Barleyswipe

An apricot and white she-cat with a ragged pelt and green eyes
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Early in the prime of her years Barleyswipe’s medium-sized body bore the tell tale resemblance of a cat who was nearly always on her feet, active and fit. While not the largest cat by any means, her legs are long, lanky and support a long frame that is far from her prime. Her skin stretches over her bones, especially noticeable by her hips as her aches and pains keep her far from active, despite her best attempts at grasping for the strength of her youth.

Barleyswipe is a long furred cat, although her coat sticks out at odd angles and thin-stretched skin keeps her coat close to her body in other angles. Her fur is mostly a solid apricot colored hue, once a rich, marigold-red, it has lost some of its luster. She has a large patch of white fur on her chest as well as a blaze of white on her face and tail tip. Despite her best efforts to keep her coat luxurious and well kept, those hard to reach places have become even harder to reach, and frequently tufts and snags build up. The worst of them itch, and when they are finally pulled free, sometimes she tears her pelt in the process, of which she does everything she can to hide the blemishes until they grow back.

Barleyswipe has large, polydactyl paws with cracked, worn paw pads. Her claws are still sharp and will frequently sharpen them on logs and roots to keep them so. Her tail is plumed and thick, but stringy at the end, which emphasizes her tails relative shortness, being a bit shorter than usual, that was hidden beneath all that fur in her youth.

Barleyswipe’s face is more blunt than angular, with large cheekbones and a wide set maw. She’s managed to keep most of her teeth, with only her right top canine blunted from an injury in her youth when it cracked in half. Her ears are large and angular, with small tufts of lighter inner ear hair sticking out. Barleyswipe has gotten more deaf in her old age, although its mainly on her right side where she’s a bit more hard of hearing.

Large, almond shaped eyes leer out from her face. They are pale green in color and rarely open more than half lidded, as if secretly judging every other cat she sees.

As far as injuries and scars, other than her cracked tooth, Barleyswipe has a long, thin scar starting from under her chin to the tip of her chest where she got kicked in the throat by a rival clan cat during a border patrol, causing her rather deep, but feminine voice to become gravelly in her old age. She bares other scars, although none are so large; one on her right shoulder, and another on her belly.

Barleyswipe is a cat whose patience is in short supply. Every complaint or minor ache warrants a mindset in which she wishes to be disturbed very little, or rather, she must be the one who engages with others first. Her words are blunt and sometimes forgets that others can air their griviences too without a retort comparing her own which naturally reflects her selfish outlook on life. She sacrificed everything for her clan; her youth, her best years of life. Every drop of blood or inconvenience endured is something Barleyswipe never forgets.

Where once her life was full of adventure, Barleyswipe now faces the predictable and mundane. Boredom is a frequent plague on her subconscious, and tries her best to keep herself entertained, even if it’s at the expense of others. Her usual mannerisms are full of half-jibes and sarcastic quips, and generally can’t get through a conversation without cushioning an insult or insensitive observation in between a compliment or casual statement. In part, her sarcasm and cynical humor is a defense mechanism. No matter how dire or dark the circumstances, she can effortlessly deliver a dry remark and find humor where there might not be any, but they also serve to reveal a keen observation of the world around her. Barleyswipe doesn’t miss much, and her commentary often serves as a mirror that reflects her inner monologue.

Barleyswipe also harbors a paranoid side that keeps her on high alert at all times. She keeps herself busy by reinforcing camp walls and looking for pockets that some cat may take advantage of and never not searches her nest thoroughly for any planted thorns. Suspicion is her constant companion, and she approaches new situations with an instinctive wariness, always expecting the worst to unfold and is quick to defuse her unease with humor. Even her clanmates are not immune to her deep-seated assumptions. She’s quick to second guess their intentions, ever vigilant to catch them in, what could seem to her, a suspicious act. This suspicious nature makes it challenging for her to form meaningful connections, as she struggles to let her guard down and allow others into her world. Nevermind her abhorrent dislike for the other clans.

Superstition weaves its way into her thoughts like a dark thread, further fueling her mannerisms. Barleyswipe clings to her belief in Starclan and omens, believing that certain actions can ward off misfortune or bring about good luck. She’s quick to interpret coincidences as signs or recalled dreams as things to come, and a single offhand comment from a clanmate can send her mind spiraling into a web of imagined plots and conspiracies.

In spite of her reluctance to trust, Barleyswipe can’t help but be intrigued by the lives of those around her. As much as she may scoff at the dramas unfolding around her, she finds herself irresistibly drawn into the stories of others, like a moth to a flame. This contradictory dance between suspicion and curiosity creates a constant tug-of-war within Barleyswipe. She craves connection, yet fears the vulnerability it brings. The more she becomes entangled in the lives of others, the greater the risk of exposing her own emotional wounds. But she’s unable to resist the magnetic pull of warrior life even as old as she is, and her desire to be in their business often overrides her instincts.

Some instincts haven’t left the old she-cat, however, she keeps herself as sharp and attentive as she can. As much as she would loathe for any attack to come to the walls of Windclan, she often fantasizes of defending her clan in a grand battle surrounded by blood-scent and protective fury. She considers herself Windclan’s last line of defense and would gladly lay down her life to protect them despite all her griviences with her clanmates.

