Name: Cricketpaw
Prefix Meaning: Cricket - for the chirping mews he made as a kitten, and the light browns that dominate his coat.
Suffix Meaning: Paw- Because he's a trainee

Sex: Tom
Age: Eight moons
Sexuality: ??

Rank: Trainee
Role: Daywalker
Adopt Thread: N/A




Base Coat Color: Fawn, darkening somewhat towards his back and paws.
Markings: Ticking across flanks and back; some traces of tabby displaying in forehead and face; traces of white around muzzle and eyes.
Eye Color: Hazel
Body Size and Build: Small and slim; looks like he could be blown over by a good gust of wind, and is already outsized by many of his fellow apprentices. Could probably be mistaken for an apprentice even after he's full grown/made a full warrior.
Fur Length and Texture: Relatively short. A little on the dull/unkempt side, and may grow duller/messier still as time goes on.
Additional Physical Traits: Noticeably large ears and long whiskers. Pink nose and pawpads, which are associated with some recurring health issues (see below). Has a tendency to smear his muzzle with anything that's remotely likely to stick and stay put for awhile - partly to protect his nose from the sun, and partly in an attempt to hide his white markings.
Health and Scars: No scars as yet. Generally healthy, but pawpads are sensitive to the heat and he's somewhat prone to sunburn on his nose.
*Repeated sunburn may eventually cause permanent damage to his nose, leading to his sense of smell deteriorating.




Positive Traits: Caring, hardworking, levelheaded
Neutral Traits: Conflicted, something of a realist, permanently stressed
Negative Traits: Brusque, bitter, increasingly rebellious
_{Note: Above traits summarise Cricketpaw as a he really is. See below for how he presents himself/is changing}

Full Trait Description:
To the casual observer, Cricketpaw might appear to be an ideal example of what a trainee should be. When beneath a warrior’s gaze he’s typically quiet, polite, and obedient, rarely speaking out of turn and almost always obeying orders promptly, efficiently, and with minimal questions. He’s fully aware of the fact that he has limited experience of the world and less right to speak out against what his elders and betters dictate, and he’s learnt to submit to those facts: to follow along rather than make any open attempt to strike out on his own. He’s also learnt to act, and under the adult gaze he does it well, offering few reasons for them to complain.

In a just world, there would indeed be no reason for complaint…and Cricketpaw himself would not be obliged to perform. At his core he is a hardworking, caring tom, and in his kithood he was as vibrant as the sun: had the potential to shine amongst the very brightest of his peers. He was and is an intelligent, quick-witted cat, able to absorb and hold information like cacti hold water, and though the rough side of his tongue has always been barbed it did not often come into play. His patience was great and his mind level, and as such his temper, though sometimes vicious, was a hard thing to pull from his frame. But not so today.

Today, as a trainee, Cricketpaw is not at all the same. The young tom is permanently tired and beginning to show signs of stress that even warriors are starting to note – and when he’s taken from the adult gaze, left just with those his own age, its like the difference between night and day. To his fellow trainees, Cricketpaw is nothing short of a horror.

It is when there are no adults to judge him that the true effects of his upbringing come into full display, for with his fellow trainees there is no need for respect – and in the loneliness of the sands there’s no sense in the act. These are truths that Cricketpaw spied within weeks of leaving the nursery, and though he didn’t intend it, these same truths have led to him lashing out against his peers. Deep down he has grown bitter and angry with his lot in his life, and this has become a claw tangled in the thorns of his increasing stress—his growing exhaustion—leading him to grow ever harsher with his manner and words. His patience is deteriorating day by day, and as it shortens so too does his temper grow harsher and more frequent, and so does his tongue grow harder; more waspish. He is no longer a friend to his fellows: he is a cat to avoid; a barb in their paws; another problem in a trainee’s already difficult world.

And what is more, he is growing worse.

Cricketpaw is not doing what he wants to do; is not even able to speak of it – to attempt it. Cricketpaw is never able to do enough; cannot meet the standards set upon him no matter how hard he strives – how hard he works. And Cricketpaw is beginning to edge not merely towards unintentional meanness but to intentional rebellion; increasingly wondering if he should, perhaps, create a real reason for the chastisement so often poured upon his frame. That he hasn’t already done so is something of a miracle, but the cracks within him are only continuing to grow…

Likes: Information about herbs and healing; helping others.
Dislikes: The whole concept of Cursed cats; his mother; warrior training; his white markings

Secrets: Increasingly tempted to break every damned rule the clan has.
Dreams: Dreams of becoming the clan's Herb Tender (or Traveller, if he can't achieve Herb Tender), and has done so since he was first able to understand what those cats do.

Strengths: Hearing, smelling (for now--*possibly deteriorating?), flexibility, stealth
Normals: Defense, eyesight, hunting, speed
Weaknesses: Attack, swimming, climbing, jumping




Cricketpaw’s mother typically drives him out into the desert for training at the very first sign of light, and frequently insists on him staying out until after nightfall.

So far, Cricketpaw has had very limited training from or interaction with most of the Daywalkers in his clan. His mother has taken it upon herself to manage as much of his training as she possibly can, and makes a point of sending him out before any other cat can. She also has a bad habit of leaving him to wander the sands by himself – conveniently forgetting to mention to him that this is neither the norm nor within Duneclan’s rules.

