[Phoenix]

Name: Sandkit > Sandpaw > Sandstripe > Sandstar
Age: 43 moons
Gender: tom
Clan: RainClan
Rank: Warrior Leader

Picture: Sandstripe

Description:

Now a fully mature warrior, Sandstripe has nothing to be ashamed about in his appearance. Long legs only add to the appearance of a lean figure, though he is as healthy as any cat and cares far too much about his own health to even consider skipping multiple meals. Taking after Reedfur in this area, he is taller than he is wide, and the warrior often finds himself looking down on others due to his height. Though he lacks some of the bulky muscle that other toms have, this golden tom is no less intimidating. He has a presence about him that, though perfectly cordial, seems to demand respect; perhaps born of his height, this aura makes itself very quietly known, showing subtly in the upright, almost formal way he carries himself.

Golden fur accentuated by lighter and darker stripes clings to an impressive frame, almost always impeccably groomed. It has the thickness consistent with that of other RainClan-born warriors, wherein it protects him from the chills of leaf-bare yet dries after a short while in the sun. Mud and grime do not tend to stick to his fur, which is naturally on the dry side (as opposed to oily and greasy). Since it allows him to appear as though he spent the whole morning preening himself, this quality makes life considerably easier for Sandstripe, who is usually content with a few quick licks to rid himself of any stray moss from the nest.

Of an almost equal shade, deep yellow eyes peer out at the world, constantly assessing it. Still fairly easy to read, their depths show a maturity beyond his years, and there is barely a trace of the fear that once filled them. They are bright and intelligent, constantly alert and placed among somewhat soft, sloping features that give the impression of an open expression. Sandstripe's head is no different than his body in that the golden tabby pattern continues, dancing around his mouth, nose and eyes.

Description Summary: A tall golden tabby tom with rather thick fur and deep yellow eyes.

Personality:

As long as he can remember, avoiding death has always been a need of his; his desire to stay alive has subtly wormed its way into the top priority in his life. However this need has existed long enough that it has slowly grown until it has infected his whole being. But it is subtle, lingering behind the curtain and motivating his actions and affecting his choices without his conscious permission or awareness. While every being is driven by a will to survive, Sandstripe's need to live is abnormally strong, born of an immense, overpowering fear of death that has developed ever since he had that experience when he was a kit. It would not be completely incorrect to claim that his fear has a mind of its own, for it seems to have a sense on the best plan for its own survival. This absolute necessity to live has not always lurked in the shadows of his mind; when he was at his most impressionable stage, as a kit and an apprentice, the fright was more often than not the motivation behind the choices he made. It could survive out in the open, and it did need him to be oblivious to its presence. But when he began to mature and gain an awareness of the effect his fear-driven choices had on his life, the fear retreated, burrowing itself into the recesses of his mind to pluck at the strings from behind the curtain. Sandstripe no longer knows of its existence; he believes that he managed to conquer his fear of death, that it no longer plagues him.

However, the tom does recognize the lingering effect of one of his actions directly after defeating his fear: personal safety is very high on his list of priorities. While this may make him sound timid and exceedingly selfish, he has a very large interest in the well-being of his clan. Sandstripe has nurtured a very deep understanding of the safety in numbers idea and has incorporated that into his own life. His fear has subtly taken this idea even further, knowing that it would be all the more effective if every number was willing to take the blow for him; and so, courtesy and charm is a must when dealing with his clan mates. Yet numbers only deal with an internal problem, and that is not enough for complete safety; a reputation and power, born of a combination of fear and respect, are necessary to avoid unnecessary conflict from outside forces. To do that, he has to make RainClan the strongest of them all.

