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3.5 19
by Melanie Rawn

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Although Touchstone can stand alone, it is the first book of a brilliant, utterly engaging new fantasy series, Glass Thorns, from Melanie Rawn, the author of the bestselling Dragon Prince series.

Cayden Silversun is part Elven, part Fae, part human Wizard—and all rebel. His aristocratic mother would have him follow his father to the Royal Court, to


Although Touchstone can stand alone, it is the first book of a brilliant, utterly engaging new fantasy series, Glass Thorns, from Melanie Rawn, the author of the bestselling Dragon Prince series.

Cayden Silversun is part Elven, part Fae, part human Wizard—and all rebel. His aristocratic mother would have him follow his father to the Royal Court, to make a high society living off the scraps of kings. But Cade lives and breathes for the theater, and he's good—very, very good. With his company, he'll enter the highest reaches of society and power as an honored artist—or die trying. Cade combines the talents of Merlin, Shakespeare, and John Lennon: a wholly charming character in a remarkably original fantasy world created by a mistress of the art.

The Glass Thorns Series
#1 Touchstone
#2 Elsewhens
#3 Thornlost
#4 Window Wall
#5 Playing to the Gods (forthcoming)

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

“Impressive… Melanie Rawn is good!” —Anne McCaffrey, bestselling author of The Dragonriders of Pern

“I am mad (petulant, in fact!) that I can't immediately read book number two in the Exiles trilogy.... Melanie Rawn has established beyond doubt that she is a great writer of fantasy and The Ruins of Ambrai will join the Dragon series in my library of favorites for years to come.” —Realms of Fantasy onThe Ruins of Ambrai

“Rawn's talent for lush descriptions and complex characterizations provides a broad range of drama, intrigue, romance, and adventure. Her depiction of Lenfell's unique matriarchal society adds further texture to this densely woven fantasy tapestry.” —Library Journal on The Ruins of Ambrai

“Romance, intrigue, magic, and myth mingle freely in this first of a series that should appeal to readers of fantasy and epic romance.” —Library Journal on The Dragon Prince

Publishers Weekly
Rawn takes heroic fantasy to its logical conclusion, creating a lived-in world where the scars from magical wars still linger and pure blood is a thing of the distant past. Cayden Silversun is the playwright and manager of the up-and-coming magical theater group Touchstone, alongside his friends Rafe and Jeska and the startlingly talented Mieka Windthistle. Despite their differences, wild Mieka and sensible Cade become fast friends. Shunned by his family, Cade is driven to prove himself, pushing Touchstone to ever greater heights. But as their fame grows, so do Mieka’s drug abuse and self-destructive behavior. Cade, troubled by prophetic visions of Mieka’s possible futures, wonders whether he has the right—or the obligation—to interfere with his impetuous friend’s choices. This strong, heartfelt, and familiar performer’s tale is full of astonishing promise, powerful but co-dependent friendships, insecurity, and addiction, and it will appeal to fantasy fans and theater lovers alike. (Feb.)
Library Journal
Cayden Silversun, a blend of Elven, Fae, and Wizard bloodlines, defies his noble family to pursue a life in the theater, forming the four-person troupe Touchstone with the goal of making it to the highest echelons of the performing circuit. Given the talents of troupe member Mieka Windthistle, a brilliant "glisker" whose job is to enhance with magic both the crowd's emotions and the performances' special effects, their goal seems reachable. Yet Cayden's prophetic dreams indicate something sinister about Mieka's presence and tempt him to try to change fate without incurring a larger doom. The author of the "Dragon Prince" and "Dragon Star" trilogies as well as the urban fantasies Spell Binder and Fire Raiser returns to high fantasy with a captivating tale of magic, theater, politics, and love. She sets her story in a Renaissance-like world, a place recovering from a devastating war that resulted in the stringent regulation of potentially harmful magic. VERDICT Rawn's storytelling mastery, ability to create unforgettable characters, and fresh approaches to world building and magic theory make this a must-read for an audience that extends well beyond her fans.
Kirkus Reviews
The play's the thing: new fantasy series about a magical theater company, from the author of The Golden Key (1996, etc.). Part Elf, part Wizard, Cayden Silversun is determined to follow his aptitude and instinct into the theater, despite the snobbish disapproval of his aristocratic mother and the example of his father, who moves in lofty regions at the Royal Court (where he's actually the Royal pimp). Cade knows he and his troupe are exceptionally gifted, and when brash but highly talented young Elf Mieka Windthistle inveigles his way into the company, Cade knows they'll be second to none and could challenge to join the Royal Circuit itself. They are four: Cade, the "tregetour," playwright and director who imbues the glass withies essential to the performance with magic; Jeska the "masquer" plays all the parts; Rafe the "fettler" controls the performance on stage; and Mieka the "glisker" uses his magic to make everything come alive. Though Mieka offers Cade his trust and friendship, Cade can't bring himself to tell the young Elf his dark secret: he foresees possible futures and has the ability to make them come true or turn them aside. But he foresees a horrid future for Mieka and, assuming he can do nothing and should not interfere anyway, Cade says nothing. Finally the company, Touchstone, joins the Winterly Circuit, enjoying long roads, rivalries, bad food, surly innkeepers, all-male audiences, ghastly weather and the attentions of groupies. There are promising ideas, though Rawn doesn't really manage to convey how it all works, together with an insufficiency of plot and little or no real insight. Instead of a grand finale, it just stumbles to a halt. Youthful melodrama without catharsis.

