Stoatstripe

lichenclan

tall and shorthaired black mackerel tabby molly with low white and green eyes

+ selfless, insightful, just
    Unselfish as any Starclan-fearing Lichenclan warrior should be, Stoatstripe is more concerned with the wellbeing of her clan than her own. She is the last to eat on a cold leafbare night, and the first to shield a clanmate during battle or offer herself for dawn patrol. Though she is not an incredibly skilled warrior by any means, she is dedicated and cares for her clan. She is also perceptive, with a learned understanding of how cats and situations should be handled. Stoatstripe often catches things that less observant clanmates may miss, as a listener over a talker. She may surprise cats with the things she knows about them, using gossip as a tool.
    Additionally, Stoatstripe is impartial, treating everyone the same no matter where they come from, and giving them the opportunity to show their true colors before she acts. She always seeks out justice and what she sees as moral, no matter what her clanmates or the stars tell her.

- skeptical, wily, obstinate
    Due to being up in her head so often, Stoatstripe is dubious of things that other cats may unequivocally believe. She doubts the clan's structure, leadership, and religion, while others do not. The cat is also hesitant to trust cats, especially careful about those within her clan. She does have a sly streak, knowing how to manipulate situations to her advantage, and get information out of cats. It is some breed of charisma, but not always used for good in her paws.
    A friend of Stoatstripe might describe her as being as stubborn as a badger, others may not be so kind. She's a very willful cat, and after she's convinced herself of something, it's near impossible to change her mind. Everything she does, she does with a purpose, and every risk is calculated.

loves: Crocuses and violets, young cats, thunderstorms.
likes: Telling stories, rabbits, bats, sunrises, the taste and smell of herbs.
dislikes: The texture of scales, small talk, swimming.
hates: The current state of Lichenclan, Minnowstar and her predecessors, her brother, feathers in nests.
secrets: Nothing she'd like to share.
fears: If she fails, that the cycle of war and evil on this island will continue.
dreams: To see Lichenclan burned and reborn from the ashes, with a new, fair leader, and peace amongst their neighbors. She would also like to have a family some day.

    Stoatkit and her brother Falconkit were born to Lichenclan queen Cinderfoot, but unfortunately, neither got to know their mother. Her injuries took her life soon after she named them. With their birth mother dead, the kittens were the responsibility of the other queens at the time, nursed alongside their litters. Despite being the older one, Stoatkit is smaller and meeker than her brother, easily taking a spot in the background.

    The pair learn that they have a father, but they've never met him—not like the other kittens have. Stoatkit is confused by this, but cannot miss a parent she never had. The cat she'd say shaped much of her kithood was an elder who both she and Falconkit adored. She told the kits stories of Starclan, and of their duty to the clan as warriors—so that when they passed, they would become stars in the sky. The better the warrior, the brighter the star. Stoatkit never did figure out which star was her mother's.

    Stoatkit wasn't as obsessed with becoming a great warrior as her brother was, she just wanted to do what was best for Lichenclan. Not everyone could be destined for greatness... because not all the stars were the brightest. She just wanted to find her place in a clan that she hadn't yet felt at home at. Around their fifth moon, Falconkit convinced her to sneak out of camp to get the attention of their dad. She agrees because she knows he cares about their father, and wants to make him happy.

    When the kittens run into an owl, they are suddenly not as fearless as before, and cannot run back to camp fast enough. Thankfully, neither were hurt, but they were confronted by a warrior on where they had been. Quick to save his own pelt, Falconkit turned and put the blame on Stoatkit. He is unpunished, but she is held back from becoming an apprentice for a moon. That day she lost her only kin. She had had his back, but he hadn't had hers. She learned an important lesson that day.

    Stoatkit watched her brother become an apprentice from the confines of camp. She did not yowl Falconpaw's new name at the ceremony, yet watched as a stranger-tom that looked uncannily familiar approached him afterwards. She later learned that this was Cinderfoot's mate, Cranestrike. Her father. He had never even looked her way. But that was fine—she didn't need her family. All she needed was her clan.

    A moon late, having outgrown the nursery by tenfold, Stoatkit is finally apprenticed to a young warrior named Sootpelt. He is strict, but fair, and the loyal Lichenclan warrior that Stoatpaw wants to become. She listens to his lessons and instructions without complaint, soaking up knowledge like dry moss. An unchallenging apprentice, she figured that those who knew the most spoke the least.

    Despite her now being a 'paw, the rift between the siblings stayed. Her nest was on the opposite side of the den as Falconpaw's—she awoke before him, and was asleep when he came to the den at night. Though they didn't speak, Stoatpaw listened. She heard how much he disliked his mentor, and was thankful that she had gotten a better one than he. Even with a moon's headstart, Stoatpaw might be molded into a more skilled warrior than him.

    She didn't particularly want to outshine him, but it gave her a twisted feeling of satisfaction. Of showing him how well she was doing without him. Stoatpaw saw Falconpaw training with their father, when Stormtalon would not teach him. She scoffed, let him have him, but could not deny the jealousy brewing in her stomach. She made few friends, devoting most of her time to training or helping out the elders and queens. She much preferred the company of older cats to her peers.

    Falconpaw's assessment came before hers, and she's glad he made it out of the debacle alive. Until she hears of the younger apprentice's punishment, and has her suspicions. Perhaps Falconpaw made them into a scapegoat too...? She wouldn't be surprised. The next ceremony he is named Falconfire, but neither of his kin call his name. That was the first time she noticed Cranefeather turning to look back at her. She met his gaze, steely, and did not break it until he looked away first.