With this in mind, it is obvious that ambition runs very strongly through his veins, and all of it is directed toward making his clan the strongest. Though his own safety has taken precedence over nearly everything, this warrior will not hesitate to keep the apprentices - regardless of whether or not they are his own - in prime condition. A strong, unified body of warriors is essential to RainClan's growth, and the best way to gain that is to start young, to mold the malleable kits into resilient apprentices who then become the clan's most ferocious defenders. While Sandstripe does not claim to be the best mentor in the clan, he is adamant about the importance of training the next generation of warriors and emphasizes it whenever possible. More often than not, he feels as though few others understand the full impact that poor training will have on the clan. In his mind, which becomes rather militaristic when considering the subject of schooling, complete training includes forcing the apprentices to experience hardship and loss, so when they reach their lowest low and old habits are the only reliable things, they will be able to pull through and recover. However, he also has a keen awareness to the necessity of helping slower apprentices keep up with their faster peers, and he will gladly help them with extra training sessions if they need them.

However, Sandstripe's mind does not always linger on the future; in fact, more often than not it resides in the present. He throws himself into his warrior duties with a vigor rarely seen in others. They do not take up his whole day nor do they always occupy his mind, but when called upon, he will pull his own weight without question. He treats his duties not as work, but rather as extra opportunities to refine his own skills, always striving to keep them at his best. While he often considers his number idea, Sandstripe would rather not rely too heavily on anyone or anything. In the end, he believes that survival will ultimately come down to him and his choices and abilities. And he is determined to not let himself down.

If he could, the warrior would keep RainClan under the radar and out of the minds of the other clans. They would slowly gain strength and develop a formidable fighting force, and when the other clans finally notice, it would be too late. That's not to say that he would attack the rest of them; Sandstripe would rather remain neutral to the other clans than antagonistic. His desire for a fighting force resides purely in a defensive use, and the reputation he wants his clan to gain would come solely through a series of victorious border skirmishes or fights, as those are bound to happen. After constant defeat by able-bodied warriors, the other clans would become wary of RainClan and think twice should they ever feel the need to attack; reputation plays an important role if used correctly. He is not above performing some underhand tricks to gain the upper-hand, though he does not draw attention to that. Morals are a facade for the innocent in the world of clan politics and power plays. And he will do anything to get RainClan on top.

To his clan mates, he is the epitome of a gentleman. Charming and courteous, he has polite words for everyone, regardless of the situation or his own opinions of the other cat. With training as perhaps the only exception, Sandstripe never strays from his cultured habits, always making sure to maintain his elegant ways. He never purposefully antagonizes his clan mates, keeping his temper under and is always very quick to apologize if he accidentally does so. The natural charisma around him tends to attract attention, as does his eloquence and talent with manipulating words. Quietly confident in his own abilities, he does not need to brag about his reputation as a skilled warrior in order to appear infallible and always unfazed, and he has learned with some difficulty to accept and give compliments and criticism with equal grace. Though he is not always warm and welcoming, Sandstripe does have his moments, and while he is quiet by nature, he has become more outgoing as he has gained confidence in himself. He is not afraid to make his opinion known, but he will not force it down another feline's throat. Even if he appears rather closed off, the warrior's care for others is genuine, and his sense of humor very good.

The aura of invincibility that he sometimes gives off stems from his confidence in his abilities and careful awareness of his own limits. However, this confidence does not extend into the realm of the intangible and the unknown. Living in constant fear of the inevitable has taken its toll on his psyche, something even the promise of StarClan cannot overcome. If death ever looms in front of him, completely unavoidable, he begins to mentally deteriorate. After working so hard for so long to avoid dying, he can no longer face the prospect of his own death with the same rational and sensible mind that he uses to face and overcome every other obstacle; instead he avoids thinking about it completely. But it has still had an effect on him. He has quietly made it his goal to become leader, both for the good of the clan and himself. With nine lives and his level of paranoia, surely he will last an eternity, and because of that, RainClan will surely prosper.

History:

Sandkit || no time for goodbye he said as he faded away
To find the root of his unconquerable fear of death, it is necessary to delve far back into Sandstripe's past. Reedfur never liked all of the rules and regulations that came with clan life; they were too restricting for his tastes and blocked out all of the fun and excitement he thought that a successful life should have. Why didn’t he leave? He was the handsome mate of Shortstride, and the father of their three kits, Heronkit, Tinykit and Sandkit. But he was far from ready to settle down and responsibly raise a family; his love for the rush that came with danger clashed with the prospect of being responsible for these innocent balls of fur. These innocent little balls of fur, he realized soon after, could share his love for excitement, especially if he introduced it to them early. He would have his own little partners in crime! And so, he waited until they could walk and made the decision that would end his life as he knew it.

