Rockscreech comes from a long line of guardians in Ridgeclan (on both his fathers' and his surrogate's sides of the family) and it shows in his hulking size and brawny build; he towers over most of his family and has long surpassed his parents and brother in pure strength. It is hard, however, for those outside of Ridgeclan to know Rockscreech is related to any of his family members, as his coat and patterning are so distinctly different from all of theirs; its a sore spot for the tom, however, so its best not to bring it up.

With a near permanent glower and a pelt littered in scars, Rockscreech gives off an intimidating persona to observers. He's lived a hard life, one he is very proud of, and can recount how he got most of his long, twisting scars. Most are from proudly protecting warrior patrols from airborne predators as well as hunting said raptors, but a fair share of them are also from battles he has survived. He sees each one as a badge of honor, a sign of his fortitude, and will happily collect more.

Stoneheart always tells you to try and remember the good times you had with the family...

But truth be told, you can't... not any since Fogkit's death.

---

"I can't believe she wouldn't mention something like that..."

"Well, she is right love: we never asked her about any family illnes--"

"Wasptail should have told us!"

"Cliffstorm, keep your voice down; you'll wait our babies. Don't you think they've been through enough, burying their sister after watching her waste away for three moons?"

"They'll need to tough up someday... We can't lose anymore..."

---

"Rockkit hit me!"

"I did not!"

"Yes she did, yes she did!"

"Calm down, honey," Dad's groggy as he shuffles out of the nest; Rainkit runs to him, crying. "What happened?"

"Rockkit hit me with the mossball cuz I wanted t'play tag instead!"

"No I didn't." Your chest hurts; why is Rainkit lying? He told you to bat the mossball to him so he could play... "He ne--"

"Rockkit." Dad's frowning at you, which hurts, "I know Cliffstorm wants you two to compete with each other, but that doesn't mean you can hurt your brother."

"But I didn't!" Your eyes are burning, but you refuse to cry: Father says your his big she-kit and big she-kits don't cry. Still, you glance around for support - but your only witnesses, two other kits, apparently vanished as soon as Rainkit started shrieking. "Dad, I di--"

"Hush." He sighs, pulling Rainkit close, "Why don't you go find your father? He can put your energy to use and we'll just let you off with a warning with time, okay?"

You want to bash that smug look off your brother's chubby face.

"Rockkit."

"...okay."

---

"You really think you're all that, huh?" The urge to smack your brother around has only grown stronger as you two age, "Just cuz you're stronger and bigger than me, you think you're the best."

"I have never said that." You narrow your eyes at him, a warning in your tone as your claws flex, "Stop being such a brat."

"You wanna hit me," Rainpaw notices your agitation and leans in with a sneer, "Go on then, do it; you'll just prove my point."

"And what point is that?" You return his sneer with a bigger flash of teeth, tired after a day of training and not in the mood to entertain whatever utter crap your brother has cooked up in his skull, "That you're jealous and never learned to share?"

"You don't get it; you never have!" He's snarling now, raising his voice and getting to his paws, like that will make him any taller than you. "Father is always 'Rockpaw is growing so fast', 'Rockpaw is so strong for his age', and 'Rockpaw is going to make a fearsome guardian' - it's so stupid you get praise for just existing! And what do I get? Huh?"

"What do you get?" You copy him, finding your way to your own paws, and tower over your brother, feeling something boiling over in your chest as you howl back; "You've never had to take responsibility for a thing in your life! You get away with everything because Dad always believes you when you point the finger at anyone else!"

There's an immediate silence that follows and you know that it'll only be a few heartbeats before someone - likely your mentors - come to investigate. It's probably for the best that they'll come sooner rather than later, as the urge to claw your shitty brother's pelt to shreds is more powerful than ever.

Still... you can't help getting the last word in: "Maybe if you weren't such a liar, someone would be proud of you."

---

"This pettiness with your brother must stop, Rockpaw," Bramblingback is in a lecturing mood today, unfortunately for you, "You are both untethered of your fathers' influence and it is time to put all this childishness behind you both."

It takes a far greater deal of strength to not roll your eyes than you will ever be able to tell someone, but the old tom's on a roll, so he probably wouldn't notice anyway. You follow behind him, dusty, thirsty, and tired after a day in the sparring ring; you'd been mostly unbeatable, save for a few other Guardian apprentices with some fancy footwork, and had even gotten the chance to put Rainpaw in his place.

He keeps drawling on as the pair of you return to the camp clearing and, as he honestly isn't even paying you any mind, you dismiss yourself; he'll go huff and gruff to other some other Guardians later, when he realizes you've gone off, but your results speak them for themself, so you aren't too worried about any backlash today.

There's chatter in the apprentice den as you duck inside, but it stops abruptly once you muscle all the way in. You glance up and smirk at the slight puffiness to Rainpaw's face - maybe you had been a bit too harsh in trouncing your brother...

