Silver in the wind. . .

[rain]

Name:
Silverkit Silverpaw Silverwind

Definition:
Silver the metal and a cat's paw.

Gender:
Tom

Age:
8 moons

Clan:
Serenityclan

Rank:
Apprentice

Looks:
Image
A small, yet well muscled little creature he is, with bright, ice blue eyes that seemed to know everything from the moment he was born into this world. He was a rare sight to be held. Bright as freshly fallen snow, yet he hates his coat color and tends to roll in the first patch of mud that he sees, dying his coat a pale reddish brown from the soil that has stained his vibrant coat. His facial features seem to lean toward at of the Maine coon breed, meaning a pointed muzzle and ears with points of fur at their ends. His tail is long and fluffy from the extra fur that seems to cover what, he believes, should have been as smooth as his long-ish coat.

Though he is rather long haired he still manages not to get it to snagged on the twigs that may otherwise, twist and tangle it. This tom may act the tough guy in hating the color, but he cleans himself on a daily basic when no one is about to see him. His claws are a semi-long, peach curve that are deadly when he must defend himself from threats and other such things.

Actions:
He is a rather stoic creature. Acting bigger than he really is, tougher than he really is and well, he is smarter than he looks. He is an egger apprentice if you can rouse him from his deep slumbers and the dreams that seem to hunt him when he is awake and moving. Those dreams seem to scream to him, things that stay hidden to others. Though Silverpaw keeps those dreams to himself, he wants so much to tell his leader about the frightening images that keep this young tom always on the edge when he is wandering about the forest. Though when he isn't constantly on edge he can tell you every sound and scent that seems to fill the air with its tantalizing aroma.

Haunted by the unforgettable death of his parents, Silverpaw still looks to the bright side of life as he wanders about with a sad heart and images that seem to sulk him ever moment he tries to sleep. His hatred for two-legs is great and unwavering. He listens to no one when he says that they should have taken better care of themselves, when truly they were just defending their sweet little kit.

Past:
He once heard the bang of a thing a two-leg used. He called it a thunder maker, since that was what it had sounded like to his sensitive ears. Then, his parents lay before him, unmoving. A yowl left the small creatures black lips and someone came to aid him. Seeing those two dead caused that one warrior to take this little scrap of white back to the camp. Silverpaw had been so young back then and as his life has gone on, those memories had started to fade, then the dreams came screaming at him as he watched all over again the thing he could never stop. He'd wake, crying out with his mass fear of the same fate befalling him. His den mates would scold him for waking them as they asked him what had caused him to make that sound, so unlike him over the past moons. He had been a newly apprenticed kit at that time and now, two moons later, he is still fighting to get a handle on those horrible images.

For the time after his parents passing, he was a silent morning figure, sitting and sleep at the edge of camp, crying softly in his sleep for those who he loved to come back to him. To be by his side once more, rather than up in the sky with Starclan. He knew they watched over him, but he wanted them there, to comfort him and help the poor, young tom to feel better, to feel hope once more. That all came to be once he was an apprentice and he was not trapped in the nursery with all those other fawning kits as they wiggled about their still living mothers. They had something to look forward to in life. They had someone to praise them when they did well, while he did not.

In Character:
Look at Rainwhisker.

Relationships/Kin:
None

Other:
None

Codewords: Painting Portraits of Ghosts

[(aurora) of the problematique]

_Accepted