Barleyswipe will always volunteer herself to go alongside the chosen to Gatherings despite any ache of pain she may be feeling. For her, the Gathering is the perfect time to immerse herself in the nitty gritty of enemy clan life, and finds pleasure in keeping her friends close – but her enemies closer. Ah, in the world of whispers and clandestine conversations, Barleyswipe thrives as a connoisseur of gossip and rumors. Her keen ears perk up at the slightest hint of juicy news, and her curiosity knows no bounds when it comes to unraveling the tangled web of secrets that others keep.

She dislikes hearing heresay secondhand, which is why she enjoys Gatherings so much. Barleyswipe takes great pleasure in regaling her clanmates with the latest rumors should they care to listen, adding her own clever commentary to spice up the tales even further. She embellishes her experiences, stretching half-truths and relishes gossip, but here in lies a deeper motivation. In a world where trust is hard-won, knowledge is power, and information can be the key to survival. Barleyswipe understands that knowledge gives her an edge, an edge that won’t wear down with age like physical prowess does. She may not seem sentimental, but actions speak just as loud as words do.

Despite her love for gossip, Barleyswipe considers herself a trustworthy confidante. She understands the importance of discretion should a secret be so great, but not interfere in the well-being of Windclan. She knows the value of keeping confidences, especially in a world where trust is hard-earned, and she respects the vulnerability it takes for others to share their innermost thoughts with her.

Beneath her tough exterior lies a core of justice and fairness. She’s unafraid to speak up when she sees injustice or inequality, advocating for those who may not have a voice of their own. Her fierce nature becomes a force for good, as she fights for what she believes is right, even if it means challenging the status quo. Barleyswipe wants to be an inspiration for others to follow even if she may seem dismissive or deflective, she feels as if she watched her clan grow and thrive under her watchful eye even if she doesn’t lead it.

• Born in the Moon of Long Nights (2013)

[0-6 Kithood]

Barleyswipe was born a nondescript kit named Barleykit alongside a stillborn brother to an older queen, Claycinder and her named sire, Longdawn. She was an only kit who grew up alongside her dam in the nursery without other kits to entertain her, which caused to cling towards the only cat she knew in her earlier months. Her dam wasn’t a particularly patient cat, and her post-birth pains had caused some swelling that made it painful to nurse. Claycinder wouldn’t call herself unnecessarily mean to the kit, but had an expectation for him that Barleykit usually failed to live up to. She’d often say one thing, but mean another, and when she was young, Barleykit believed Claycinder’s word as inexplicable truth.

The world was a scary place. Enemy clan cats would sweep through the clan and snatch up kits if they could. Two-Legs ruled the area beyond their lands and commanded their monsters on the Thunderpath to squash the naughty. Barleykit would awaken to the yowls of her dam in the middle of the night and she’d fill her head with the shadows that haunted the young Barleykit even in the waking world. There were times were she couldn’t bare being with Claycinder, and quite frequently stole away from the nursery, one time bruising herself before she could even get very far passed the nursery. Every time, though, she was returned to her mother, or watched if she happened to be out.

It only got a bit better when Emberkit (Emberback) was born after his dam moved into the nursery herself. No longer was she alone, and by then Claycinder basically ignored her. From the outskirts of the nursery or wherever she could be underpaw, Barleykit listened to her clanmates around her. Scolded many a time for eavesdropping or being someplace she shouldn’t be. Emberkit was new, but boring… and noisy. She wanted to do nothing more than be part of the hustle of bustle of clan life.

[6-13 Apprenticehood]

Barleykit got her wish as Barleypaw, and became the apprentice of a strong mentor in the prime of his life and eagerly took her her apprenticeship duties. Even her gregarious mentor had a difficult time getting her to open up, but figured out that challenging Barleypaw was the easiest way to do so. She often came back to the nursery to wow the awed Emberkit who was very engaged in the apprentices’ stories of clan life. Just as much, Barleypaw enjoyed embellishing her duties and bragging about her adventures outside of camp, and it was during this time Barleypaw began identifying herself of less of a tom and more of a she-cat until she finally embraced this new identity.

While she never saw light of an actual battle during her apprentice moons, she had a thrilling experience involving a hare in a hunt during her tenth moon. She had tracked and pursued a large hare, her over eagerness to bring back something like that for show caused her to act rashly, rushing the hare that was nearly as big as herself. Their bodies clashed and before Barleypaw could deliver the killing blow, the hare struck her deep in her belly with its back feet, scratching her pelt and spilling her blood.

She went back to camp with both a story and fresh kill, but spent some time in the medicine cats den healing her belly wound until she was fit for duty. Barely an apprentice himself, Emberpaw kept her company and greatly enjoyed the story she embellished. Once her injury scarred up and returned to her training, she spent a great deal of time pestering her mentor to show off battle techniques to her, asserting to him that she wanted to be the toughest cat in the clan.

