or knowledge their pupil may need. Our clan was dying, Rowanfang; Scalestar had to worry about the training of many young cats, on recruiting new blood and ensuring that Ashclan saw its next year. Had it been before-”
Applepaw was at the old tom’s side, cheeks streaking over his flank. Honeypaw wondered if she should comfort him too; apparently he’d taken the Blight hard. Her sister’s support appeared to be enough, though; his snout rose to point at Rowanfang.
“Roseclaw,” he grit out. “Skunkfoot. Cindercloud. Squirrelheart. Ember-eye... Grousecloud. Any of them could have taught you, but not; they’re all dead. We were few and tired and defeated; Cootheart was the only one with enough enthusiasm to handle the fire within you. To give you to their care would have been a fatal blow. Frogthroat had just earned his own name through surviving impossible trauma; you would have walked all over his other father. As for Pansypelt…”
His eyes slid open to eye Honeypaw; he’d felt her curiosity and she couldn’t quite hold the blue-green gaze.“The clan, what was left of us, was still in an uproar over this cat being accepted at her age and without going through a formal apprenticeship. Scalestar is not foolish enough to give a controversial cat an apprentice that early.”
What little of the Manx’s short fur fluffed out; her eyes were merry as she ambled over. “Give me some credit, I fought off that terrible pair of rogues with nothing but my shadows and teeth.”
Sandfang chuffed. “I’ve still got to get that story out of you.” He nudged Applepaw with his white chin, silently thanking her for the support, or so Honeypaw thought. Meeting her sister’s eyes, she could have sworn that the red-and-white point looked like she knew this curious tale...
Pansypelt spat at him playfully. Satisfied with her childish behaviour, she hobbled over to Rowanfang; the Warrior had courched, searching for answers in scuffs in the sand. Creamy fur brushed Creekpaw’s side as she passed; the apprentice stuck close after they made contact. The pale tortoiseshell nosed the darker fur of Rowanfang’s shoulder.
“Just because you have earned your name doesn’t mean there isn’t more to learn. You are a keen hunter and fighter, a testament to Cootheart’s training and your own skill. There’s no shame in honing those teeth to keep them sharp”
Sandfang loped over; Applepaw and Honeypaw, after a beat, joined him. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I wanted to see what skills this new blood brings with it, see if it could get mine flowing again.”
Rowanfang, finally, met his eyes; Honeypaw circled around to see the reluctance in her eyes. “Well, what did this new blood teach you so far?”
Honeypaw could hear the intake of breath they all took; Sandfang chuckled. “You’re better at swallowing your pride than I was at your age; I think we’ll need a few more rounds before I know for sure.”
He turned and- oh no.
“Honeypaw! Let’s see if you can work on that defensive; try using your hind legs to push at one side of my undersides to knock me off-balance.”
The flame point felt her enthusiasm dropping like a stone. Making herself small, she tried to brush back against the training hollow’s banks.
Applepaw’s eager eyes found her, though; clear blue like the sky above. “You can do it sis,” she cried; Pansypelt and Rowanfang offered their encouragements too as they settled under an overhang in the shade. Creekpaw thrummed with excitement; she didn’t quite know where to look.
Honeypaw heaved a sigh; peer pressure sure was nice. She mimicked Sandfang as he squared his shoulders, ruffled a ridge of fur and paced to the side.
They crouched, facing off; she could see herself in Sandfang’s eye, a ferocious feral with pointed fangs and a snake for a tail. Intimidating; dangerous, despite her size and inexperience.
If Warriors could learn a new thing or two, maybe she could learn to be less of an easy target.
Applepaw
Tiny Apprentice | Crying Girl | Designed by me
Sister of Honeypaw, she’s thrilled to the bone that her sister is training to be a Cleric!! Not so thrilled that their mom left them both high and dry in Ashclan, though. =C Being born white and not developing visible points until far later thanks to ample white spotting, her mother initially named her after apple blossoms, not the fruit; turns out she became bright red underneath all that white though, so it works out!
Little girlie decided to eat an apple one day out of curiosity; as a result, Lichencloud had to give her a crash course on edible berries and fruits, ‘cause she likes crunching on them. crounch.
She tends to get injured a lot to give her sister something to practice with; this can drive even laid-back Pansypelt, her Mentor, into the trees with worry and frustration. Applepaw is honestly very frustrated and upset with the fact that her sister isn’t super close to her emotionally, and so she’ll do anything she can to spend time with her. Even playing with bugs, which she honestly doesn’t like much.
In the absence of her sister, Webpaw has taken a key place in her life as her best friend. He tells lame jokes, she laughs and makes them worse; he breaks a rule, she makes sure they don’t get in trouble (learned how to play with the rules from her sister; honestly only follow them ‘cause it’s convenient, and mostly makes sense.)