It was a very rainy new-leaf. The water was high and the risk of flooding was very real, but that just made it all the more exciting for Reedfur. Carrying Tinykit in his jaws, the warrior led his other two kits away from camp by the light of the moon, which hung high in the sky. He had found a beaver dam earlier that day and decided that it would be beneficial to show his kits. Not only would they learn to identify a beaver and its home, but they would get their first taste of rule breaking and realize that the resulting adrenaline rush outweighed the risk of being caught. It was the perfect plan, but like all perfect plans, it went wrong.

Sandkit was the one who spoke the dare. Heronkit was the one who acted on it. Infinitely curious, the long-legged she-cat was wide awake and completely oblivious to the foolish danger her father had put them in. She had just learned to swim and was very proud of the fact; that combined with her natural curiosity already spelled danger. Her brother’s dare just tipped the scale. Reedfur’s attempts at describing a beaver were less than impressive, so she decided to venture off on her own and find out. Her reasoning was that it was night time, so the beavers would be home and she could see what they were like. Unfortunately, she was correct, and it turned out that the beaver, who also had young of her own to care for, did not appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night by a nosy kit. Preoccupied with Tinykit and Sandkit, Reedfur did not notice his eldest daughter’s absence until he heard her screech for help, and by that point, the beaver was practically upon her. Immediately, he leapt into the water for Heronkit and managed to fight the beaver off long enough to get the curious kit back to land. Terrified, the three kits ran far from the water’s edge with their stubby little legs and rapid bounds. Thinking that he had scared off the beaver, Reedfur began to call back his offspring, reassuring them that they had nothing to fear, that he would protect them. Tinykit, the most trusting of the three of them, immediately believed him and ran over to join her father. But the beaver had not been beaten off so easily, not when there was a very real threat near her children. Instead of going after Reedfur, she attacked Tinykit while the smallest feline ran toward her father. It was instant death, and it spurred Reedfur into action.

Though he had muscle and size going for him, fighting was not one of the warrior’s strengths, and alone, he stood no chance against a beaver, let alone one fighting with the ferocity of a mother and more practice navigating the terrain. But he still tried. Upon realizing that he could not defeat the beaver, Reedfur looked around for his remaining two kits, yelling for them to help him. In his panic, he had forgotten that they were a mere 4 moons old, considerably smaller than his opponent, and had no formal training whatsoever in the arts of fighting. Frozen in terror from their hiding place farther away, Sandkit and Heronkit could only watch in horror as their father started calling for his kits to join him so they could run away and hide. They wanted to join him, but their limbs would not obey them. Loyal to the end, the warrior waited, calling out with increasing urgency, until he could wait no longer and then fled the beaver’s wrath, bleeding from various wounds of various depths and sizes. Satisfied, the beaver then slipped back into the water, as silent as she had arrived. Crouched and cold in the foliage, Heronkit and Sandkit waited there for the rest of the night, staring at their sibling's body and waiting for Reedfur to return and bring them home.

A patrol searching for the missing kits found them and Tinykit’s small, stiff body early the next morning, and they were carried back to camp. Immediately, they were sentenced to the next few nights, at a minimum, in the medicine cat’s den. Smokeyowl, RainClan’s medicine cat at that time, was nearly as livid as Shortstride, and his bad mood was not helped when Heronkit became ill due to her extended time in the water. The combination of the trauma, the cold and the wet took its toll on her and she succumbed shortly after, leaving behind her mother and younger brother. Perhaps it was for the better that she joined StarClan then, for the experience left a deep wound on Sandkit’s psyche that would scar with him forever.

