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Description
History:
Yarrowpath was the mother any cat would have loved; kind, affectionate, doting and just the right amount of protective for her little ones to learn from their mistakes under her watchful eye. As a mate, however, she left much to be desired. Many would assume that her warrior name was intended to imply that she was sure-footed or steady, a cat who knew where to walk in life. In actuality, it was their leader’s subtle jibe at an apprentice who won as many hearts as she broke, wandering from relationship to relationship like a bee to flowers.

Six moons after becoming a warrior and she was heavy with her first litter. It came as a surprise to no one, if anything it was expected. What struck their tiny community was that none of the toms in their clan were responsible for it. She wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about her whirlwind romance with a rogue she’d ‘met’ - most assumed she’d been lured given the fact that her mysterious lover never returned to their borders after she’d joyfully exclaimed that they’d be parents. No, Yarrowpath hadn’t been embarrassed… she’d been furious. Because she had never been the one on the receiving end of a break-up and it galled her to be saddled with scornful gazes and mocking smiles leading up to the birth of her children.

Flintkit was born alongside another who died only two days after coming to the world. Single kits were a rarity and it made for an even tenser atmosphere in the den when the kits eventually grew big enough to romp around together and other mothers discreetly tried to exclude him. Flintkit, none the wiser, was a tenacious soul and didn’t allow the adults to keep him completely isolated.

Yarrowpath was not as thick-skinned as her son, whom she gave the majority of her attention to as the clan returned to something that was quasi-normal. The first time mother hadn’t cottoned on immediately to what the other Queen’s were attempting but the moment that she witnessed it herself, she got into a full blown screaming match, one that was thankfully stopped before it could come to blows. However, it was Flintkit’s first brush with the knowledge that, to his clan, he was Other.

Life trudged along as it so often tends to and Flintkit became Flintpaw, embracing an uneventful apprenticeship to Barkfoot and ascending to Flintloch half a dozen moons later. His upbringing was healthier than others who know his demeanor would suspect. While his social foundations had been rocky at best, Flintloch had ingratiated himself with his peers and elders to the point where the mistakes of his mother no longer reflected quite so harshly on himself. His improved standing in the community likewise bettered Yarrowpath’s whose flippant attitude had returned as strong as ever, singing her son’s praises to any ear that would hear her. He paid her only enough attention to keep her from bringing more trouble to his name.

However Yarrowpath wasn’t content to sun herself with the rest of them and eventually started courting a warrior of the clan – Quickrun. Flintloch wouldn’t have cared if not for the fact that as soon as she began carrying on with him, Quickrun made it a point to try and parent him too. It had bewildered him at first, some older tom giving him pointers or chiding him on his tracking technique or trying to be overly friendly with him. He honestly hadn’t known what to make of it at first until Quickrun put in the effort to be doubly obnoxious about hanging around him.

This ‘getting to know your step-dad’ phase did not sit that well with Yarrowpath’s very much adult son, who made his stance plain and in front of a gaggle of their peers after another off-handed comment made by Quickrun. They never really got along after that and their relationship only became that much more strained once his daughters were born.

Pepplepaw was the spitting image of her father and came into her own with the same invasive personality that Flintloch had grown to dislike. Mistpaw was better, shy and polite with her curiosity, which he found much more tolerable. Both apprentices enjoyed their elder siblings company and there were occasional outings where he humored their demands and played with them in the drying forest.

And then, suddenly, it was ash. The acrid smell of smoke still lingers in his lungs, the sharp crackle of burning wood a haunting crescendo whenever he closes his eyes for too long. Fire spared nothing and no one and devoured everything with a gluttonous fury that Flintloch could never image possible. He’d not been in camp when the blaze had begun and it was the advanced warning that probably spared his life. His family were not so fortunate. The two adults had only moments to hastily usher Pepplepaw and Mistpaw out of their nests and tear into the inferno, following the shouts of others who they assumed had found a safe route to escape to… only to be confronted by wall after wall of fire.

