Bio: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/348353326/ (Please read the portion where it says "after you've read the writing" in the project's "Instructions" afterwards) Troutpaw hated his name. Not because of the "Trout" part, but more because of the "paw" part. He was a small, weak, pathetic-looking cat with strange, almost hollow, seawater eyes. And, most importantly, he was the runt of his litter- Fallenear of Brightclan's first (and later to be known as only) litter. Troutpaw sighed, which got him a quiet hush from one of the other apprentices- a 6-moon-old tom named Springpaw. Troutpaw glared at his den-mate, but then eyed the Warriors Den enviously again from his nest. It was dark out, and snow had piled upon the ground, so it was hard to make out the large den. The large den that, a little less than two moons ago, had become the new home to his litter-mates- Climbingivy, Rushedstep, and Lakemist. He envied them to Starclan and back- he still remembered how he had worn a fake smile their whole ceremony- how he ignored the roaring jealousy in his stomach which was primarily focused on how he had gotten held back. He hated the ceremony- *despised* the ceremony. He wished it had been Climbingivy- his rude, prideful brother- who got held back, not him. Climbingivy was respectful and many cats liked him. He held power. Troutpaw wanted power. Troutpaw wanted to scream- to roar- with anger, but instead he shook himself noisily. He breathed in slowly, then out. He had to take a walk to calm himself- that's what his sister Rushedstep told him to do whenever he got especially angry (It happened quite a lot when they were all apprentices together). As Troutpaw stood up and made his way out of camp, he smiled at the thought of Rushedstep. Sure, when they were all apprentices and kits she was disrespectful and a bit of a bully, but she always looked after Troutpaw. In Rushedstep's eyes, Troutpaw was worth fighting for. If only the others- his clan-mates- could see that. When Troutpaw exited camp, he mindlessly walked around. Eventually he ended up walking next to a river- it was alarmingly deep, with pieces of ice and snow and a strong current- but he took no notice. He was too caught up in his swirling, dizzying thoughts. It slowly started to snow again. This was what snapped Troutpaw out of his daze, and he soon spotted a mouse near the river. A mouse. Prey. Troutpaw smiled triumphantly to himself. He imagined himself walking into camp with a fat mouse, his hungry clan-mates gazing, amazed, at him. Fallenear would be so proud- Lakemist and Rushedstep would be overwhelmed with joy. Even Climbingivy would smile and watch him with an approving blue-green gaze. Troutpaw practically glowed as he gazed at the mouse. His ears perked and he crouched, eyes wide, careful not to make too much noise on the snow. He stalked the mouse, and even surprised himself with how quiet he was being. He was getting closer... And closer... And closer... And then he pounced. That was his mistake. The mouse had heard the crunch of snow right before he pounced when he had put his power into his hind legs. The mouse darted away, and Troutpaw's ocean eyes widened. He turned his body in mid-air, and soon regretted it. The dappled tabby tom yowled as he crashed into the snow, body twisted. He thrashed as he rolled and, with a crash, fell into the rushing, freezing river. His cries were muted as he went underwater. He flailed his paws around, trying to grab hold of something with his paws- *anything*. The current carried him quickly along the river, and whenever he grabbed on to something, the water would shove him along, scraping his pads. He finally managed to get a grip on the muddy snow and his head surfaced. He gasped for air, chocking water out of his throat. He tried to climb out, but he didn't have enough strength. He yowled in pain as his claws could take no more and let go. He- once again- descended into the thundering river. He seemed to enter the river quietly and, all in one moment, hit the bottom of the river. He felt the right side of his face (and nose) suddenly burn, like a wave of pain crashing over him as he scraped against the river floor. He opened his jaws to scream in distress, but murky, ice-cold water flooded his mouth and throat. And, as he opened his left eye, he spotted a rock ahead. He was going to hit it. Troutpaw wailed (or tried to) as he attempted to swim upward. It didn't work. The rock was getting closer and closer- just like he had been not so long ago to the mouse. Except, he thought, he would not be as lucky as the mouse. And, before Troutpaw knew it, he winced and the burning side of his face crashed into the rock. He blacked out. (Notes and Credits)
(Continued) ... -Some time later- ... The gray-blue dappled tabby tom awoke with a start. He was in some type of den- a huge one, to be precise. A female two-leg stood over him, watching him with a worried stare, a male two-leg peering down with equal concern. The tom stared blankly at both of them. Then, ever so slightly, his brain seemed to "begin working" again. First off, his face burned. Bad. But he decided to ignore that and think. 'Who were these two-legs?' was the first thing to come to him. The word "two-legs" in general seemed strange in his mind. Where had he learned it from? Then another thought came to him; Who *am I*? His memory was a lot more than fuzzy- no names popped into his head, no faces, no... Well, nothing. Then he remembered something. A name. Rushedstep. He frowned, and the female two-leg started saying something to the male (The dappled cat took no notice) and wondered why that was his name. Maybe it wasn't. Then he thought of something. When you took a rushed step you tripped, right? So... His name was Trip. Trip smiled. He liked his name.