Time passed it always does, it took a while to heal from Reedfur’s disastrous actions. Sandkit stayed quiet, watching his mother alternate between cursing her former mate’s name, mourning the loss of two of her kits, and fussing over her remaining kit. He did not mind the extra noise or the extra attention, knowing that it helped Shortstride with her own healing, as long as it did not interfere with his own. Despite the large effect it had on his life, he was too busy trying to pretend that the whole experience had never happened. Nightmares, vivid and detailed, stalked his thoughts at night, switching from Tinykit’s fast death to Reedfur’s panicked actions to Heronkit’s slow descent into lifelessness. The beaver charged through his thoughts, sharp teeth snapping and eyes crazed. He had heard of death before, but never had he imagined that it was delivered in such a gory and painful way. He decided then that he did not want to die.

And his actions became ruled by the combined strength of his new fear and the trauma. Sandkit barely left the nursery for the moon after the event and stayed close to Shortstride whenever he did so. Loud noises made him flinch and jump, and he did not react well to others pouncing on him in order to instigate play fights. His sense of caution became overwhelming, and he avoided the water lapping at the banks of the camp whenever possible. The once bold and energetic kit became reserved and jumpy as his fear dug its talons into him; it was with this fear that he marched off to begin his training.

Sandpaw || it’s hard to imagine but one day you’ll end up like me
Though he should have had two companions beside him, Sandkit walked up to receive his apprentice name alone. The fear hiding behind the maturity in his eyes caused some whispers to spread, while others quietly reminded their companions about the events of a few moons back; still, a kit should receive his apprentice name trembling from barely suppressed excitement, not from fear and anxiety. However, it seemed as though StarClan had a twisted sense of humor, for Sandpaw's mentor was a young tom by the name of Beaverpelt, whose name alone made the apprentice wary of him. He did not trust the warrior to not lead him into the same situation that Reedfur had done when he was a kit. When his apprentice opted to remain silent for the first few weeks of his apprenticeship, the new mentor was not deterred; instead, he filled what would have been an awkward silence with mindless chatter, hoping to set his flighty apprentice at ease. He shared stories about his own apprenticeship and past experiences, and as Sandpaw gained a better feeling for his mentor through the tales, he slowly began to leave his shell. Perhaps not all cats were as reckless as his late father.

A bond began to form between the two as Beaverpelt meticulously closed the vivid wounds Sandpaw had from the trauma, and the apprentice began to overcome his fears. Though it was not for lack of trying, the warrior avoided all mention of that night with his apprentice; after the first few attempts to get him to talk, Beaverpelt soon realized that he would not get an answer from the stubborn tom. Occasionally the warrior would receive glimpses of the bright young tom his student had once been, and at first, he was the only one who could provoke those kinds of responses. Lessons were enjoyable and Sandpaw soon became an eager and willing apprentice, constantly questioning his mentor about the way things worked. They formed a banter and learned to appreciate each others' senses of humor and ideas. And then, as Sandpaw matured and gained confidence in his abilities, the tom began to reach out to other apprentices.

Apart from Beaverpelt, he barely talked to anyone, and that fact began to trouble the apprentice a little. His good experiences with his mentor made him eager to develop more connections which he could hold in almost equally high esteem. Looking for another companion among felines his age, Sandpaw began to practice navigating the well-developed social circles of the other apprentices, slowly getting a feel for the general personalities of each cat. Since he lingered on the fringe, he was given the chance to watch how his den mates interacted from an analytical viewpoint, and this helped him pinpoint what exactly he wanted, both in a companion and out of the relationship that would form. Sandpaw observed how close friends were more than willing to cover for each other or risk punishment for another friend just because they had that connection, and he found himself wanting felines who would do so for him.

