Streakfeather of ThunderClan

[STREAKZ]

NAME! Streakfeather
AGE!  63 moons.
GENDER! She-cat
CLAN! Thunder
SHORT DESC.! Pretty slim gray tortoiseshell she-cat with green eyes

FULL DESCRIPTION!

Streakfeather has always been on the petite side -- since kithood, she's been a teeny little bugger. Her paws are dainty little things, quick to be tucked beneath her for warmth, and this description could be dragged to the rest of her as well. She's not got as much going for her when it comes to size, most of her ThunderClan brethren are a good deal bigger than her though she doesn't seem to mind all that much. She's slight, and about as substantial as a WindClanner when you get right down to it.

Her pelt is one of silver gray with splashes of cream here and there. The cream of her fur may not always be the most obvious of things, particularly around her face, unless she is in certain light. She's a short-haired cat, despite having a father with a pelt that could put Rapunzel to shame, and her fur is usually kept decently clean (unless she happens to be in a horrid mood of sorts).

The tortoiseshell's voice tends to lean toward that of a chime -- it's got a near musical trill at the end of it. She speaks quietly, and not often, preferring to keep her eyes focused down on her paws. Said eyes are green in color.

As far as scars go, she's been lucky enough to escape many physical ones. No most of what has ever scarred her is on the inside, and perhaps shown with fleeting expressions of distress or moments of brooding silence. Streakfeather's ears are in good condition thus far, as is her muzzle and face.

The she-cat's nose tapers down to a delicate point, her whiskers fan out in an impressive manner -- if it weren't for her being so quiet all the time Streakfeather might actually be a hit with all the toms. She's certainly not hideous, though she herself wouldn't go so far as to put the label of beauty on her own head.

PERSONALITY!

Streakfeather is the sort of cat that tends to put others before herself -- almost always. In every form. Even if that means she's working herself to the bone, or getting physically hurt, or psychologically tearing herself to pieces, she places her own comfort and priorities a pawstep and a half behind those of those she cares about. This in and of itself is an issue, without the added fact that it simply doesn't take much to get Streakfeather to care about you. You don't even need to talk to the cat, she's got a bleeding heart and she wears it on her sleeve.

Easy to manipulate? Please, Streakfeather's all but drawn out instructions for people. She's quick to lending her intelligence and strength to most any situation, with little regard for what exactly she's doing.

When it comes right down to it she lives in the moment. Helping others is something that seems to come naturally to Streakfeather, and she's always quick to do it. She has a hard time seeing the bigger picture, how her actions will effect things down the road, when it comes to the time of agreeing to help. She's the sort that would aide a friend who had killed somebody out of sheer panic and realize later when she was alone that she'd just committed a crime.

Streakfeather is compassionate, the sort that throws her heart into situation after situation and cradles it to her chest when it gets broken and bruised. Yet she'll do it again, and again. She loves, and she loves often. She loves her Clan, and the kits and warriors within it -- she loves her home, her life and is quick to want to show others the happiness it can offer and bring.

Of course... she's not all smiles. Far from it. Streakfeather rarely feels a moment of complete bliss. The problem with loving a lot is that it can be too much -- it's all too easy to get hurt, and she's been hurt. A lot. She's felt it, and will keep feeling it, and sometimes it drives her nearly to the brink of what she thinks might be insanity. Can a cat snap from all that pressure?

When she's hurting she's prone to hiding it. She used to talk to Honeyleaf but-- well she's not around to talk to any longer. So she keeps to herself when it comes to the hurt, as infuriating as that may be to those that love her. She smiles and bears the pain because there's nothing she can think to do better. Besides, she's used to hiding in the shadows.

Secrets are not things unfamiliar to Streakfeather -- and she hates them. Honesty is something she strives desperately for, but when you're living tangled in a web of deceit it's hard to break free. Not without tearing everything around you down, that is, and she couldn't bring herself to do that. Not ever. They make her feel sick, like she's choking on them as she covers with lie after lie. She hates it, she hates lies and being lied to and lying more than anything in the world.

Loyal at heart, she will stick by a cat through and through -- even if she's a bit of a mess, even if they are a mess. She'd rather hurt than betray someone she loves and care for, to cause that kind of pain is her worst nightmare, something she can't fathom ever committing, so she sticks to the side of those she loves with a passion that might be surprising.

