Her eyes are her lineage. They're her mother's eyes, her sister's, her aunt's, her grandmother's. Perhaps her green eyes can be traced far up her muddled family tree, but dead cats don't stare; not at Emberpaw, anyway. Her brother doesn't share her eyes. They're polar opposites, flame and water. And her eyes, forest-emerald, are a weakness. Her mother fell. Her sister will. Her aunt fell, like an angel into her cage. Her grandmother did, a long time ago, despite herself. Falling is her heritage. It's in her blood, in those wide green eyes. When she climbs, she tries so hard not to fall.