A scorching legacy with a tongue that's hotter, Redwhisker is nothing short of a force to be reckoned with. Born alongside her siblings Brackenflower, Pebblepaw, and Gorsewind to her late mother Duskpetal and late father Oakclaw, the foxy cat's main goal in life has always been to stare adversity in the eye, spit in it's face, and laugh. And that she did. This warrior does not know the definition of quitting; through the murder-suicide that took both her parents from her as an apprentice, through the rise and fall and overthrows of many leaders throughout her days, through the loss of multiple litters thanks to her infertility and the subsequent way countless partners have come and gone, she has never stopped soldiering on. There's hardly a soul to be found with more tenacity than hers.

Personality:  cantankerous | cynical | guarded |  reticent | volatile | blunt | protective 

Physical Stature: All in all, Redwhisker is an exceptional warrioress due to her principally adapted and lissome framework, bred for surviving, thriving, even, in the wild. Though petite, her skeletal frame is flexible and aerodynamic, allowing her to squeeze into small spaces where others cannot go. her legs are limber and supple. Her fur is tight and glossy against her frame, often giving off a sleek look due to her near-obsessiveness with keeping it pristine at all costs. Her paws are small, often deceiving of the fact that her claws are impossibly sharp. Her rosy ears are large in comparison to her slender facial structure, and her long tail drapes neatly between gently rounded hips, often trailing along in the ground behind her as she walks.

Scars: Redwhisker bears the brunt of many battles, but perhaps the most evident of cicatrices that lace her slim figure are the ones marring her left hind leg, left behind by the jaws of a badger. The muscle never fully healed, leaving the unlucky she-cat with a lifelong limp that interrupts her otherwise elegant gait. Often when she overworks it, which happens often due to her apparent inability to admit that she isn't invincible, it lands her on bed-rest and poppy seeds for days at a time.

Parents and siblings: Redwhisker was mothered by Duskpetal and fathered by Oakclaw. She had one older sister, Brackenflower, and two younger brothers, Pebblepaw and Gorsewind. All of which have since passed, some by natural causes and some by more sinister happenings, and not a day goes by that she doesn't think of them.

Education: Redwhisker was mentored by Mapleleaf, and has since in turn hosted a myriad of her own apprentices: Lightningridge, Forestheart, Pebbleskip, and Jasperflame.

Romances: Thanks to her near-infertility combined with her horrible temper and bad taste in toms, none of Redwhisker's relationships have ever lasted long. Past flings have included Blizzardstreak, Branchleap, Rookcall, and Cedarflare. Her most recent breakup was with Fogecho, from whom she has rebounded to another warrior, Tundratumble.

Children: In her early warrior years, Redwhisker bore three stillborn litters to Branchleap, Cedarflare, and Fogecho, respectively. She buried them in a secluded spot of territory that she to this day continues to visit regularly the graves of her kits. Names include Wisteriakit, Doekit, Petalkit, Lark-kit, Everkit, Ravenkit, Whorlkit, and Pouncekit. Though she's on the decline now-- age catches up to even the fiercest of warriors, after all-- Starclan decided at last to bless her with two surviving children fathered by Tundratumble: Flamewhisper and Primrosefall.

Ongoing plot: At first Tundratumble was nothing but ammunition for jealous eyes, but she soon found something deeper with him, as he treated her far better than any courtship rival of previous days. It seemed Starclan was willing to bestow her a family at last, for she soon found herself pregnant with his kits; however, the stroke of good luck didn't last long. Of the five kits she birthed, only two survived, and the cat was driven from her home by the demons of her own guilt and sorrow. In a blind haze of grief she darted right beneath the tires of a car, 

 By some cruel joke, not only had the hit damaged her body near beyond repair, it had taken her memories too. What had she forgotten? Well, everything, it seemed. The only way she'd known she'd left any children behind was thanks to her body, still loose at the belly and sore in a way that screamed maternity when she'd woken up in an alley. Some good Samaritan must have dragged her there, out of harm's way, and though she never knew their face she was eternally grateful for what they'd done. But relief had vanished when her rattled brain came to a second realization: she had no idea where she was.

It had been from there that she spent the next year trying to find her way back home, only succeeding by some miracle stumbling into a patrol who had just happened to be at the right place at the right time. Perhaps she never would have tried had she not known that her children, and by association, a mate awaited her, but alas, she had spent her whole life in pursuit of having a family and she was not about to let go of that easily.

As of now she's still reeling. Recovery is slow, and the memories return even slower- she still regularly wakes up in the middle of the night in a blind panic with not an inkling of an idea where she is or what the alabaster tom at her flank was doing there- but she knows she'll get there eventually.