Briarfoot

[[S] Icy:]

Name: Briarfoot
Age: One hundred seven moons
Gender: Tomcat
Allegiance: Grassclan
Appearance: X
Briarfoot is, so to say, a pretty large cat, even for an elder of his age. (He seems to think he’s the boss. What did you expect? Tomcats.) A lot of his size is not really muscle, but fur. So much fur, it is almost as though one could be smothered in its grasp. He tends to keep it pretty neat, though there are a few stragglers and whatnot once in a while.

Ticks and fleas tend to get into his fur and bite on his skin, so its best to keep him in the corner of the den until the apprentices get to him. The only part about his appearance that is not kept very neat are his paws, always trapping some sort of debris. Straw, moss, leaves- you name it, he has it. It bothers him a bit, though he is a bit too proud to admit it.

When it comes down to colors and such, he’s mostly a faded brown tabby, with more gray than brown appearing on his pelt than anything else. Most of his tabby stripes are a deep brown, almost black, contrasting to his other, lighter shades of brown-gray. His underbelly and paws, however, are a light, tan coloration, gray fur poking every so often. When it comes to eyes, his used to be the sharpest, most vibrant emerald-colored eyed warrior that Grassclan ever saw. Nowadays, his spark has dulled into a more lime green shade, though he still has a bit of a flame in his gaze.

Coming down to special markings and other oddities, the most noticeable happens to be the left back paw, where he had lost a claw in battle as a warrior. It has healed by now, don’t worry about that; it just pains him whenever he has to walk long distances nowadays. Another area of interest is a small, barely noticed scare just under his cheek, thanks to a border patrol from a different clan being a bit territorial.

So, in all of his glory, Briarfoot isn’t the most stunning tomcat ever, though one does have to admit, he is a bit interesting. He did have a reputation of being fast on his feet, even though he did slow down as he aged.

Personality: This elder is, well, a bit on the prideful side of things. He believes that he could, and can, do anything he sets his mind to. He does not believe that the apprentices should fetch food for him, especially when he had four working legs and could do it himself! He does not take no for an answer, and is quite an annoying tomcat, even though it is not intentional.

Although he may have too much ego in his attitude, he does have a bit of a heart. Not one of gold, so to say, but he does show a bit of affection and thanks for what others do for him. He won’t admit to saying that all the other cats are idiotic, intentionally, though he will joke around a little. Who does not, in all honesty?

Some say that, with age, a person becomes wiser (or a cat in this case) and more experienced. Now, wiser? That seems to be a bit of an off statement regarding Briarfoot, considering how much he could appear as rash and idiotic. Yet, experience does seem to relate to him more often than not, as he has been alive for over a hundred moons now. (Its strange how long cats can live when they don’t know if they’ll die the next day.) He has been on many border patrols, hunting parties, and battle waves in his moons of life, and retiring at about ninety moons did make him a bit upset.

As an elder, he is not known for being ‘stupid’ or ‘idiotic’, and instead, something along the lines of ‘a wise and bright tom to educate the young’. As if, man. Telling stories and teaching the apprentices (as well as warriors and kits) does not come easily to him, and in fact, does not really like them all that much. He hates to be bothered with stupid questions and whatnot, so, he stays out of their way.

History: Grassclan has always been a beautiful clan to reside in, and kits were always welcome, no matter the issue. It was especially a beautiful time when two older warriors, Mintfoot and Thrushtail, had gotten together to become mates, after a long while of teasing and taunting- it was almost like a fairy-tale. However, when the birthing of the kits came, Mintfoot was away from camp for the time being, intent on hunting and whatever she wanted. The pains came quickly, and it was not before long did she call out for help. Dustflower, a friend of hers and one that had a limited knowledge of herbs had come to her side, instructing her as much as she could until the medicine cat did come.

The kits that were born were two toms and two she-kits, three with a beautiful silver pelt, though one with a brown tabby pattern. They were named in order of birth; first born, Thistlekit, second born, Ryekit, third born, Briarkit, and fourth born, Sloekit. Mintfoot was absolutely astounded, and after a few moments, she, Dustflower, and the medicine cat brought the kits back to camp. Thrushtail was outraged that she went out so close to the due date, though he was just extremely worried. Who would not?