Webpaw
Apprentice | Demi-tom | Designed by rainwolfeh on DA
The only Apprentice of Clanborn origin; being surrounded by cats that are learning everything from scratch has honestly done wonders to the poor dork’s ego. Son of Pigeonstripe and Sleetclaw, two of his siblings died while they were still kittens and a third just a little after their training began, all to the Blight. He’s practically a germophobe, or as close as one can be when you live in the wild; more like ‘keep your bad sickness-spirits away from me’.
Webpaw overthinks everything, including thinking, and stumbles over his words as a result. Thus, his jokes usually end up derailing and being pretty bland, unlike his dad’s. He looks up to his pop tremendously; his goal in life is not to be a great hunter or tracker or whatever, but to be a great dad; he’s very fatherly already.
He has very short whiskers like his mom, licks his lips when nervous, and loves tiny bugs. Except spiders. Spiders are No.
Hickoryear
Warrior | She’s a living sneeze | Designed by @fenris-ing
Sister of Pigeonstripe, with the two of them sharing a birthday with Newtnose, Hickoryear used to be called Hickoryfoot. Until she got a really case of ear mites that ruined her left ear; Lichencloud has a complicated relationship with his most common patient. Because beyond ruining her ear, she’s always sick; poor girl’s always got some sort of a cold, or bellyache, or headache, one ailment or another always haunts her; the ear mites were just the cherry on top, so she requested a name change because this immune system has been a big problem yo.
Hickoryear sneezes more than she talks; she’s far quieter than her boisterous brother and admires his badass mate. She’s usually fairly soft-spoken, but becomes a scathing thing when pissed off. The only other time she’s known to speak up is early in the morning; this girl’s always the first to ask Cragheart how she can help out today, if she’s able to.
She wooed her lovely wife, Leektail, with cute riddles, rhymes and poems; they had one daughter together called Dovefur, who Pigeonstripe had the honor of mentoring. Sadly, both died during the blight, so she almost forcefully inserts herself into her brother’s family to try and forget her loss and satisfy her desire to mother others. </3
Clanmates joke that they can predict the weather based on what’s ailing her, she rarely gets injured due to being very fleet-footed(she just gets sick) and Hickoryear is known for being an awful patient despite seeing Lichencloud at least three times a moon.
Morals
Rogue | Miss Momma Nasty | Designed by rainwolfeh on DA
Morals is a mysterious figure, thought to be an evil spirit by many Ashclan cats.
Anything known of her is kept hush-hush out of fear; Morals is a monster, murdering the unlucky with attacks so swift she is said to escape unscathed... yet to those observant enough, there’s a clear pattern as to who lives and who dies.
She knows of Starclan and the myths of She, and many in Ashclan talk of her with suspicious familiarity. Morals refuses to kill kittens if their parents are watching, praying to Starclan after each murder.
This black tabby has trouble meeting other’s gazes, stress-grooms regularly and doesn’t mind getting her paws wet; she always walks in a dead-straight path, puddles be damned.
Honeypaw
Cleric Apprentice | She is Claws | Designed by rainwolfeh on DA
Honeypaw is the last cat anyone would have thought would become Lichencloud’s Apprentice. If she were human, she’d likely be diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder; to Ashclan, she’s a cat with little regard for rules, in control at all times, emotionally distant and very charismatic... the complete opposite to soft and gentle Lichencloud. He interpreted numerous signs that, in his eyes, all pointed to Honeypaw being chosen by the ancestors as his Apprentice; keen on protecting herself and her sister, Applepaw, she accepted the offer.
Despite potential to be an awesome villain, Honeypaw is actually fairly benevolent towards her patients and Clanmates; having no survival skills at all, she sees them as a means to her survival and Applepaw’s, so best keep them healthy, right? However, she makes up for this insane lack of skills and grace (she moves like a drunken duck) with a keen intelligence and superior memory... put to use by knowing that not moving makes herself look smarter, hah.
She isn’t what you’d call... close with her sister; there isn’t much of an emotional bond there, but Honeypaw knows that she should want what’s best for her, and as a result goes above and beyond to be the ideal sister. She has similar ‘I should care for these cats so I’ll try to protect them and make them happy’ feelings towards Possumfoot and Buntingpaw; however she’s very suspicious of Webpaw for being a genuine friend to her sister when she isn’t around.
In her free time, the two sisters like to catch bugs, eat bugs, watch bugs and count bugs. They got the bug love from mom, okay??
Lindenfoot
Warrior, ex-Kittypet | She the Babe | Designed by nargled on DA
Having joined Ashclan as a full-grown adult, this ex-kittypet has the embarrassing distinction of having been an Apprentice for three and three-quarter seasons. He acceptance into Ashclan was... shall we say, a very memorable event, so regardless, she stuck around. Though not a talented hunter, fighter and horrible with youngsters, she is a very fast cat indeed. She’s honestly adapted fairly badly to Clan life, but if Lindenfoot is one thing, she’s determined: she’s adapted to new homes before and this one is far more appealing to those human nests!