But he soon found that he had a lot of obstacles to overcome in order to be completely accepted. First impressions meant a lot, and the apprentices' first impressions of Sandpaw were of an emotionally weakened, flighty feline who would flinch from every sound; there was nothing anywhere close to impressive about that. He did not have his appearance to count on either, for he was not a handsome apprentice; his legs were long in comparison to his body, and he grew at an uneven rate, which often resulted in embarrassing accidents. And to top it off, Shortstride decided around this time to try to play a more active role in her son's life, as if realizing just how much she had begun to neglect her child. Though he would have appreciated the attempt more a couple moons back, Sandpaw managed to understand the intent behind her actions; regardless, it ended up hurting their relationship rather than healing it. Striving to become less of a social outcast, he began to work on countering the effects of his reputation, appearance and his mother's actions. He refined his social skills, aiming to worm his way into other cats' hearts through charm alone. But he was wary of diving straight into the mix of apprentices and searching for the right one who would become his best friend; instead he practiced on the elders, knowing that if he could charm those grouchy old flea-ridden felines, then a mere apprentice would prove to be no challenge.

And that was how he befriended Loudbreath, one of the more tolerable elders renamed for her pants and wheezing. A bond of mutual respect formed between the two of them; Sandpaw enjoyed listening to her stories and learning from her experiences, while Loudbreath appreciated an apprentice listening politely to her tales and asking all the right questions. As he frequented the elder's den more often, he became a familiar face to the other elders and they began to warm up to the courteous apprentice as well. But Sandpaw never let them get as close to his heart as he had the first elderly she-cat. To him, this marked a milestone in the development of his social skills and provided him with a confidence booster.

However, he soon realized that he could not rely purely on charm to cover up his less than impressive reputation or to befriend the more skilled apprentices. Talent and ability, of which he felt he had an excess, also played a key part in fixing the damage his first impression had caused, thus playing a large determining a companion. Cats were attracted to others who showed skill and promise, particularly those who did not brag about it. And so, he began to throw himself into his training with even more effort than before, speeding through Beaverpelt's lessons with ease. The change started slowly, but it happened all the same; as he began to win most of the practice fights and continuously return to camp with prey, his reputation as an average apprentice gave way to that of an above average apprentice. But he did not boast like an above average apprentice; instead, he maintained his polite, quiet ways. With his new successes, Sandpaw soon attracted the attention of Cedarpaw, a young tom perhaps 2 moons older than himself who had a similar temperament and sense of humor. As they continued to talk, the two became close friends, and the younger apprentice wondered how he could have survived that long without a friend his own age.

Sometime toward the beginning of his apprenticeship, Sandpaw had started to question why things were the way they were. He wondered why the fish swam in schools and the birds flew in flocks, and after a few moons of thinking, he finally reached his answer. It was the idea of safety in numbers; the fish swam in groups because it minimized the chances that a particular fish would become a RainClan cat's meal. This same idea even applied to warriors. Why else would their ancestors have formed clans if not for mutual protection? During the time when his own personal safety and survival always ay at the forefront of his mind, Sandpaw had always been thinking of ways he could incorporate the idea into his own life and try to use it for himself. Of course, he would stay in the clan for the very same reason that a fish stayed in its school, but it was not until he discovered Cedarpaw's friendship that he began to take the idea further. What if all the other fish in the school were willing to become a meal in place of that particular fish? The platonic affection between them was mutual, and he had a hunch that his friend would not hesitate to take the blow for him. And the thing that scared Sandpaw was that he would let Cedarpaw without hesitation, regardless of the care he felt for the other tom. Immediately, he tried to rid himself of that idea, almost disgusted at himself. He wanted friends because he was lonely and wanted their company, not so he could have a band of cats willing to lay down their lives for him.

It was around this time, when he was a little over 10 moons and Cedarpaw had just become Cedarstorm, that two monumental events occurred in Sandpaw's comfortable life.

The first was that Shortstride picked herself up again and found a new tom, Sparrowflight. He was a decent warrior and Sandpaw approved of her choice, even if he felt a little put out at being demoted to the second-most important tom in her mother's life once more. Considerably calmer and more laid back than Reedfur, the warrior was rather sentimental and much too sappy and emotional for Sandpaw's tastes. But if his mother was happy, then the apprentice could find it inside himself to be glad for her.