A few moons after the kitting, a sharp, never-ending cough took ahold of Ryekit, ultimately ending her life a half moon later. The kits were struck in the heart by her passing, Thistlekit the most. The sickness still did linger in the air, taking another life from a different litter, leaving the nursery on high alert. When the kits became apprentices, the better, the queens agreed upon, even though leaving their young to other cats were not what they would have liked to do.

The apprentice ceremony has consisted of Thistlekit becoming Thistlepaw, mentored by Raccoonclaw; Sloekit becoming Sloepaw, mentored by Kestrelheart; and lastly, Briarkit becoming Briarpaw, mentored by Stormcloud. Immediately, the mentor and apprentice duo set out for training, and soon enough, preparing for the rest of his life.

His apprenticeship was not terrible, nor was it amazing; there was, however, a young warrior that caught his attention. Receiving her full name a moon before his apprentice name, she was beautiful, smart, and extremely funny. He fell for her immediately, and her namesake made everything a bit more lovely; Spottedheart, named for her pelt at birth and her excellent sense of loyalty.

At around fourteen moons did he receive his warrior name, along with only his brother. Sloepaw had died a few moons back by a fox attack, a gash too deep in her neck for her to heal. Thistlepaw and Briarpaw had taken their warrior names of Thistlefang and Briarfoot. The first to congratulate them happened to be Spottedheart, and honestly, Briarfoot was glad to be recognized by the one he admired.

The following moons were a bit painful to watch, as well as endure. He had gone to his first Gathering as a warrior, and almost instantly he was in a fight. He was not sure what caused it, but all he knew was that he was bleeding from a shoulder wound. Thistlefang had helped him back home, and he practically collapsed in the medicine cats’ den, tired from the lack of sleep and the blood loss. There was also the instance of when a border patrol from a rival clan had stumbled onto Grassclan land, and he leaped into action; it ended up with his left hind paw losing a claw entirely. He was not able to hunt for about a moon or so afterward, which irritated him to no end.

A little bit after he recovered completely, there was a bit of confusion for the tomcat. Spottedheart had mustered up some courage to tell him that she loved him, which had caught him off guard completely. He did, however, tell her that he loved her as well, and they did become mates. Yet, it was not for about another ten moons before they had their first litter of kits, including Rainkit, Barleykit, and Brightkit. (By this time, Briarfoot was about thirty-eight moons, Spottedheart forty-seven moons.)

Their three kits had grown up into apprentices, and eventually, fully-realized warriors (Rainstorm, Barleytail, and Brighttail). A second litter was on its way, and soon enough, another she-cat was born: Mistkit. Briarfoot was always proud of his kits, though something about Mistkit had caught his attention more than his older kits. (Briarfoot is around sixty moons now, Spottedheart is around sixty-nine moons.) By now, most of his actual family is dead: Thrushtail and Mintfoot died a while back, and Thistlefang passed due to a fox attack (The same one where Briarfoot received a scar on his cheek).

He had watched Mistkit grow up and become a warrior of her own accord, a sleek gray she-cat to be known as Miststream. Of course, he was proud of all his daughters and his son, though there was just something about her that he cherished. Spottedheart was getting older now, nearing the age of eighty moons. She would definitely move to the elder’s den soon, and Briarfoot wasn’t sure if he was ready for it himself. He watched as she retired, though always met up with her whenever he was not on patrol. By now, Miststream was being courted by a lovely male that he approved of, and he knew he would be a grandfather, and Spottedheart would be a grandmother.

Briarfoot continued his warrior duties until he was ninety-two moons, and outstanding age if he could say so himself. Spottedheart embraced him, though was getting slower at her age (She was already a hundred moons old, it was surprising how the couple lasted so long.), and from then on, they vowed to be the best, and to live as long as they could.

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[Mistystar]

What a cutie! Accepted!

[Cobalt]

Accepted~