Product Details

Tom Doherty Associates
Publication date:
Glass Thorns Series , #1
Edition description:
Sales rank:
Product dimensions:
4.12(w) x 6.75(h) x 1.12(d)

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Read an Excerpt


By Melanie Rawn

Tom Doherty Associates

Copyright © 2012 Melanie Rawn
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-8724-0


Predictably, the girl was willing to draw the pint only when the coin was glinting on the bar. Cayden stretched his lips in a parody of a smile as she scooped up the money with one hand and pulled the tap with the other. No glass for him, oh no; leather tankard instead, sealed with tar and riveted with brass and bound to taste of both.

Well, it was alcohol, and that was all that mattered. But if that fool who'd had the bollocks to claim himself a glisker had been any good, Cade would be knocking back whiskey right now, and plenty of it — from a real glass, and with coin to spare for something to eat. Decent drink and his supper had walked out of the tavern a little while ago, jingling in the incompetent's purse. Glisker, he'd termed himself. Experienced, even. Cade snorted. Probably had about as much Elfenblood in him as the dirty rag the girl was using to mop up the bar. At least he was paid off and gone, and nobody was any the worse for the performance.

Yet when Cade thought about what might have been, if he had the right glisker, one with real talent and real magic —

"Wuzna too gude, wuzzee?"

The accent was excruciating — especially as Cayden had worked so hard to soften his own, distorted during years of schooling not twenty miles from here. Eyeing the young man beside him at the bar, he noted a confusion of features that proclaimed an ancestry so diverse that probably even he didn't know what to call himself.

"No, he wasn't too good." He had to admit it. Honesty was the hallmark of a real artist, or so his Sagemaster had told him. Or maybe it was "truth" that mattered most. They weren't the same.

"Gotz me a chum c'n do ooshuns better," the rough voice continued.

"Do you?" Cayden smiled politely and returned his attention to his ale.

"Domn near purely breeded Elferblud, an' tha's fact. Givvem withies next show, whyn't ya?"

Yet another aspiring glisker. Splendid. What was he, the audition manager for every amateur in the kingdom?

Still ... they'd gone through four gliskers this year alone, not counting the idiot tonight, never finding the right mix, never finding anyone Cayden could trust with his visions and Jeschenar could trust with his skin and Rafcadion could trust with his sanity. They weren't anywhere near good enough even to seek Trials, and it was all because they didn't have the right glisker.

What would it be like, he wondered, to experience that effortless balance of talent and energy and magic that this was supposed to be? It was what all the greatest players had known, what he sensed was going on with the Shadowshapers now that they'd hired Chattim Czillag away from his old group. That nobody had ever heard a name so outrageous, nobody knew where he'd come from or his lineage or the name of his clan — if any — or indeed aught about him mattered not at all. Chattim fit. With the right glisker, a performance became an event, a distinction.