The second was the death of Loudbreath. The she-cat's old age had finally caught up with her, and on her death bed, she requested the presence of her young companion. Sandpaw steeled his nerves and went to her side for the final night. Though their tones made it seem as though Loudbreath would live to see the nest sunrise, their subject matter suggested otherwise. With the elderly she-cat leading the conversation, their mostly one-sided conversation focused on death for the first time. A perceptive feline, this was perhaps the elder's last effort to reconcile the tom with the prospect of his own inevitable end. The way she faced her own death so calmly and quietly amazed and confused Sandpaw; he could not understand how dying did not fill her with paralyzing fear. Toward the end, Loudbreath became reminiscent, and the apprentice listened patiently as she recounted the adventures of her youthful days, stories she had told over and over. She died in her sleep that night, and Sandpaw, who had returned to the apprentices den once his friend had fallen asleep, was told later the next morning. It was a dignified death, but the peaceful acceptance with which Loudbreath had faced her own mortality barely scratched the surface of Sandpaw's impenetrable fear of dying.

Sandstripe || if you want to get out alive run for your life
Admittedly, the first few moons of Sandstripe’s warrior life were dull and repetitive once the excitement of becoming a warrior at 11 moons wore off. Far from the silent kit he had once been, the feline had matured into a charming, courteous young tom. He had finally grown into his long legs, which became a distinctive part of now a tall, lean figure. Partially due to his acquaintance with Cedarstorm, the ease with which he quickly found his place among the warriors smoothed the transition to the new den, creating a much more ideal first impression to those who had yet to meet him. Just as his training had come easily to him, Sandstripe proved his value as an addition to RainClan's ranks, despite his young age, by adjusting to his new duties as if he had performed them all his life. Occasionally he found that he missed the daily interactions with Beaverpelt, but the tom and his former mentor had plenty of chances to converse and continue their good relationship. His popularity with the kits and success in hunting made Sandstripe a warrior of whom his former mentor and mother could be proud.

And just as the tom felt comfortable with the routine, Shortstride announced that she was expecting Sparrowflight's kits. This revelation brought forth conflicting emotions in her son, but ultimately, happiness for his mother won out, backed with eager anticipation for the arrival of his step-siblings. Due to various complications, the birth was hard and Shortstride, who was considerably frailer than when she had been with Reedfur, lost a lot of blood. The first kit was a stillborn tom, but the second was alive, though still very weak. It was nerve-wracking, but she managed to pull through and survive the night. Fueled by the hope that her daughter would survive, Shortstride fought through the first night as well, slowly recovering and regaining her strength.

Once again, Sandstripe found himself unable to decide how he truly felt about the new addition to the family. Mosskit, for that was her name, had taken his spot in Shortstride's heart, the spot that Sparrowflight could never have claimed, and her birth had almost stolen his mother from him completely. He found himself drifting away from his family, much to his own distaste, watching from afar as Shortstride carefully watched over her baby daughter with loving eyes. It was during these times that Sandstripe found it the hardest to hold it against little Mosskit and tried his best to stop moving apart. However, his attempts to change this had no effect until his younger step-sister was old enough to recognize and start asking about him. She was completely taken by the older tom, amazed at his size and status, especially amongst the other kits. Jumping at the chance to remain included in the family he loved, Sandstripe answered all of her curious questions with unending patience and even went so far as to teach her some of the basics of a hunting crouch. This interaction brought him a little closer to Shortstride and Sparrowflight, and a tentative bond formed between himself and his mother's new mate.

When Mosskit was about 4 moons old, and himself nearing 23 moons, Sandstripe received his first apprentice, an energetic little she-cat by the name of Rabbitpaw. Much like her namesake, she was a flighty, jumpy apprentice, seeming always on edge; though her optimism and bright outlook reassured him that it was not for the same reason he had been that jumpy as an apprentice. Though he was thrilled at the opportunity to train a feline of the next generation, he was, at first, skeptical about their compatibility and the reasoning behind the decision. However, to his pleasant surprise, the two of them got along well, despite Sandstripe's rather militaristic training style. Rabbitpaw was a fast learner, eager to please and willing to try the new tactics and ideas that he suggested. They occasionally trained with Cedarstorm, who had Rabbitpaw's ambitious brother, Applepaw, as his own apprentice. Despite some reserves about training the siblings together, the experience proved to be beneficial to all.

