APPEARANCE
In spite of her reputation, Bearstar does not strike an especially imposing figure. She is, in fact, on the small side and rather lithe, although her medium-length fur does somewhat contribute to her size. Her fur is an array of browns, a lighter tawny shade dominating most of her pelt with slashes of dark umber interrupting. Her chin and underbelly are lighter still, though subtly so. She fades into the roots and grasses in the dappled sunlight of the forest and shines nearly golden in direct light.

Along with her relatively small size, Bearstar's eyes also give her something of a youthful appearance. Their color lies somewhere in between yellow and green, and they dominate her smallish face, drawing attention away even from her ears that, though not large in and of themselves, are proportionally large when compared with her face. But her facial structure fits well within her limber frame, presenting an image nearly parallel with the generally sneaky ThornClan disposition.

PERSONALITY
Perhaps Bearstar's least obvious trait is her capacity for emotion. She cares deeply about her clan, the wellbeing of her clanmates, and those individuals closest to her. Even cats of other clans are occasionally the unknowing subjects of her compassion, as Bearstar recognizes the value of a life. This compassion is often hidden, however, as in order to best protect those that she cares about, Bearstar has had to turn to methods which turn her stomach.

Her pragmatism is both a blessing and a curse. In spite of wanting to change things for the better, she understands that her clearest path to making those changes is to become exactly what she is trying to work against. Instead of being able to care about her clan openly, she resorts to underhanded methods so that one day, maybe, others will have the luxury of open compassion that she was never afforded. This knowledge does little to bring her peace, unfortunately, and she is constantly torn between sheer-minded determination to do what is best for those around her and shame at what she has done to achieve those ends.

HISTORY
Bearkit was born the smallest of a litter of three, a tiny tuft of tabby brown amongst her adorably dappled sisters. The three of them were cooed over and cuddled and coddled by the queens and spent their first moons in an era of relative properity for the clan.

The winds began to change as apprenticehood approached, Bearpaw and her sisters stuffed full of pride in their clan and brimming with anticipation of their eventual ascension to the rank of warrior. With newly divergent influences in their lives, however, the sisters began to drift apart. Different mentors made for different training, after all, and the training Bearpaw underwent was different not only from that which her sisters recieved, but from the rest of the apprentices as well.

Graystep was not what Bearpaw expected in a mentor. He was softspoken, though he seemed to talk more than do anything else. Where Bearpaw expected paws-on training, he delivered lectures, most of which flew over her head in the beginning. Power is not a goal in and of itself, he said, and she wondered what that had to do with hunting. Power corrupts, he said, and she wondered what that had to do with border patrols. Power is lonely, he said, and she wondered what that had to do with the deputy's untimely death in a skirmish.

It was not until after she became a warrior that Bearpaw, or Bearstrike, at that point, realized the wisdom in her mentor's words. We hunt not to kill but to feed. We fight not to harm but to protect. By that point, however, the true flow of power within the clan had revealed itself to her. The brewing tensions between ThornClan and StormClan began boiling over, spilling blood on both sides. Bearstrike watched as her clanmates reveled in the glory that their leader, Birchstar, rained upon them in his violent proclamations against the steppe-dwellers. The time of prosperity that had defined Bearstrike's childhood had allowed the clan to thrive to the point where the losses they sustained in the battles were seen as tragic but necessary, and not to mention worthy, deaths.

Is this who we are? she confided, Do we live to kill until we die? But her doubts fell on indifferent ears. Even her sisters, who had once seemed so soft and idealistic to her, took pride in the violence their clan took part in. Bearstrike saw that she was powerless to stop the cycle, a lone peacemaker in an echo chamber of bloodlust.

And so she joined the echoes.

Bearstrike threw herself into conflict, bristling with aggression at every border meeting and even instigating skirmishes herself. She felt Birchstar's gaze heavy on her as his deputy grew older, searching for a warrior with a violent streak to match his own, to carry on his legacy. But she was not the only warrior seeking to please, and Bearstrike knew she would have to distinguish herself.

An opportunity arose in a grand battle between the two clans. With StormClan's own leader present, Bearstrike knew that she would never have a better chance. She took his life, his last life, and returned to camp victorious...victorious and ashamed. Even though she had set down this path with the intention of becoming what her clanmates and her leader wanted of her, she grappled constantly with the question of whether or not all of the deaths were worth it. If her bid to seize power did not succeed, she would have killed for nothing, and someone with genuine bloodlust would continue the cycle in her stead. But what was her other option? Complacence? No, Bearstrike had never been one to sit idly by.

Luckily, her gamble paid off, and Birchstar named her deputy, lauding her loyalty to ThornClan and hatred for their sworn enemy. Bearstrike spent the ceremony trying to avoid throwing up every mouse she'd ever eaten, her stomach a roiling pool of shame and determination.

Finally in Birchstar's confidence, Bearstrike learned of her leader's lives. With three lives left to lose, he was nearing the end of his time, though he was not so close to the end as to be easily eliminated. Bearstrike bided her time, watching and waiting. Birchstar's growing age and dwindling lives left him increasingly paranoid, searching for phantoms in the faces of friends and allies. Not wanting to find herself on the wrong end of his suspicion, Bearstrike found herself stuck, forced to continue the reign of terror she had chosen to be complicit in rather than confronting or even overtly attempting to influence her leader.

Luckily, with Birchstar's penchant for violence, Bearstrike did not have to wait as long as she might have otherwise.

Another skirmish, another tragedy for both sides. Birchstar fell, and for the second time in her life, Bearstrike saw opportunity in the death of a leader. Away from the eyes of either clan's warriors, she watched Birchstar's revival with bated breath. She knew this was his last life, as he had fallen some moons earlier in another battle as well. He did not seem surprised, although she did not expect that he knew the full extent of her betrayal. Though perhaps his paranoid mind had conjured up a part of her story. Either way, she ended it quickly, more quickly than she thought he deserved. But Bearstrike was tired of killing, and vowed that Birchstar's death would be the last blood to be spilled by her claws.

This promise Bearstrike made to herself was as much a secret as her motivations had been. She had told no one why she had thrown herself into the war, and apart from her initial attempts at finding sympathizers, she had not explained her true motivations to anyone. And so she was not surprised by the voice she heard as she made her way to the Howling Caverns, shivering in the wind-chilled tunnels. The voice of Graystep, now long passed, brushed by her, repeating one of his first lessons to her. Power is lonely.