A bold and courageous molly who fights for what she believes is right, Lynxleap strives for her objectives with conviction. Drawn to the noble cause of the Gorge's common good, she is willing to put herself at risk for the sake of her family's survival. She makes a natural leader and fearsome protector. Wishing to protect others and combat injustice, she proves able to grasp split-second opportunities, and her decisions are frequently made quickly and without any consideration for the repercussions. She lives in "the here and now". An in-the-moment problem-solving approach that relies on the other person to deal with it and keep moving. If she wants something, she goes and gets it. Lynxleap doesn't hesitate to learn the rules and break them all the same.

Despite an otherwise intense demeanor, Lynxleap wants more than bloodied teeth and ruined claws. A seeker of deep connection even if the customary Gorge heart guarded by steel dictates otherwise. She proves independent and self-sufficient, though hardly one to turn down the prospect of friendly company. With an easy air and compelling visage, she retains a liveliness throughout every one of her endeavors – a life of the party of the snarkiest kind (sense of humor wickedly abrasive, as sharp and swift as anything), though she’s just as easily able to sit back and observe as she is to be right in the thick of things. There’s never an obstacle to turn Lynxleap's stride unbalanced or stiff; she always seems to know what she’s doing.

Lynxleap believes that doing good is her duty. She acts not just for the sake of justice and conventional morality, but for the good of her home and her people – though, conversely, she’s hardly one to give anything up for someone who’d spit on her in any other circumstance. A loyalty reserved explicitly for friends and family, one that she'd be hard-pressed to give up (though never truly). Although it’s not exactly *easy* for her to admit how she feels about others, especially in an environment like the Gorge, subtle acts of affection may not be as rare as one may initially assume. A surprisingly caring and empathetic nature ensures no harm will befall those under her care, even if she must resort to dubious means to make it so. Loyal until the bitterest of ends. She’ll make a body for her revered.

There is nothing passive about Lynxleap. She believes that her claws and teeth can get her through anything. There's an intensity to her, a fearlessness that makes her swift to jump to action whenever necessary. Hotheaded and fearsome with a penchant for violence, she's the type to swipe first and think later, never one to hesitate when confronted with physical brutality. The business-like attitude of "getting things done" paired with an inclination towards brute force. Power makes the world go round – and she knows this all too well. Hardly afraid to get her claws dirty whenever the situation calls for it. The utter ruthlessness of GorgeClan intertwined with a desire to fight for good; a tenuous balance between doing what is right and what is easy.

Raised in circumstances that threatened to eat her up if she failed to defend herself, Lynxleap had to be strong for herself as much as others around her. This has hardened her, leaving her distrustful and aggressive, only allowing herself to open up to a small group of Clanmates with whom she's spent moons developing relationships with. Moments of vulnerability are few and far between. A protector at too young an age, for better or for worse, her experiences have left her feeling as if she’s the only competent one around, which has left her unwilling to step down from any role and let another take the reins; one who prefers to do things alone and in her own way, she is a short-fused creature who is quick to bare her teeth whenever the desire strikes. There is no problem she can't swipe her way through – no circumstance she can't control.

The recent Great Snow and the circumstances surrounding it have left Lynxleap simultaneously proud of her Clan's prosperity yet scornful of the backlash the Gorge seems to have received for this very fact. She would be lying if she didn't admit that GorgeClan had it marginally easier. But how dare they spit at their success? The security that they worked so hard to achieve? Cowards and fools, each of them.

History

Birthed in the pits of a feral colony known only as the Swarm, Lynx and her sister Finch were raised in a loose, debauched environment only held together by the fang and claw of those who wished power for themselves. Always waiting for the next ambitious spirit to take over; a place focused on combat and militarism. Their parents were only vaguely around, one gone before they had the chance to open their eyes and the other cold, barely allowing them to wean off of milk before pushing them away. Forced to fend for themselves in a land where their worth was equated to how much blood they could shed, Lynx, the stronger of the two, thrived. Finch... not so much.

By the time they were put into training, Lynx's size and prowess cemented herself as a force to be reckoned with. Slowly but surely developing the fighting style of a battering ram, brute force and heavy swipes allowed her reputation to thrive. But Finch, diminutive even then, never seeming to grow as much as her sister despite the prey they shared, suffered. But Lynx loved her sister. Averting her from consequence or redirecting scornful eyes was all but second nature, but nothing seemed to help. Finch grew more and more bitter as the moons passed, of being treated like she was weak -- as if she was a *child*.

Lynx was forced into the position of a protector. The defender of their sad little family, for better or worse. Taking any burden for her own, it was a role that was insidious, rather than brutal, but every bit as barbaric. Lynx, trying as she might to keep the attention off of her sister, couldn't stop the whispers, the glares, the taunts. Eventually, love for her little sister turned to spite.

Along the way, she just... *forgot*. And that's where it all went downhill.

Finch, desperate to prove herself and earn the respect she had been craving for so long, head muddled with thoughts too viscous and erratic for her own good, left her nest in the dead of night to confront the local dog colony -- one that had been a nuisance for moons, now, yet no one had been able to drive them off. Lynx, was awoken by far-off jeering and howls, a cacophony of manic hounds, knowing deep in her heart that *something was wrong* and unwilling to deny a gut instinct. She rushed to save her sister -- and it *was* her sister, she knew -- but it was too little, too late. Worst of all, she couldn't even find her body. Just fur and spit and a rapidly-cooling puddle of blood.

Losing someone because she forgot to cherish them was something that cut deeper than any wound. Opening her eyes only when it was too late was even worse. Lynx, only twelve moons old, disgusted with both herself and the Swarm -- who *didn't even seem to care* -- left.

Powerless to change the past, she would wander, and wander, until she stumbled upon the Gorge.

It was rough, at first. As far as she knew, Lynx had no GorgeClan blood, but the color of her pelt and the shape of her frame was the same as any other. Perhaps it was this that lowered the Clan’s guard, or the hollowness of her cheeks, or the look in her eyes; too young to pose any threat, really, but she held a tenacity all the same. The determination to succeed or die trying. She was allowed to join as an apprentice, and Lynx took on the name Lynxpaw.

Lynxpaw made a bit of a special case, joining the apprentice's ranks at the time any other her age would have graduated, but she worked with a fervency that bordered mania. Something that made the whispers surrounding her existence approving rather than suspicious. The skills she learned back in the Swarm, a fearsome battering ram with no taste for mercy, were refined and tempered by her mentor. A full-on rush was given strategy; the instinct to maim was mitigated by benevolence, as the Warrior Code dictated. It hardly took a moon for her outsider-scent to fade away into one pure Gorge, and it took even less than that for others to begin to recognize her as a worthwhile addition to the Clan.

Serving GorgeClan was redemption, maybe. Blindly searching for an identity she could live with, a purpose to her life that was more than bloodied claws.

And she learned how to care. The simple camaraderie shared by Clanmates, one that they seemed to take for granted, but something she found so utterly foreign. Lynxpaw made friends, confidants. She found a place in the Gorge, one that she revered. Eventually, after four moons, she earned her warrior name. Lynxpaw became Lynxleap, in honor of her propensity for great lunges and jumps. Able to snag a bird mid-flight from the ground, if she really tried. And Lynxleap, indisputably, was a GorgeClanner.

The Swarm would laugh if they ever saw how *soft* she had become. But she disagreed. Morals weren't a weakness, and she could still knock someone's teeth out and not feel the slightest inkling of regret. Combat was something she adored, perhaps overly so.

Lynxleap now works to serve her Clan to the best of her ability. The Great Snow is an obstacle they will get through in time. The Gorge will persevere, always; dark begets light.

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