Once Mosskit became an apprentice, Sandstripe was willing and eager to welcome his step-sister and her mentor, Roefoot, into the fold. However, any involvement with Mosspaw and Roefoot usually ended up as dual training sessions with Rabbitpaw and Sandstripe; Cedarstorm and Applepaw preferred to leave and let the she-cat apprentices train on their own. That was fine with the two remaining mentors, for these sessions acted as a review for Rabbitpaw and a chance to learn from a more experienced apprentice for Mosspaw. Much to Sandstripe's pleasure, the two apprentices became close friends, and even Applepaw was included in their little group. But the three of them practically spelled trouble with their incessant questions and habit of wandering off and showing up where they were not supposed to be.

Then one day, they wandered too far. Rabbitpaw and Applepaw were nearing their warrior ceremonies when they and Mosspaw stumbled upon the beaver dam. With a curiosity reminiscent of Heronkit's, the trio decided to get closer. It was only luck that Sandstripe caught up to them when he did. Shortstride had become worried when she had not seen her only daughter all day long and had sent her son off looking for her; obediently, the tom had agreed, figuring that his own missing apprentice would be with his step-sister. When he arrived at the scene, the three apprentices had just approached the dam. A yowl escaped his maw, shouting at them to get away from what he knew was a death trap. Startled, they all followed his command, but by then it was too ate. An angry beaver charged after them, and Sandstripe's limbs had become unresponsive as he was bombarded by his own memories of a beaver attack. Mosspaw's cries managed to snap him out of his trance, and the warrior leapt into action, forcing horrid memories away with sheer will power. A snarl left his lips as he ran forward, distracting the creature with a rain of blows. Irate, it turned to face him, and he hesitated only a moment before he continued his attack. Mosspaw, who had had the sense to run and get help returned with back up just in time, and side-by-side with his old friend, Sandstripe chased off the beaver.

Mosspaw had escaped relatively unscathed but for a few scratches and some nightmares. Rabbitpaw and Applepaw, on the other hand, were not so lucky. The worse of the two, Applepaw, had been closest to the beaver when it attacked and as a result, he had taken the most blows before Sandstripe could reach him. He made it back to the Medicine Cat's den, but he had lost too much blood and one of his injuries became infected. The apprentice spent his last night fading in and out of consciousness, half-aware of his surroundings. Cedarstorm and Rabbitpaw, who had received a gash along her hind leg, were understandably devastated. Due to her wound, Rabbitpaw's warrior ceremony had been delayed by an extra moon, during which she watched as her brother received his warrior name, Appleclaw, before he took his last breath. With time, her physical injuries healed, leaving behind only scars as reminders of the price of foolish curiosity. It took her much longer to recover from her brother's death. When his apprentice was 13 moons old, Sandstripe watched with proud eyes as she gained the name Rabbitleap.

However, the beaver encounter had a more profound effect on the warrior than it did the apprentices, and once more, Sandstripe found himself fighting off nightmares of the beaver attack from his kithood. But now his mind had warped them, intertwining what actually happened with effects belonging purely to his imagination. His fear of death still simmered quietly below the surface of his conscious mind, kept at bay only by the pride he felt at conquering said fear. In the warrior's mind, the way he had leapt to the defense of the three apprentices proved that he was no longer ruled by his desire to survive, that he could make choices independent of that need. It marked a large milestone in his life and had an obvious effect on him.