Hells, what was one more tryout, anyway? It wasn't as if anyone would ever hear about yet another botched playlet, not in this rickety old tavern only half a step inside civilization.

Cade shrugged to himself and glanced down — way down — at the youth beside him. "All right, send him up for the next show."

Breath hissed between ragged teeth — a sign of delight in a Troll, and of an impending brawl in a Gnome. As he hurried off to find his friend, he moved with the rolling shoulders and splayed knees peculiar to the former, thereby settling the question of his primary ancestry as surely as Cayden's long-boned height proclaimed his. Watching the little man, recalling the quirks of his accent, for an instant Cade felt a twinge of longing for home. Not for his parents; a bit for his little brother; mostly for their Trollwife, Mistress Mirdley. She'd been strict and kind to him, when all his mother knew how to be was neglectful and harsh.

"Oh, pity the poor little Wizardling!" jeered the Sagemaster's voice in his head. "How horrid to be you!"

A small commotion behind him jostled him into the bar, and he turned his head to snarl. One more trite old playlet tonight for this unsophisticated crowd, and they could get out of here, get some sleep in the hayloft, and then tomorrow be gone entirely from this village of sour ale and foul manners. And really lousy trimmings, he thought with a gloomy sigh; two nights of this, and they'd barely made enough for the coach fare home. He thought with longing of the brand-new private coach his friend (and rival, though nobody but Cayden knew that yet) Rauel Kevelock had so gleefully described last month, painted in swirling colors like a demented prism, with SHADOWSHAPERS in stark black on both sides. It had bunk beds for when they got tired, and a firepocket for when they got cold. True, the group still had to hire horses from the post stations, but at least they were no longer at the mercy of worn-out springs and a coachman who drank his wages in full before clambering up to take the reins, and —

Someone bumped into him again, knocking his hand against his leather flask of ale. He half-turned and shoved right back. Spindle-boned Cade might be, but Jeska had taught him how to use his fists efficiently rather than his magic haphazardly, and he was just frustrated enough right now to relish the prospect of a punch-up.

Then he saw what had knocked into him.

Even for someone with plenty of Wizardly blood, Cayden was tall. The man whose chest was on a level with his eyes — this man was at least half Giant. Maybe more than half; there was very little mitigating intellect visible in the red-rimmed eyes glaring down on him.

"Uh — sorry," Cade managed. "Thought you were somebody else."

"Did 'ee, now?" The depth of his rumble rattled the bottles on the shelves.

Oh, shit.

"Yazz!" exclaimed a light, cheerful voice. "Don't break him! He's me new Quill, he is! It's rich an' famed he and me will be — but only if ye leave him all his wits an' bones!"

A slow, fond smile gentled the massive face. Cade turned, wondering if he was more grateful for the rescue or annoyed by the glisker's arrogance. Because a glisker this had to be, the one promised by the Troll. For an Elf, however, this boy had peculiar taste in friends.

And then all speculation — indeed, all thought — fled Cade's brain, except for the sure knowledge that he would remember for the rest of his life the instant those huge, melting eyes looked up at him from beneath a shock of coal-black hair.

Those eyes: sparkling with what his Sagemaster called "front and effrontery," a combination of awful nervousness and awe-inspiring conceit. Cade had been accused of it himself on occasion, but hard lessoning in the brutal school of his own family had taught him to hide any fear behind all the arrogance he could possibly project. This boy was too young yet to have perfected his mask.

Those eyes: a bit too bright with the alcohol downed to get his courage up, trying to hide apprehension that Cade wouldn't think he was good enough, but not trying at all to disguise that he thought any group of players would be colossally lucky to get him.

Those eyes: full of anxiety and arrogance, innocence and cunning, and a dozen other conflicting things that dizzied Cade for a moment.

There was a low growling in his ears that he hoped was Yazz agreeing to let him live. A burst of bright laughter followed from the Elf. His new glisker.

Those eyes were directed at him again, calculating, challenging. "Mieka say-it-five-times-fast Windthistle."

"Dare 'ee t'try!" The Giant nudged Cade with an elbow strongly reminiscent of a roof joist, and he staggered against the bar.