She is passionate. Bold and courageous when the situation calls for it, Streakfeather can back up her love with claws if she so needs to. She's felt the love of a mother, and knows that some things are so precious that you'd be willing to draw blood for them -- this holds true for every kit she nursed, even though they are warriors (and a leader) today.

As far as self-worth goes, Streakfeather has virtually none. She cares incredibly little for herself, as aforementioned, and one could go so far as to say that she almost hates herself. With all the lying she does that wouldn't be a surprise.

HISTORY!

Born into the family legacy that was Harefoot's (seriously the family bred like rabbits) Streakfeather's kithood was what one would want it to be -- void of anything too major. She was too young to understand any family drama or tragedy occurring around her, and for the most part Streakfeather was a happy (if not quiet) little kit. She romped with her siblings, but grew particularly close to Honeykit, of the group.

Then Honey was taken to the medicine cat den -- it was upsetting but all at once a happy thing too! Streakfeather wouldn't see her sibling as much, but she couldn't bring herself to feel sorrow over that fact, not when it meant that her dear sister would be caring for the Clan. Besides, she had her own path to walk down. That of a warrior.

Streakfeather was, as an apprentice, more prone to shyness than anything. She rarely spoke up or talk, and those she idolized -- such as Riptalon, the Clan Deputy at the time -- she idolized at a distance. She kept to herself, mostly, until she met a young ThunderClan warrior by the name of Firestorm.

The two fell in love quickly, Streakfeather was horribly smitten by the normally quiet warrior and he brought out of her a side that most cats didn't get to see. It seemed, at the time, that the romance was going to end in happily ever after -- and then Firestorm got sick. Or, that's the only thing she could describe it as. It was as though his own mind had turned against him, and slowly he was swallowed up by paranoia and pain, hunger and a drive for something that scared her.

He gave her an ultimatum, leave the Clan and come with him or stay with them. Streakfeather still thinks, to this day, that he was banishing himself to ensure no other cat was hurt. He left, and she remained behind with the very first cracks in her heart. She headed home, horrified and wondering what she would tell the Clan. That one of their best warriors was insane? That he might be dangerous? They might hunt him down to ask questions -- what if he killed some cat in his desperation?

So she lied. She lied and said that Firestorm had been ill and that he had left to die. She lied and said that she couldn't bear the burden of his weight to carry him home, so she'd buried him there. And they believed her, because why should she lie? There was no reason to think she ever would.

The pressure of the secret was something she carried into warriorhood, until she finally confessed to Honeyleaf the entire thing. Her sibling was, as she always expected her to be, there for her. Streakfeather slowly found herself relying on her sibling, visiting her often.

Just when she thought she could live with the shadow of her guilt, the WindClan leader Ficklestar came to ThunderClan bearing bad news -- that he had been attacked by a rogue ThunderClanner named Firestorm, and that only by killing him had he and his Clan-mate managed to escape. She was horrified, crushed. Having left was entirely different from being dead, and her secret had been upturned for Riptalon to see.

He didn't judge her though. No punishment came, and, with the death of Firestorm came a sort of peace. Her heart grieved for the cat she had loved, but she could stand to live on with her life like any good warrior would. And then she met Stormshadow, and fell in love for the second time in her life.

Stormshadow reminded her of all the things that could bring happiness in her life. He reminded her that she only had to look over her shoulder to see someone she trusted, and she bore him kits. Of course things couldn't remain on that steady track, no. That was an impossibility, and Honeyleaf came to her with a secret of her own -- she too, had kits.

Streakfeather decided to foster them. To take them as her own, because she couldn't bear the thought of her sister losing the title she loved. So she took the infants under her wing, raised them as her own, and grew to love them as her own too.

But under that, deep under that, she began to crumble under the pressure of it. A secret as heavy as that is quite a burden to bear, and when Honeyleaf was gone she found herself growing more and more tired under the strain of it.

All she had were the kits -- and Stormshadow of course -- to look to. So that's what she did. She watched as the young she raised became apprentices, and then fine young warriors. She felt immense pride when Wolfstrike stepped up to take the mantle of leader for ThunderClan when Riptalon decided to retire, in her heart she knew that that was the way things would be. Her own journey to the elders den was well on its way, but until then she'd bear the weight of her secrets by living for her family.

Always for others, that was just who she was.

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