At 36 moons, the warrior was now confident that he could counter any mental adversary, and he gained a belief in himself that he had not known he had lacked. Though his polite but outgoing personality had been noted, Sandstripe became even more of an active participant in clan life. Having defeated his greatest fear, he gained the mentality that nothing the tangible world could do should cause him any worry; after all, he had almost always been toward the top in the skill level and ability of RainClan, and it was in the real world that he succeeded. He went about his duties with a cocky assurance in himself and began to take more risks, delighting in his newfound freedom. He and Cedarstorm were as close as ever. He was practically invincible. Even Shortstride's and Sparrowflight's newest batch of kits, two small toms named Rowankit and Tigerkit, adored him, and his mother recovered steadily from another hard birth.

Until, almost 4 moons later, after Mosspaw had become Mossgaze, Sandstripe landed Beaverpelt in the medicine cat's den due to his own cockiness. Immediately he recognized that the incident had been his fault. Unfairly, in his opinion, his former mentor had been worse off. Beaverpelt insisted that it was not Sandstripe's fault; after all, the brown furred warrior had agreed to the challenge born of his former apprentice's wounded pride. The two had chosen to hold a fishing competition in the trickiest fishing place, perched precariously on the slippery rocks across the river. They were both competent fishers and Sandstripe was unfazed by the risk of danger; he knew that he could handle it, and if he could, then his former mentor could as well. It had been for old times sake, but Beaverpelt was not as young as he had once been, and the tom had lost his footing and fallen into the water. Sandstripe had pulled his mentor to shore, but not before Beaverpelt's leg struck a stone. The bone was broken and it would not heal properly; this injury would cause the older warrior to retire early to the elder's den.

It was a wake up call for Sandstripe, and cooled his pride noticeably. Once again modest, and now painfully aware of the price of overconfidence, the warrior took away an important lesson from this. Though he continued to be just as outgoing and helpful, he no longer walked around as if he ruled the world. The importance of personal safety came to the forefront of his mind; if he kept himself uninjured, then he could fend for himself and survive any challenges that much easier. To accomplish this, the warrior made sure to learn his own limits and stay within them. He no longer let praise go to his head like he had before, and he was not oblivious to the fact that his foolish challenge could have ended with the loss of a life. But Sandstripe could not dwell on that very long; it was too close to hinting that he might have been the one to die, instead of Beaverpelt. And that idea was unbearable to say the least.

And so, when Rowankit and Tigerkit became Rowanpaw and Tigerpaw, the older step-brother had grown in maturity and responsibility. He was ready to oversee their training from the sidelines when their mentors both proved to be less than capable teachers. It was then that he realized the true importance of training the next generations of warriors and the effect that bad teaching would have on RainClan's future. In a practice that would eventually grow to include all and any of his clan's apprentices, Sandstripe began to give them extra lessons in his free time. He reviewed hunting stances, both fishing and on land, and he critiqued their fighting moves with the confidence found from his steady belief that he had conquered his fear. Word of the experienced warrior's actions soon spread among the apprentices, and the tom found other apprentices asking him to help give them extra practice on this tactic or that stance. Needless to say, Yewfoot and Turtlefur, Tigerpaw's and Rowanpaw's respective mentors, never forgave the younger tom for their wounded pride. But they were the only ones who seemed to have an outward problem with Sandstripe's initiative.

Thanks to their grudge, the tom realized how important it was for clan members to get along as well. It would do RainClan no good if their warriors were not talking to each other and could not work together. Competence from training was important, but it was not nearly as effective if the clan's warriors did not work together to get tasks done or win battles. Grudges were inevitable, but the tom felt as though one over wounded pride was a waste. The two warriors, however, did not share his opinion; all Sandstripe's attempts to reconcile were turned away, but that gave him time to work on the other warriors. If he got along with all of them, then they would surely be able to get along with each other. If only because of their common link through him. In the end, RainClan could only benefit from his actions. He had their best interests at heart as he always did.

Other: He was about 7 moons old (if I did my math correctly, but no promises) when Deadjaw became Deadstar. This shift in power marked the time when he first began to toy with the idea of becoming leader and gaining nine lives. It's not a large point, but it would not fit anywhere (and I didn't want to bread the lovely flow of the paragraphs) so I'm mentioning it here.