"Did I tell ye or did I not, Yazz? Don't damage him!"

"Much beholden," Cade said, taking refuge in the stock phrases of civility. "You're the glisker wants a chance?"

"You need me, and here I am. Thought I'd introduce meself afore we start work." Thick black brows arched an invitation to share his name.

"Cayden Silversun, Falcon Clan," he said.

To his annoyance, the Elf didn't look as impressed as he ought to have done. But there was an odd sort of approval in his eyes, and perhaps relief, as he said, "Falcon, not Hawk? Good. Such a harsh, cruel word, innit? Typical of that tongue — and that clan. Always makes me think of claws with blood drippin' off 'em. Met any foreign kin?"

"No. Are you ready to work?" He cast an eloquent glance at the whiskey in Windthistle's hand.

"Almost." He slugged back the remainder of his drink, slapped the glass onto the bar, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, belched delicately, and gave Cade a dazzling smile. "Now I'm ready."

Yazz reached out a finger and tapped a carefully gentle admonishment on the Elf's head. "Rich un' famed, Miek," he rasped, and Cade had the irrelevant thought that meek was precisely the wrong word for any Elf, particularly this one.

"Oh, certain sure," the boy laughed, and scampered off towards the tavern's pathetic excuse for a stage.

"Givvem simple t'do," said Yazz. "Makes everythin' from nothin', Miek does."

"Is that so?" Hearing the sharp skepticism in his own voice, he dredged up a smile meant to mollify the Giant. "I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

The trouble with being the tregetour, Cayden thought for possibly the millionth time, was that after you were done with your part of the piece, you were helpless. Superfluous. At times, a nuisance.

No, that was wrong, he thought morosely as he crouched before his glass baskets of crystalline withies. The worst part of it was having to trust.

Rafcadion and Jeschenar, them he trusted. It wasn't their fault they'd never found a glisker who really knew what he was doing — or, more to the purpose, knew what to do with Cade's magic. Jeska was a good masquer, and getting better — and Cade knew that a lot of the reason they'd gotten as far as they had was that Jeska really could make much out of practically nothing. Rafe was just plain brilliant: steady, calm, powerful, everything a fettler ought to be and more. But Cayden couldn't help wondering what it would be like when Rafe didn't have to use up so much of himself keeping the performance together because the glisker was lazy or erratic or reckless; when he could fine-tune things, work with the man instead of guarding against excesses, correcting failures, glossing over incompetences.

Given a glisker who could not only perform the piece but also enhance it, Jeska and Rafcadion would be free to develop their gifts to their fullest, to provide Cayden's work with the nuances he craved. And they would no longer end each evening so wrung out they could hardly stand.

Despite Yazz's affectionate confidence in this new glisker, Cade had no hopes for him. He'd never known of any Elf from that kin line who even aspired to what the Troll and the Giant claimed this one could do. All Elves were maddeningly insubordinate, but the Air lineages added a wicked capriciousness to the mix, just as the Earths were devious and greedy, the Waters were sullen, and the Fires were downright malicious. Cade doubted that this Elf could sit still long enough for a performance.

Things definitely ran in families; he knew that for a fact. His mother's great-grandfather — the one without a title, the one she never talked about — had been a noteworthy poet. His father's father had been a Master Fettler who'd performed on the Ducal Circuit. Some of Cade's cousins participated in amateur theatrics — though none of them would dream of making it a profession, for more money and status were to be had in other Wizardcraftings. His uncle had begun a promising career as a fettler before being called up into the army for that despicable experiment that had killed so many — and left others drooling imbeciles, like Uncle Dennet. It was a grudge Wizards had against Elfenkind, that they had flatly refused to participate in the Archduke's scheme to use magic as a method of war, and had thus escaped tragedy.

That this Mieka Windthistle had no ancestors Cayden knew of who'd ever worked in theater boded ill. Then again, maybe his circumstances were like Cayden's: a talent that simply would not be stifled, a restless need to create that could not be channeled into more respectable ways of making a living. Maybe he had chafed and rebelled as Cayden had, until finally his parents gave their unwilling consent to let him try.