But you learnt a long time ago that nothing got back at the little lying shit like showing him you had brawns and brains - to prove his rumors wrong and all that. He sneers at your smirk and, as he slinks outside, one of his prettier lackies offers a snarl at you before trotting outside.

"Your brother's kind of an ass."

You cut your eyes over as a lithe tortoiseshell sidles up next to you, eyes on the den entrance as the last of Rainpaw's cronies exit; she then rolls her eyes over to you and offers a crooked, toothy grin - what was her name? Flarepaw?

"Aaaand a liar."

"...mhm." You don't spare her a bemused frown, especially as she sits next you and then has the nerve to gesture for you to join her.

"I feel sorry for those 'friends' of his, too," she tuts, then shrugs: "My sister won't listen though, thinks he's really flirting with her; none of them see he just keeps them around until their use runs out or he gets bored. Kind of sad."

At least someone sees it.

"You should have seen Shalepaw tear into his tail when he tried to say you cheated at sparring today! It was beautiful!"

After another heartbeat - because you do have your own reputation to foster - in which she just waits patiently, starring, you sit down next to her.

"...tell me about it."

Flarepaw gladly does.

---

"Another day, another scar, huh, bud?" Shalebelly ribs gently, thinking himself sly as he tries to subtly herd you towards the medicine den as the patrol slides into camp; "Trying to impress anyone special?"

"You wish!" Flarepatch pops up on your other side and, as she presses into your good flank, you start to dig your paws in, "He's just being his usual overzealous, fiery self."

"Maybe he's trying to impress Wolfstar to get himself an apprentice," Your fellow guardian chuckles, gently closing in on your bloodied side; your eyes dart about, but your two friends have cut off any exits. "He's been soooo attentive the last few ceremonies, like he thinks he'll get one soon."

It's impressive what the combined effort of the two can accomplish, as you are slowly but surely redirected towards the medicine den. After a bit of stalling and huffing angrily, you give in: you back is killing you, the fresh talon wounds still slowly leaking down your flanks - and into the pelt of your friends.

Nothing life-threatening from what an older Guardian commented, but...

"You two are unbelievable." You grump lowly, ears pulling back as Sootwhisker greets your trio.

"Your welcome!" Flarepatch beams and Shalebelly is chuckling, a purr underlying his laughter.

---

"It's not right."

"Martenpaw," She pauses and cocks her head at you, "Get lost."

"Did you hear me?" Raintail cuts into her path, stopping your new apprentice from leaving. "I sa-"

"Raintail." She glances between the two of you, but finds her window of opportunity when you slam a big paw down between the two. "Watch. It."

"Oh, you think your so great, don't you?" He shuffles back nonetheless, tail lashing in clear irritation, "Just because Wolfstar prefers for brainless muscle to raise the clans next generation of warriors than the truly brilliant."

"Yes, the truly brilliant - I'm sure Flarepatch will appreciate the compliment." And where is she, anyway? You peer over your brother's head, already exceedingly done with this conversation - the tortoiseshell had pestered you so much last night about training the runts together, you'd have thought she'd be waiting out here for you instead of Martenpaw.

"It's bad enough that that ugly little clanless runt thought she was good enough to have my kits," he mirrors your attempt to side-step him and holds your glower when your forced to look at him: "but now, you get your apprentice first too! We should have at least got them to-"

"Raintail," there's Flarepatch, "grow up already. And move."

He snarls, but, using your shoulder, you shove him to the side; as he - unfortunately - avoids slamming face first into the rocky ground, you throw in: "I'm sure your little playthings are getting tired of waiting for you to catch up to them in maturity."

---

You haven't been aware of how truly impressionable your clanmates are until recently.

"My mother says the Oracle must be right!" Martenpaw murmurs, the fresh snow crunching under her paws as she shifts her weight; at 11 moons old, you expected better of her. "That Starclan caused the tree to fall for a reason!"

You hold your tongue and manage, somehow, to stop your resting glower from slipping into a deadpan as the three of you stare across the fallen trunk. Snow is already gathering on top, but the added weight hasn't seemed to move it; it's likely here to stay.

"What do you think, Rockscreech?" Shalebelly's young apprentice peeks around your hind leg, gaze darting between the roaring rapids and the distant land beyond the other bank. If you'd known that agreeing to take the runt to give your fellow guardian a break (his headaches are often worst in leaf-bare) would mean you had to deal with a clingy mama's boy, you'd have foisted him off on Flarepatch for the day.

You're not stupid: you see the storm brewing on the far horizon; Wolfstar and the Oracle are working the clan into a frenzy for a reason, for some sort of a goal. And while you'll never voice it aloud, you just wish they'd chosen literally anything other than religion to stir the masses.

If you want to start some kind of fight, you internally roll your eyes, then just say it. Its demeaning to all of Ridgeclan fucking mouse-foot around the true subject.

