Grayheart's Links
Breezefeather was the epitome of the perfect ShadowClan cat: cunning, calculated, but born in a time where the clan was tearing itself down. The politics of ShadowClan at that time were starting to become unhinged, but that didn't stop Breezefeather from becoming a loyal addition to the clan. She became deputy after I was killed in battle, and I watched over her closely from StarClan. It was a shame that I couldn't predict how unruly her clanmates had become when she too was killed as deputy. If I couldn't save my daughter, I could at least save her kit. I reached out to the nearest medicine cat, which happened to be TimeClan's, and was able to convince her to send out a patrol along the ShadowClan border. Without her clarity, I'm not sure Foxkit would've survived.
Grayheart was what you would typically see when you envision a cat from ShadowClan. Many scars, dark fur, a snaggle tooth, and a slight scowl on her face no matter how she was feeling. While she was tough, the moment she had kits, everything changed for her. She went from fighting for herself to fighting for her clan and her kits. Grayheart felt that we were all she had, and took special care in raising us in the volatile environment we were born into.
My mother became a ShadowClan cat out of necessity, she was a rogue who didn't care for twolegs and would often steal prey from ShadowClan territory. At the time, ShadowClan was dying out, and needed to pad out their ranks with new cats while their current kits were barely surviving through the seasons. Bramblefur was recruited by a ShadowClan patrol when she was caught stealing prey, and they needed her as much as she needed them, so she hesitantly accepted. She would work her way up the ranks and learn the Warrior Code, had a litter of kits, and land in the position of deputy. This would start our family's long standing curse of deputies dying untimely deaths.
Grayheart's father was an evil cat, and at the time, deputy of ShadowClan. He forced all she cats of ShadowClan to be fathered by himself, which ended up killing off most of the clan. We got into a fight on a patrol, and in a fit of unbridled rage, I killed him. The other cat on the patrol kept quiet, and we brought his body back to camp, refusing to elaborate. In his death, he cursed my bloodline, and after watching the effects of the curse take place over many generations of my family, I wish I had never had kits.