--okay so i'm still figuring out my guy but quick rundown:


    - Tall, stocky, lightly scarred, long-furred blue/black maine coon with orange-yellow eyes

    - Younger bro to Nightstar

    - Mentor to Dreampaw

    - Cis male, pansexual, always scoping out the warriors for cuties

    - Humorous, laid-back (at least on the outside), good-natured

    - Romantic, very friendly

    - Curious, adventurous

    - Often introspective/meditative, loves nature

    - Secretly LOVES gossip

    - likes sparring

    - anger issues

    - is awkward around most kits/apprentices, but generally likes them

    TL;DR: a bit of a lovable goof with an insecure side

    Open to (all except the apprentice obviously can be from other clans too!):

    • Friends/Close friends/Frenemies
    • Enemies
    • An apprentice
    • Romance~ or crushes, requited or not (he's pan, everyone's invited!)
    • Injuries major and minor
    • Capture

    Not open to:

    • Death/extreme maiming

    If there's something not on this list just ask and I'll probably be cool with it! hmu homedogs

    Swanfeather's mind was racing as he faced off with the fox, desperately trying to come up with a plan that wouldn't leave him a corpse at the territory's edge. Suddenly, a terrifying yowl shrieked out from behind him and he started in shock. What in StarClan - he barely had time to register his thoughts before a flash of fur rocketed into the fox's flank. He realized with horror that she was an apprentice - Pearlpaw!, much smaller than himself and certainly no match for a fox on her own.

    What the hell she was doing out here didn't cross his mind; he only knew that the stakes of this encounter had suddenly become a lot higher. Swanfeather was willing to suffer the consequences for his own lack of caution, which had left him face to face with a fox, but he couldn't let an apprentice get hurt - or die, he heard in the back of his mind - because of him.

    StarClan protect us!, he thought desperately. He wasn't the biggest cat around, but he'd grown up well fed and was tall and well-muscled as a result. He knew that he could survive more injury in a fight than Pearlpaw; they could have a good chance at driving it off if he held its attention while she darted in and out to deliver blows.

    Pearlpaw's powerful attack had knocked the fox off balance and he saw it stagger for a second. Before it could regain its footing and get a solid strike on the apprentice, Swanfeather finally reacted and lunged at it, swiping his claws across its face before dodging back, narrowly avoiding the lightning-fast retaliation from the deadly claws on the fox's forepaw.

    Stepping carefully through the sparse undergrowth, Swanfeather had to be careful not to get his long silver fur caught on the grasping branches around him. RiverClan cats traditionally stuck to fishing, but his mentor had lived for a time in ThunderClan and had passed on his technique for catching birds, squirrels, and mice. Being able to hunt on land could help get the Clan through the worst of leafbare, when the ice over the river was too thick to break. Swanfeather liked to keep his skills honed, and set aside some time every once in a while to venture into the small patches of woodland at the edges of RiverClan's land to practice stalking and pouncing. And he might as well admit - he had a secret fondness for land prey. The taste reminded him of greenleaf days spent hunting with his mentor.

    There was a certain appeal to the ThunderClan style of hunting. The way squirrels sprinted madly away, birds fluttered in shock trying to take to the air, mice dashed for their tiny dens - it was a lot more challenging than newleaf fishing, when the minnows practically swam directly into his claws. Swanfeather felt it kept his mind sharp, and body agile and strong.

    His eyes locked on his hapless prey. A wiry grey squirrel, rifling through a clearing in the undergrowth in pursuit of seeds. Swanfeather felt his muscles tense as he crept slowly towards it. Carefully now, he thought. Just like how Thornflank taught you. He pulled himself along, belly low to the ground, feeling his anticipation rising with every step. His muscles bunched, then exploded beneath him. He shot towards the squirrel, which chirped in fear before attempting to scramble away - but it had been dead the moment Swanfeather had spotted it. He tasted blood as he delivered the killing bite.

    The rich scent of the meat wafted up towards him, and he decided to settle down and eat it in the forested patch. He had already delivered his morning's catches - a couple plump carp - to the kits and queens, and he didn't think the elders would appreciate him bringing home a squirrel. The last time he did, they complained about it "stinking like ThunderClan" in the camp. And of course, there was always the risk of being called a squirrel-eater by some smart-mouth. Better just to get rid of the evidence, he thought.

    Swanfeather ate lazily, letting the newleaf sun warm his pelt. It had been many moons since he had eaten squirrel. About halfway through his meal, he felt the gentle breeze subtly switch directions. As it did, a new scent filled his mouth, and he nearly choked on the squirrel. He lunged to his feet, frantically scanning the forest around him for the source of the rank, disgusting smell. For a second, all he heard was the sound of his heart pounding in his chest as he spotted a flash of russet red fur through the trees. Then the creature was out in the small clearing with him, snarling contemptuously and its eyes bright with sinister intelligence. Its gaze bored into his own. Fox! And a huge one at that. He'd driven off a few foxes in his life, but this one was massive - would he be able to defend himself against it?

    Swanfeather couldn't navigate the traps of the undergrowth like it could - if he turned tail and ran now, his fate would surely be the same as the squirrel's. Trying to control his breathing, he turned to face it and assumed a battle position. If this mangy thing was going to try to kill him, he wouldn't go down without a fight.

    name: Swanfeather

    max number of apprentices: 1

    training style: Swanfeather is a firm but fair mentor. He isn't very experienced in acting as an authority figure and will likely be a bit of a hardass until he comes to feel more comfortable in the position, when he will revert to his more natural laid-back and chill personality. The style of combat that he teaches is for less agile cats like himself, focusing more on using one's strength, size, and wits to their advantage rather than pure speed. He will become attached quickly and come to care very deeply for his apprentice over the course of their training. Despite his inexperience, he really wants to be a good mentor and will try his best with his apprentice.

    He would enjoy training high energy or chill apprentices, but those who are interested in ruthless combat or a purely serious and professional relationship probably wouldn't like him.

    Following the faint scent of flowers and trail of petals, Swanfeather had ducked into the warrior's den just in time to hear that strange warrior, Dogtooth, snarling with thinly veiled contempt for the blossoms filling the den before dragging himself away with an air of misery. Swanfeather sniffed with disdain for his somber attitude. How brutish. Perhaps he has some ShadowClan ancestry.He decided to only address the two she-cats in the den.

    "I think it looks wonderful," he intoned, his voice deep and full. "It smells like the essence of newleaf in here - it brings to mind so many memories." The tom stepped closer to the she-cats, meeting their gazes with his own glittering emerald eyes.

    He sat, slightly puffing out the long, thick fur on his chest and straightening his back. While not the largest cat in WindClan, Swanfeather was certainly taller than average and liked to accentuate that fact."I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you two before. My name is Swanfeather." he murmured warmly.