Orca.

[Orca]

Comin down the world turned over
And angels fall without you there
And I go on as you get colder
Or are you someones prayer?
================================================

N a m e ; Orca that Never Touched the Sea.
G e n d e r ; Tom-cat.
A g e ; Twenty-Nine Moons.
T r i b e ; The Tribe of Booming Thunder.
P o s t i o n ; Stoneteller.

---

D e s c r i p t i o n ; [x] [x] [x]

He is a common gray tabby, with a moderate pelt length, and thick strips of darker fur filling up each corner of his body. Each of these stripes, however, fade into a thick blonde coat, on his underbelly, which, when a closer look is taken, appears to be several shades of gold - as if the color itself on a silver cat wasn't already interesting enough. But, after his stomach, his legs and paws again fade into a somber gray, and surrounding his pads are a deep onyx, although no one would ever see it without taking a close look at his paws. He also has a relatively medium-length tail; that is not too scraggly and long, nor is it too short to the point where it would make a poor rudder when speed is important, and he also has electrifying yellow eyes, which match his varying personality.

G l a n c e ; A bright, quiet and welcoming helpless romantic of a tom, who enjoys the life the Tribe of Endless Hunting gifted him with, and allowed him to live out the way he wants.

P e r s o n a l i t y ; He's a charming cat, with what is mostly a collected persona. He has a kind heart, with a soft spot inside for kits of every attitude, and perhaps one day a special someone. Other than a complete Lover, Dreamer and Charmer, two words. Party animal. Although he may be quiet at a first look, one really has to get to know Orca to understand what he's really all about. Sure, he's a kind and hospitable Stoneteller, but he's young, and there's no stopping his fun-loving instincts. Whenever he gets the right chance, he'll announce a reason to celebrate whatever it is, and when he wants others to hear such announcements, he can be good and loud, should he make it so. Basically, he doesn't say much, but when he does, he makes sure that everybody listens.

Though, contradictory to his outburst of a two-faced lifestyle, he is also a very respectful cat. At Gatherings, he does not engage in chit-chat unless he is chosen to speak, and he is also rather orderly back on his own turf, not that he has obsessive compulsive disorder, which may be common in other types of leaders. Everyone has their flaws, and his is just being slightly strict when it comes to certain affairs. Mostly, he sticks to the philosophy that "there is a time for everything", although the time for being reckless is obviously his favorite, as mentioned before. But truthfully, he's no fool - he's got a lot more intelligence in his mind than some may give him credit for because of the tribe he leads, and how naive he of course must be for taking on such a "daunting" task.

Whatever the case, or mood he's in, however, he has common sense and wisdom for one of such a young age, and knows right from wrong. (On a random sidenote, he also has an undying fear of almost the smallest puddle of water, but also has a deep respect for it.)

H i s t o r y ; He was born in a remarkably sized litter of seven, to a foolish kittypet who decided to take off into the forest and mate with a Rogue tom named Hound, who, unbenounced to her, was on the run from a mob of his old Tribe mates. His reason for flight? He was the murderer of an Elder; and clearly, such an act was not looked upon as "good." And so, he was being hunted down for his deeds. Yet, he kept all of this hidden from the lovestruck kitty-girl, and the two stayed in constant motion, until Orca and his siblings were born, and the pair could go on no longer until their children were of six moons. It was the only way, both of them knew. Although he felt uncomfortable with being idle, the renegade father of the kits remained with the female in their den, which was just offsite of an easy beach, in order to stick to his duties as a good parent.

Yet, despite his efforts, he was eventually found one evening by the mob of prey-hunters and guards who had been looking for him since the time that he had met his mate. By this time, the kits were seven moons, and were beginning to train on the front-lines of survival. But as for the hunters and guards: in the dead of night, they ransacked the pair's den with every inch of stealth they owned, before they eventually tore both parents away from their sleeping babies, and drowned the two in the nearby ocean; some of the cats doing the act dying in the process as well. Hound, they had killed for obvious reasons, the unnamed kit-mother; because they mistook her for Hound's partner-in-crime. When the kits awoke the next morning, they found the bodies washed up on the beach, but none of them dared to go near the swell, in fear that it would gag and swallow their tiny bodies too.

================================================

Many moons then passed - and for the most part, many of the seven survived. Two passed on the the Tribe of Endless Hunting during a harsh leaf-bare, and another moved on because they were overrun by a "monster" while the group was cutting through the city to reach new lands. Since, there were only four left, obviously. They all eventually split to find new futures - all of them wild and reckless loners. However, Orca remained in the city, but continued outside of its tar streets and concrete walks, where he found an untouched, open meadow. There he established a territory of his own, dedicated to outcasts. He gave himself a title, like the brave warriors in the stories his mother and father used to tell him of; Orca who Never Touched the Sea. And, speaking of which, to this day, he never has gone near the sea again; not after that fateful day in his kithood.

I C ; [bleh, this is cruddy compared to what I can do, but, meh.]

It was about nightfall. A short burst of thunder rustled through the skies. The wind had picked up ever so slightly, and border guards were returning from their missions of the day, and switching off with the nighttime border patrol. Quietly, from the apex of The Mound, the Stoneteller eyed the troops, observing the silent actions below him. It was no different than any other night had ever been, the quiet breeze, the heat storms, the relieving of post duties, and the movement in the abandoned tunnels beneath the ground. By now, the kit-mothers were tucking their babes into the leafy beds beside their warm bodies, To-bes were contemplating the day that would await them after their well-deserved resting time, and the Elders were probably prophecizing and discussing what they wagered would be the future of the Tribe of Booming Thunder. Nights such as these were always so routine and peaceful, that on occassion it bothered the Leader and Healer; but yet, he wouldn't want it any other way.

Orca, as the currently placid Stoneteller was called, longed to elaborate more with himself on the schedule of the Camp, but his train of thought was broken, as an angered gust of wind ruffled his pelt, and a burst of thunder passed overhead of the meadow, as if trying to grasp his attention. And, rightfully so, the two elements suceeded in taking hold of his mind, and chasing the last bit of the clan into their chambers. The gray tabby peered out into the distance, where the thunder had once sounded from, but was now empty and clear, only a river of stars were left in its wake. He sometimes questioned moments such as these. How could something so beautiful come out of a terrible storm? Like allies out of war? To him, it was one thing he could never understand, nomatter how hard he tried, and mind you, he tried, an awful lot, but to no avail could he truly grasp such complex things, and it deeply embarassed him. "I live off of the land," He began, and paced about in a tight circle until his sight arrived back at the trail of stars. "-Shouldn't I understand it better than anyone?"

Still disgruntled by his thoughts, which had by now carried him much deeper into the night than he had hoped, his lithe body eventually settled comfortably against the buildup of soil. He then absentmindedly placed down his head atop his darkened paws, and gazed at the stars for a mere moment, before his heavy lids drooped, and led him off into a phantasm of dreams; the kind he loved to remember, but the kind that refused to truly ever give him answers.

[Reflection]

Paza! Accepted.