[13-19 moons]

Barleypaw received her warrior name, Barleybreeze, and stepped into the warrior life she truly craved. She proudly patrolled the borders, ever vigilant for threats that she knew were right around the corner. Be it a enemy clan cat or fierce animal, she would be ready to prove herself to her clan. Emberpaw continued his own training, and while they spent less time together, it was clear that the two cats had become close. It wasn’t long after that Emberpaw received his warrior name, and frequently joined hunting and border patrols to pass the time.

[21- 30moons]

Shortly after Emberpaw received his warrior name, he, Barleybreeze and two other older warriors were patrolled the borders of Thunderclan on a cold day in Leaf Bare when a rabbit darted from the borderline followed by a equal sized patrol of hungry Thunderclan warriors. Seeing this affront happening right before her eyes, Barleybreeze rushed into action. This was not a time for fancy words or diplomacy – she wanted them to pay for crossing their borders and hunting their prey. Barleybreeze led the charge and hit one of the Thunderclan warriors.

In a flash of fur and claws, she held her own against her opponent, remembering her training and constant drilling. Her heart beat hard in her chest, the thrill of defending her clan filled her with both fear and joy. She fought for her life as she felt a force at her neck, kicking her as she pinned the other cat down. Sheathed claws struck at her belly, narrowly missing her vitals as she remembered the adrenaline rush of battling the oversized hare, but during their struggle, Barleybreeze got caught at the throat. Barely avoiding a bite that would surely have ended her life, fangs were traded with claws as her throat got slashed open, nicking her vocal cords.

Barleybreeze fought back, biting into the cat’s shoulder, ripping out a chunk before the other cat dislodged and the rest were chased off Windclan territory. Victory was bitter sweet as Barleybreeze returned to camp, dripping blood. This injury was more extensive and Emberback wondered if she would be able to still be a warrior, and truly her recovery was a journey. It didn’t help that Claycinder had taken to the sick den frequently, but only seemed to chastise Barleyswipe for her actions. The old she-cat was confused, but that didn’t stop her manipulation of her emotions to hurt any less.

[30-35 moons]

At first Barleybreeze couldn’t speak, but over moons of rehabilitation retaught herself how to make sounds, and then making words. She never gave up hope that she could still provide for her clan, and through sheer determination was able to speak again, albeit a bit raspy. She was given a new name, honoring her bravery and sacrifice in defending her clan and was renamed Barleyswipe and returned to her warrior duties despite her dam’s disappointment. Claycinder had wanted nothing more than to keep Barleyswipe at her side, where she could pretend that she loved her. She told her no one else would love her like she did, no one else would be able to trust a cat that could barely speak. Dangers lurked around every corner, and it would be on Barleyswipe should any ill befall her clan because of it.

[35-77 moons]

Later into her warriorhood it seemed that the old Windclan leader didn’t share in her mother’s paranoid sentiments. While Barleyswipe never received her own apprentice to train, she was frequently called to lead patrols and hunting parties. Emberback remained a friend throughout the moons, but when Barleyswipe finally got enough courage to express her feelings for him it seemed Emberback wanted little more to do with her. The ginger tom became distant, and had found Mistystep by that time – a she-cat that Barleyswipe positively resented for stealing her special friend from her.

When Emberback and Mistystep had a litter, Barleyswipe wiped her paws of them all, including their son, who would later become Cloudflare, never forgetting Emberback’s apparent betrayal and Mistystep constant relishing of her kit and her kit’s sire. Barleyswipe wanted to contribute to her clan as any other she-cat would, but it wasn’t like she could just pop out a litter by the grace of Starclan alone. Yet she couldn’t bare to approach any biological female or hang around them for long in hopes of being asked to sire herself… It just wasn’t fair.

So Barleyswipe focused entirely on her career as a warrior, having some close calls, but nothing remotely dangerous, like the one time she led a patrol during a slippery day in Leaf-Fall where she stopped a fresh warrior from barreling off the side of the gorge by throwing her body into his. They had little to show for their efforts, but at least she had prevented bodily injury, maybe even death from occurring on her watch.

During one such particular hunt she brought down a fat squirrel and buried it to continue her hunt elsewhere, but when she returned she saw that a small, hungry falcon was picking at her freshkill. She successfully snuck up on the bird, and added it to the freshkill pile shortly after with only a few small scrapes to show for her scrap. Her days of being a constant provider was starting to wear on her, however, and found that some of her aches didn’t go away once she rose from her nest. She worked through the pain, though, until she noticeably saw herself slowing down. Unwilling to risk being a liability to her clan, Barleyswipe stepped down from her duties, reluctantly, however. Sometimes it still pains her greater than any ache might do.

[77-83 moons]

It was during the start of the most recent Leaf-Bare that Barleyswipe settled into life as an Elder, seemingly more alone than ever. Her mother had passed she barely bat an eye to it, only hoping that Claycinder would leave her alone once she entered Starclan’s embrace. Sometimes with middling effects. There are times where her dreams are plagued by the unknown. Other times its flooded with blood-stench. Or kicking, impossibly large hares. Sometimes she dreams of Emberback and what might have been, only to wake to his nest near hers.

[Genealogy Details]