Cricketpaw is likely to prone to making stupid mistakes when out with/being watched by warriors. He’s well aware that his mother is never happy with anything he does, and this combined with his stress/permanent tiredness is likely to make him nervous and prompt him to overthinking. He’ll probably feel that he’s expected to fail at any moment, and sabotage himself as a result.

Although he yearns for a chance to try his paw at healing, and takes every opportunity he can to learn about herbs and medicine, Cricketpaw is largely mute about his dreams. Any mention of his interest in this area has always sent his mother into a spitting rage, and as a result he’s learnt to treat it as a forbidden topic – and an empty hope.





Unbeknownst to him, Cricketpaw’s problems find their roots in the moons before his birth, and in the mistakes of older should-be-wiser forms.

His mother, Nettle-, had been delighted to find herself carrying kits—just as she had been to hear the same news from her sister Fern- only a short time before—and naturally she hurried to tell her mate, certain he’d be just as overjoyed. The tom in question—a sturdy warrior called Gorse—had been at her side since they were kittens, and since he’d purred for a day just to hear Fern-‘s news she had no reason to anticipate anything less. But Gorse- did not purr for Nettle-. In fact, Gorse- seemed only troubled, and from that moment on Nettle- found it almost impossible to get him on his own, or even to direct more than a pawfull of words to her own hurt form.

It didn’t make sense – until Fern-‘s litter was born; until Nettle- looked upon the tiny kits and saw Gorse- reflected in them all. Prior to that moment neither queen had known the truth, so quiet had they been about their mate’s identity, but in the shock of that viewing the secret could hold no more.

Nettle-, naturally, was at once horrified and furious. She had betrayed her sister—or been betrayed by her—and it was all the more terrible for the fact that Gorse- had chosen not to talk. And Gorse- would never talk; he had vanished into the desert early that very morning, and he did not come back to either of his queens. It was not until Nettle- kitted that that the explanation for it came to her ears. Gorse- had succumbed to the desert, bitten by a snake, and for a time that loss became their son’s saving grace.

Nettle-‘s grief ensured that Cricketpaw’s earliest moons were good ones, if a little rocky. The she-cat veered continually between doting and apathetic, sometimes showering him with affection and at other times distant; unfocused. In response Cricketpaw learnt to be sensitive to his mother’s moods, but also to be vibrant and energetic so that he might bring her back when her attention waned and take the distant sadness from her staring gaze. He learnt to be gregarious, too, finding playtime a sure-fire way to break the trances, or to alleviate his boredom-come-unease when the queen could not be reached. But it was because of that very gregariousness that his mother began to change…

Accidentally, inevitably, Cricketpaw discovered his siblings.

The little group had no knowledge of their kinship, but they became friends with all the speed and ease of kittens – and despite Fern-‘s best efforts there was no keeping them apart once that friendship had been forged. Neither was there any more chance of Fern- keeping her litter from Nettle-‘s gaze, and once she saw them anew, her affection and indifference alike began to slip away.

To Cricketpaw’s bewilderment, his mother began to make comments on the white that marked his face, growling that he was tarnished: that he must have sinned. The words made no sense to the kitten, but he quickly learnt that white was bad – and equally quickly developed a complex about his own scant marks. It led him to try and hide them, and for a time that concealment seemed to sooth the queen – but always the white would be revealed, and always his mother’s comments would re-emerge, growing more barbed by the day. He was his father’s punishment, she would snarl: put on this earth in answer to that cat’s wrongs. The Gods were showing their displeasure for the stupid tom’s second choice, for the first were perfect, and Cricketpaw was not. She was ashamed of him, she would hiss, for he had ruined her good name and she knew what he must become.

Cricketpaw understood none of it, but as his mother’s words grew more barbed so did he become more desperate to soothe and please her; to right his unknown wrong. He pushed himself to be bolder and brighter, looking out for his peers and taking every opportunity he could to learn. He paraded his discoveries and achievements in front of her, working for her affection’s return. He coaxed his friends before her, hoping she might somehow be appeased. He poured out a chirping enthusiastic dream—a picture of herbs and medicine and tended cats—expecting to see pride’s brilliant gleam.

Instead he sparked the most vicious outpouring he had ever seen.

Nettle- screeched at him for daring to think of such a path, and from that moment on any breath of herbs or healing would send her to a spitting rage. He was not worthy of such a role. He would fail, shaming her all the more. His soul was tarnished: the gods would punish them all. Did he want to be their doom? Did he want to sin still further? This she snarled and more, and Cricketpaw swiftly learnt to be silent: to choke down any mention of his stupid, blasphemous dream. But it didn’t help, for in sharing his hope he finally revealed to Nettle- what the gods expected of her, and from that moment on there would be no more peace.

‘I will save you’ she told him once—just once, but still it echoes in his ears. ‘I will save you’ – and from that moment on everything he did was wrong, no matter the reasons or actions of his peers. The end of his kithood was marred with continuous criticism, and though he tried everything he could to satisfy, it was never the right thing. He gave up his kin-friends, seeing that their presence seemed to make Nettle- worse, and he strove every day to be the best he could be – all to no avail. He grew quiet and polite and obedient, embracing the qualities waved before his frame, and he hoped that with his apprenticeship he must eventually prevail – but it was not to be so.

Apprenticeship only made things worse, stripping away the defence of the nursery and its other queens. Apprenticeship saw him put to work, his mother taking him ever more firmly in paw; determined to banish every evil in his soul. Apprenticeship is beginning to see him twist, breaking what he might have become...