    Stoatpaw lags behind, failing her first warrior assessment, and though she can tell Sootpelt is not happy with her, he encourages her to try again. And she does, with a little more training, and a little more luck. She earns her name at fourteen moons—Stoatstripe. She likes it. It's not flashy, like her brother's, but befitting of a warrior.

    A warrior by the name of Sorrelstorm approached her one day and asked her to spar. Stoatstripe had seen the fiery molly hanging around her brother, and was cautious, but her personality was infectious. Each soon had the other opening up, and began to spend more time together. Until her friend mentioned her relationship with Falconfire, and she balked. How could she be friends with his mate? Or maybe... it was something else. That jealousy, again.

    After being avoided for days, Stoatstripe lets an upset Sorrelstorm approach. She shares that she and Falconfire broke up—he wanted kits, and she couldn't give him that. She didn't know if she wanted kits, ever, and certainly wasn't ready now. Stoatstripe comforted her, validating her decision. She had never thought about having children before. There were no parents to force her to, and nobody wanted the rough-and-tumble, misbehaving molly as their mate. At least, no tom.

    Not long after that night Sorrelstorm confessed feelings for Stoatstripe, and they began a tentative courtship. Stoatstripe was never happy to see her brother annoyed about her relationship with his ex. She was just happy that Sorrelstorm liked her. That she had someone who understood her, and who she could rely on—trust. They became mates officially within the season, easy as that. Both conent with each other's company, and ignoring those who suggested they should have a litter. They were young, and in love, and didn't need anybody else.

     Falconfire, on the other paw, had a litter with some poor molly. Two daughters. Stoatstripe watched her nieces from afar. She would like to talk to them, get to know them, but fears what their father would do if he saw. She wonders if they even knew they had an aunt? She held no grudges against them, despite her opinion of their sire. Stoatstripe knew that blood didn't mean anything, otherwise she'd be a uncaring and manipulative asshole. She strove to treat every cat with respect, unless they gave her reason not to. That included the other clans.

    Lichenclan deemed them sinners, but she knew there were fox-hearted cats within their supposedly pure ranks. Could the other clans really be any worse? Her brother gets an apprentice, and she does not. Her nieces become apprentices. His mate is pregnant again—but he will not have any part of his next litter, she hears. How, how could he? When his father did the same to us? How could he condemn another litter to wondering why their father never loved them?

    That was the final straw that severed the hope that Falconfire still had any good left in him. He was corrupted, selfish... and Lichenclan was too. They were so selfish in the belief that Starclan was theirs only, when the sky stretched and the stars shined over Redwoodclan's heads too. Their dead warriors found their places up there, too. So her clan fought this war... for what reason? She asked her clanmates that, in subtle ways, and never got an answer that satisfied her.

    After a short lull, the war was ramping up again. Stoatstripe wasn't much of a fighter, but Sorrelstorm was, and always wanted to be on the front lines. She didn't especially care what she was fighting for as long as she was fighting... which her mate kept her mouth shut about. Until it killed her. Sorrelstorm came back wounded from an excursion, worse than usual. She was tended to in the medicine den, but it wasn't enough. At least when she died, she had someone who loved her by her side, not someone like Falconfire.

    Stoatstripe was numb after her mate's death. Sorrelstorm had been a fool to think she was invincible, and Stoatstripe had been a fool to believe her. But she had loved that fool, and she always would. Perhaps now she had a reason to fight to become a shining star, to have a place next to Sorrelstorm in the afterlife. She would do better, for her clan, and for the love she knew was looking after her. She later found out that her father had also died in that battle, but knew the clan was better off without that heartless tom.

    Feeling utterly alone, Stoatstripe began to wander close to the borders with the other clans. Usually Redwoodclan's over Thistleclan's, but one day she had strayed close to the creek and met a cat who smelt of... no clan? Yet her appearance struck chord, a memory in her. Stoatstripe was no stranger to gossip, and she's heard many a tale about a great black tabby warrior on the enemy lines. Young, but clever as a fox, and dangerous. But... there was one thing wrong.

    She was supposed to be dead. Emberscorch had killed her. How was she still alive, and what was she doing here? Stoatstripe called her name—Brookfang. She saw how scarred the tabby was, and put the pieces together. Though the other was suspicious at first, after learning that Stoatstripe did not want a fight and harbored a same distaste for Lichenclan, she was willing to talk. Brookfang shared that she had left her clan, though she did not divulge what she was up to now. Stoatstripe was glad to have found someone who was willing to answer her questions—and boy, were they answered.

    She wanted to know how Redwoodclan felt about the war. What it felt to live there, day to day. How warriors treated one another, what the leader and deputy were like. Why they were fighting. Brookfang told her it all. It seemed... Redwoodclan were protecting themselves. They were smart, tactical, unlike the blundering oafs Lichenclan painted them as. Did they even want the moon cave? Were Lichenclan the ones attacking without reason? Was everything her clan had told her a lie?

    She pondered that question a lot over the following moons. She met with Brookfang again on occasion, whenever she developed a new question, and the molly had queries for her too. Which she gladly answered. The last of those meetings was no different from the others, until Falconfire burst out of the bushes, yowling about how she was meeting with a rogue and betraying Lichenclan. Brookfang got away before he could get a good look at her, but Stoatstripe suffered the consequences of her oversight.

    The tabby was confined to camp, made to confess and ask for forgiveness at the moonpool each night. She was treated as the lowest of the low. She hated how careless she had been, hated her brother even more for ratting her out a second time—at least this time, it was something she'd really done. But she held her tongue. Kept her head down, was the picture of a warrior remade for seasons; years, even. She knows her brother still does not trust her. She knows that one wrong step will spell her exile or death. But she cannot stand turning a blind eye any longer. She must make a stand.