And if that was indeed the case, he wondered if, like his own parents, they expected him to fail.

The claim to "purebred" he dismissed as absurd. How many centuries since the last truebloods of any race had died? He could trace his own ancestry back seven generations in his father's line, and fully twelve in his mother's. In their long, long history had been some genuine oddities, but his mother considered him the oddest of all. "Something must not be quite right on your father's side," she'd mused more than once. "My people never threw such a mongrel as you." He knew by the names alone that he had Wizard and Elf (two Water, one Fire), Piksey and Sprite, and even that rarest of all bloods, Fae, in him. And Troll, he'd heard his mad great-granny say, because where else could he have got a face like this? Hook-beak nose and long jaw, cheekbones that could cut glass, wide mouth — granted, he was tall and gangly, not short and stout, but the byword for ugliness had stuck to him like pine sap, and every nickname he'd ever been inflicted with and every insult ever flung his way incorporated troll amongst its syllables. Never mind that his eyes were the fundamental truth about him: a clear, luminous gray, like the moonstones in Queen Roshien's crown. They were Elfen eyes, inheritance of Mistbind and Watersmith, just as his long bones and thin, strong hands proclaimed Wizard, and his straight white teeth were entirely Human.

But it was the gift he never spoke about that was proof positive he was Fae. How all these things had combined to create him, he neither knew nor cared. He was what he was, and he knew what he could someday be. He'd seen it.

But ... trueblood Elf? Not damned likely. Usually the bit remaining showed only in the coloring — the very dark, the very pale. Black hair, and eyes brown as tree bark or green like a forest pool, and skin the golden brown of fallen leaves. White-blond hair, with eyes blue as ice or gray as snow clouds, and translucent milky skin. The other features — delicate little hands and feet, sharp teeth, pointed ears — those things seemed to have faded first from the bloodlines.

If they reappeared, they were quite often hidden somehow. There were chirurgeons who did a brisk business in mutilating a newborn's ears (as had been done to Jeska at the orders of a grandfather frantic to be thought entirely Human), and grinding down or knocking out and replacing any suspect teeth. Hands could not be hidden, but feet could be broken at the instep to flatten the telltale high arch. There were dyes for the hair and cosmetics for the skin, and specialists who retrained the lilting voice — or broke the willful spirit.

Nothing had been done to disguise this boy. Nothing. He was Elfen from his thick hair to his small, high-arched feet. Moreover, he had inherited the most attractive aspects of both major Kins. No Dark Elf would have skin as purely white as his, with no brown freckles or brick-red mottling, and no Light Elf would have hair that black. Those eyes confirmed it: neither gray nor blue, neither green nor brown, but an almost opalescent combination of all those colors, with an elusive golden spark in the iris of the left eye. It just wasn't right that anything male, even Elfen male, should have eyes that beautiful, with such long, thick lashes. The teeth were small and regular and entirely Human; the ears, peeking shyly from the heavy silk hair, were entirely Elfen. It was a quick, wickedly nimble little body, and the fine bones were long enough to give him Human height. His voice was soft and lively, deeper than a young Elf's treble. And his spirit was untamed — and, Cayden suspected, completely untamable.

He was the most beautiful thing Cayden had ever seen in his life. And he was asking to be given a chance.

So: should Cade give him something simple, as the Giant had suggested, something to ease him into it, give him the opportunity to succeed? Or something complex, difficult, to challenge the arrogance in those eyes? For Cayden realized that Mieka Windthistle wasn't asking for anything, any more than Cayden had ever asked his parents' permission to become a player. He was demanding control of Cayden's glass withies, and Jeschenar's absolute trust, and the entirety of Rafcadion's supportive skill. Arrogant little Elf.

Cayden crouched down beside the glass baskets, his lips softening in a smile. Woven of ropes made of clear glass, there were two sets of four baskets each, the smooth curved rims tincted in sequential rainbow colors. Within were distributed almost three dozen hollow glass twigs varying in length from half a foot to nearly thrice that, crimped at one end and stamped there with the glasscrafter's hallmark, their colors more delicate. The withies trembled with random sparks, reacting to the proximity of the one who had imbued them with magic.