Lindenfoot has, perhaps, the most experience with humans of anyone in Ashclan; born a barn cat, TNR’d, put in a shelter and passed around more households than she can count, she’s experienced a wide range of human behaviors and fancies herself an expert on them. Until they do something really weird.
She is prone to doing very, very cute behaviors almost out of habit (she’s so used to making humans go ‘awww’ to get treats) and has two extremes to her personality: completely selfless and generous, or selfish to the point of hoarding air. Despite her ups and downs, Pansypelt loves this fellow calico and holy crap they’re so cute together look at my little lesbeans. She’s also good friends with Mudtracks.
Pansypelt
Senior Warrior | gORL | Designed by @squirrelfights
Scalestar’s BFF, Pansypelt used to be a loner living under a flower shop and has been friends with the Leader since both were Apprentice-aged. When she learned of the Blight, the Manx chose to help care for the cats her friend loved so much. From stealing flowers and herbs to simply carrying out hunting duties when they were short-pawed, Pansypelt was eventually given a full Warrior ceremony for her help... after she’d agreed to join, of course. Some muttering was had about this, but no one really had the strength to fight at the time sO YEAH!
Pansypelt is the resident confidant of nearly any cat who needs someone to talk to; she’s excellent at comforting others and offering support and soft-spoken advice. She pretties up the Camp with flowers in blooming season.
Being a Manx, Pansypelt suffers from spinal problems and limited mobility. Despite this, she is a workaholic and is rarely known to take catnaps, using every free moment to either help someone out or help the Clan as a whole. She can spread herself thin at times and can become too exhausted to care for herself.
She licks ears to show affection, drools in her sleep and loves to raise her head and purr when extremely happy. Such as now. With her girlfriend. yea
Would anyone be interested in lore posts? Anything from what is expected of each rank, cultural practices, beliefs and superstitions, as well as the origins of Ashclan itself! If that's of no interest I'll just keep posting character art until y'all are really curious. ;D
Expect some tweaks to past posts; after figuring out exactly what I want to do with this, turns out some of my past ideas and names don't work rip
Despite being almost hilariously patriotic, Cootheart was actually born a rogue; he and his sister were brought to Ashclan, their mother seeking refuge from a band of rogues she had pissed off. She promptly hightailed out of there once she pissed off Ashclan too; her kids, however, chose to stay.
Cootheart carries a lot of guilt; as an Apprentice, he picked a fight with the band of rogues his mother worked so hard to avoid. The leader of the day, Willowstar, lost his three remaining lives during and after the battle. Scalestar’s first real task after choosing their Deputy was to reassure Cooteart and stop him from doing something stupid.
He’s an incredibly cocky little pain in the butt towards his few superiors -he’s near Senior Warrior status and pretty widely respected- but, surprisingly, the best mentor around... in terms of being fun and supportive; Cragheart is the best teacher, Cootheart, the cool guy. Cootheart is usually the first cat to jump up and suggest that they punch someone, because he’s been punched a few times.
Cootheart and his sibling shared an extremely close bond, only for her to vanish during the Blight. Given that they had been sick at the time, Cootheart assumed the worst and poured what faith he had left into caring for his then-newborn nephew, Yewkit.
With Yew-whisker now a Warrior, the two spend much of their time hanging out, never bringing up the common thread between them. Cootheart often stays up late, despite naturally being very, very sleepy; he talks to the stars, hoping that his sister can hear him and enjoy his jokes even in Starclan.
Cragheart
Deputy | He is Lorge Boy | Designed by @squirrelfights
Somehow this guy is a great dad to everyone except his biological daughter, go figure. He is Scalestar’s third Deputy, their first and the replacement having died during the Blight, a hard-working fool putting all of his time and energy into ensuring the well-being of the Clan. Cragheart is wracked by guilt over the deaths of his mate and Clanmates, cryptically acting as though he’s somehow to blame; as a result he is an incredible pain in the ass when it comes to making sure cats respect young Lichencloud’s orders. Stay healthy kids! He’s also bossy in general, but in a cool dad-like way.
In an attempt to keep the memory of those lost alive, he’s adopted many of their hobbies: his brother Birchfur’s habit of counting berries on bushes, Brackentail’s gossiping ways and his mate Leopardstep’s curiosity regarding Tallwalkers. He’s also finally obeying her wishes and learning dad jokes.
A very ruthless fighter, he’s gotten badly injured a few times as a result, hence the facial scar and constant squint in one eye. He’s very self-conscious about his appearance, really. Also allergic to pollen, so he has to stay around Camp during springtime and Lichencloud gives him special herbs once it’s a little more bearable.