Quickrun and Mistpaw made it. Yarrowpath and Pepplepaw did not. The father grieving both a mate and his daughter found fault with him for having not been there to help, for having only cared enough to save his own skin and Flintloch couldn’t find it in himself to disagree. He didn’t care. His life was more valuable to him than theirs and while he would have been sad if the one sister he’d liked had perished, he wouldn’t have grieved for long, he thought. Thankfully, he had the good sense to keep such thoughts to himself.

Personality:

Flintloch is a difficult cat to pin down in terms of personality. He is the type of individual who says what he means to say without the socially expected tact to make his words digestible. There are instances where he is purposely malicious for no rhyme or reason beyond not liking someone – and then there are other times when he prefers not to burn the bridge and keeps his opinions to himself. If nothing else, he has enough of a grasp of eloquence to understand cause and effect, and to know what is and isn’t acceptable. The issue is: he doesn’t really care. His emotional range is theorized to be shallower than a puddle and it’s all the more apparent when his expressions can morph to suit his situation rather than convey a true reaction to his circumstances. Keen of mind as he is, Flint’s tendency to condescend those around him, picking at their metaphorical wounds, makes him a hard sell for most when it comes to allies and friendships, but he’s loyal… to an extent. The tom is only ever looking out for number one. While he may cooperate and coexist in relative peace, his eyes are always looking for the best opportunity with the least blowback.

Relationships:

Mother || Yarrowpath || NPC || Indifferent || Deceased
Biological Father || Flick || NPC || Indifferent || Status Uknown
Adoptive Father || Quickrun || NPC || Disliked || Alive
Half-Sister || Pebblepaw|| NPC || Disliked || Deceased
Half-Sister || Mistpaw || NPC || Liked || Alive

Mentor || Barkfoot || NPC || Liked || Deceased

Mate || N/A

Kits
N/A

Apprentices
N/A

Friends/Foes
N/A

Description
History:
Yarrowpath was the mother any cat would have loved; kind, affectionate, doting and just the right amount of protective for her little ones to learn from their mistakes under her watchful eye. As a mate, however, she left much to be desired. Many would assume that her warrior name was intended to imply that she was sure-footed or steady, a cat who knew where to walk in life. In actuality, it was their leader’s subtle jibe at an apprentice who won as many hearts as she broke, wandering from relationship to relationship like a bee to flowers.

Six moons after becoming a warrior and she was heavy with her first litter. It came as a surprise to no one, if anything it was expected. What struck their tiny community was that none of the toms in their clan were responsible for it. She wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about her whirlwind romance with a rogue she’d ‘met’ - most assumed she’d been lured given the fact that her mysterious lover never returned to their borders after she’d joyfully exclaimed that they’d be parents. No, Yarrowpath hadn’t been embarrassed… she’d been furious. Because she had never been the one on the receiving end of a break-up and it galled her to be saddled with scornful gazes and mocking smiles leading up to the birth of her children.

Flintkit was born alongside another who died only two days after coming to the world. Single kits were a rarity and it made for an even tenser atmosphere in the den when the kits eventually grew big enough to romp around together and other mothers discreetly tried to exclude him. Flintkit, none the wiser, was a tenacious soul and didn’t allow the adults to keep him completely isolated.

Yarrowpath was not as thick-skinned as her son, whom she gave the majority of her attention to as the clan returned to something that was quasi-normal. The first time mother hadn’t cottoned on immediately to what the other Queen’s were attempting but the moment that she witnessed it herself, she got into a full blown screaming match, one that was thankfully stopped before it could come to blows. However, it was Flintkit’s first brush with the knowledge that, to his clan, he was Other.