Excerpted from Touchstone by Melanie Rawn. Copyright © 2012 Melanie Rawn. Excerpted by permission of Tom Doherty Associates.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

MELANIE RAWN is the three-time Locus Award–nominated author of the bestselling Dragon Prince trilogy and of the Dragon Star trilogy. She graduated from Scripps College with a BA in history and has worked as a teacher and editor. Rawn lives in Flagstaff, Arizona.

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Touchstone 3.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 19 reviews.
soonerloyal More than 1 year ago
I've been a Rawn fan from the first time I picked up a well-worn copy of Sunrunner's Fire from a musty garage sale decades ago. When I saw TOUCHSTONE on our town's library shelf, I snatched it up and literally ran to check it out. Unbeknownst to me, that speedy sprint to the self-checkout would be the only fast move associated with the book until I sent it thunking down the return chute. This book has so much unrealized potential - and the result is almost a crime. In her creative hands, the premise should have created a world that draws us into yet another enchanting realm. Instead this story is confusing, choppy and unfortunately frustrating at its best. Rawn normally gifts her readers with dazzling backdrops, characters that glow with lives so close to reality. Her words come to life and normally bless readers with enduring charm and life. Touchstone was for me a stunted version of what Rawn normally delivers. Subplots go veering off and never develop, character developments begin and go awry, nothing in this book seems to be up to her usual lofty standards. I never thought it possible that I'd have to force myself to finish off a Melanie Rawn novel, but that's what I had to do with this one. I'm bitterly disappointed. If there is a sequel, I won't bother with it. The whole experience leaves tears in my eyes. The only reason I give it two stars is because I can't give such a beloved author of mine the indignity of only one.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
What a disappointment! This book seem to drag on and on and .....Definitely not up to par with her earlier Exiles Trilogy- or rather Exiles Duology
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
As a Melanie Rawn fan I was looking forward to anything new from her. Took me a bit to get into the book but was very disappointed with the last half and the ending. Will read her books in the future but hope they end better than this one.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Interesting characters, but the reliance on Cayden's precognition gets old fast. The book drags on and on and I frankly didn't bother to finish it. Love Rawn's stuff, but this one is a real dog.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
The premise(s) are interesting have a lot of potential, which is not developed by Rawn. It takes a thousand pages not to explain why a young man who makes it big in his chosen profession must be angsty to the point of self destruction over some potential future bad behavior? Puhlease!!! Do yourself a favor and find another book.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Not worth the effort, poor story line, very difficult to read
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is not terrible, but it lacks substance. The magic here has no higher purpose at all, but is entirely about putting on plays. Well, ok, but is that all there is? Apparently so. What would make a good backdrop for more significarnt events is simply trivial in and of itself. Also.don't much care for all the drinking and drugs. Hard to care about people who essentially live for unconsciousness. Blye is the only worthwhile person in the book. Sad.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I enjoyed this first installment of a new world from a great author. The story starts immediately, without any intro into the world, but immersion (and a quick glossary in the back) quickly answers most of the questions. I did think that the book ending was rather abrupt, but I also understand the desire to keep the audience interested in the sequel(s). I just finished reading, and I'm buying the sequel as soon as I finish typing this review!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
You will love this tale if you want to be taken to a fully developed universe. The characters become so alive that it is starteling to return to the world not in the book. The tension that propels the story forward is from the organic progression of the chacters living their lives and dreams. A very thoughtful and thought provoking book.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Good story, but leaves you hanging with no idea if there is more to come after.
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
An excellent book. I couldn't put it down. Think of it as Shakespeare in Love meets A History of the Beatles. A refreshing and unique new fantasy novel.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Name:Shardstar<br> Gender:she-cat<br> Appearance:Shardstar is a dark grey tabby she-cat with amber eyes and short fur. Her tail-tip, front left paw, and underbelly are white.<br> History:Stonestar was a rogue until she joined a Clan as an apprentice. Eventually she left the Clan, and traveled on to form StoneClan<br> Family:Coalflare(younger brother), Ashcinder(younger sister)<br> Personality: meet her to find out<br> Other:ask
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Lookin good..i guess
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