Life trudged along as it so often tends to and Flintkit became Flintpaw, embracing an uneventful apprenticeship to Barkfoot and ascending to Flintloch half a dozen moons later. His upbringing was healthier than others who know his demeanor would suspect. While his social foundations had been rocky at best, Flintloch had ingratiated himself with his peers and elders to the point where the mistakes of his mother no longer reflected quite so harshly on himself. His improved standing in the community likewise bettered Yarrowpath’s whose flippant attitude had returned as strong as ever, singing her son’s praises to any ear that would hear her. He paid her only enough attention to keep her from bringing more trouble to his name.

However Yarrowpath wasn’t content to sun herself with the rest of them and eventually started courting a warrior of the clan – Quickrun. Flintloch wouldn’t have cared if not for the fact that as soon as she began carrying on with him, Quickrun made it a point to try and parent him too. It had bewildered him at first, some older tom giving him pointers or chiding him on his tracking technique or trying to be overly friendly with him. He honestly hadn’t known what to make of it at first until Quickrun put in the effort to be doubly obnoxious about hanging around him.

This ‘getting to know your step-dad’ phase did not sit that well with Yarrowpath’s very much adult son, who made his stance plain and in front of a gaggle of their peers after another off-handed comment made by Quickrun. They never really got along after that and their relationship only became that much more strained once his daughters were born.

Pepplepaw was the spitting image of her father and came into her own with the same invasive personality that Flintloch had grown to dislike. Mistpaw was better, shy and polite with her curiosity, which he found much more tolerable. Both apprentices enjoyed their elder siblings company and there were occasional outings where he humored their demands and played with them in the drying forest.

And then, suddenly, it was ash. The acrid smell of smoke still lingers in his lungs, the sharp crackle of burning wood a haunting crescendo whenever he closes his eyes for too long. Fire spared nothing and no one and devoured everything with a gluttonous fury that Flintloch could never image possible. He’d not been in camp when the blaze had begun and it was the advanced warning that probably spared his life. His family were not so fortunate. The two adults had only moments to hastily usher Pepplepaw and Mistpaw out of their nests and tear into the inferno, following the shouts of others who they assumed had found a safe route to escape to… only to be confronted by wall after wall of fire.

Quickrun and Mistpaw made it. Yarrowpath and Pepplepaw did not. The father grieving both a mate and his daughter found fault with him for having not been there to help, for having only cared enough to save his own skin and Flintloch couldn’t find it in himself to disagree. He didn’t care. His life was more valuable to him than theirs and while he would have been sad if the one sister he’d liked had perished, he wouldn’t have grieved for long, he thought. Thankfully, he had the good sense to keep such thoughts to himself.

Personality:

Flintloch is a difficult cat to pin down in terms of personality. He is the type of individual who says what he means to say without the socially expected tact to make his words digestible. There are instances where he is purposely malicious for no rhyme or reason beyond not liking someone – and then there are other times when he prefers not to burn the bridge and keeps his opinions to himself. If nothing else, he has enough of a grasp of eloquence to understand cause and effect, and to know what is and isn’t acceptable. The issue is: he doesn’t really care. His emotional range is theorized to be shallower than a puddle and it’s all the more apparent when his expressions can morph to suit his situation rather than convey a true reaction to his circumstances. Keen of mind as he is, Flint’s tendency to condescend those around him, picking at their metaphorical wounds, makes him a hard sell for most when it comes to allies and friendships, but he’s loyal… to an extent. The tom is only ever looking out for number one. While he may cooperate and coexist in relative peace, his eyes are always looking for the best opportunity with the least blowback.

Relationships:

Mother || Yarrowpath || NPC || Indifferent || Deceased
Biological Father || Flick || NPC || Indifferent || Status Uknown
Adoptive Father || Quickrun || NPC || Disliked || Alive
Half-Sister || Pebblepaw|| NPC || Disliked || Deceased
Half-Sister || Mistpaw || NPC || Liked || Alive

Mentor || Barkfoot || NPC || Liked || Deceased

Mate || N/A

Kits
N/A

Apprentices
N/A

Friends/Foes
N/A