Besides, the more zealous the clan gets, the harder it is to avoid the topic of Starclan; and, unfortuantely, someone will sooner or later wonder why you - the ever rudely opinionated guardian - keep your thoughts to yourself on such matters.

Fucking kill me, you seethe a bit, if I don't want a repeat of Cliffstorm's lecture.

"I think," the words slip past your tight teeth, tone snappish "we're out here to guard a patrol; a patrol that is leaving us behind."

Properly cowed, Shalebelly's runty -paw turns tail and hurries to catch up with the warriors moving upstream; Martenpaw, however, stays and holds your gaze. Temper flaring, you give her a half-snarl in response. She nods and, with one last glare over the river, scurries on.

...great, now you're getting a headache.

---

"Raintail says Mistclan is increasing its patrols on their side of the fallen tree."

"Can you blame them? I mea-"

"Flarepatch, do yourself a favor and shut up."

---

You don't bother to go over and congratulate Martenfang on her new rank - she has plenty of family to do so, crowding about her now - but you do offer a proud nod when she catches your eye; it's enough, apparently, as she brightens visibly before turning back to her littermates.

"You should go congratulate your brother," Stoneheart smile as he appears at your side, obviously proud, "His first apprentice! How exciting."

Cutting your gaze around, you give your dad the most unimpressed frown your can muster - and where was your congratulations when Martenpaw was apprenticed to you? The most Cliffstorm did was gruffly inform you of what an honor it was to teach the next generation of guardians.

Speaking of, you note your father at the back of the crowd, talking with Bramblingback; he looks pissed and your former mentor's sporting an unhappy look too. He is likely ashamed that that Martenfang chose to became a warrior and not continue her training to became a guardian like you. He will, undoubtedly, blame you - as he has over your increasingly volatile personality clashes when he tries to treat you like a kit and your lack of enthusiastic faith that Ridgeclan is favored by the supposed ghosts of generations past - and lament on where he went so wrong as a parent.

"No thanks, Stoneheart." He recoils in your peripherals, though you're not sure if its because of the use of his name or because of your abrasive, half-snarling tone, "I've got a patrol to escort."

It was a blatant lie, made obvious by how Flarepatch and Shalebelly were already waving you down nearby. If any of that hurt Stoneheart's feelings, then - in your opinion - he has no one to blame but himself... And perhaps his mate.

Without another word, you move off through the crowd, pointedly cutting across in such a way that you shoulder right through the middle of Cliffstorm and Bramblingback's conversation. Your two... friends, greet you with gently jostling and congratulate you on not murdering your apprentice and making jabs at your newfound patience...

You barely hide an amused smile; sometimes friends are better than family.

---

As Ridgeclan's strongest fighters, you are not surprised when Wolfstar elects to bring as many guardians as warriors - if perhaps not slightly more - on his attack into the heart of Mistclan. It's time to claim the Mooncave, he had told the masses, just as Starclan attended.

Flarepatch chooses to stay behind, to guard camp, and so gives up her spot to Maternfang. For a normally jovial soul, the way she makes you and Shalebelly promise to come back, alive, is somberly serious.

If anyone in the clan thought this would be an easy fight, an easy conquest of the area, then you would have gladly boxed their ears and called them several kinds of stupid to their face.

The Mistclan warriors know the land, the trees better than your clanmates; they meet Ridgeclan's assault with grim fortitude - this, even you will admit - and they fight like loosing is not an option.

They fought like survivors, Shalebelly would comment in the aftermath.

You loose sight of your friend in the chaos of it all and, while admittedly, exceedingly worrying, you don't have time go look for him as a lean blue bicolor molly cuts into your path. She's half-blind, so you will admit to being a tad overconfident in your ability to take her on; she quickly puts you in your place, leaving several gouges in your legs as she dances around you.

In your mounting frustration, you almost don't notice the Mistclan cat's clanmate charging your - thankfully, he's a moron, so his holler of her name gives you just enough time to side-step his rush.

For apparently knowing each other, the two don't fight well together; it's easy to see the tom is worried about keeping you away from the older warrior and you gladly use that to your advantage. He's smaller than you and not nearly as fast as his senior, and he gives you his back for just a moment--

You slam him into the ground and flip him over; the molly shrieks and claws onto your back and he shoves his front paw your face, like that will dislodge you. Pushing through the pain, you open your mouth; his paw slides in and you clamp shut--

In one short move (the kind you throw your entire bulk into), you've twisted his paw out of socket and slammed the underside of his leg with a powerful blow, ripping into his flesh with your claws too for good measure; it snaps and crunches and his yowls ring distantly in your ears, the rush of battle and blood too fresh to distract you from finishing this--

Claws slice in your cheek, just a tad too close to your eye, and the close call is enough to jar you; your assailant on your back uses the opportunity to dig in, causing you to stumble. Then there's some other cat ramming into you, their teeth grazing your neck.

You quickly realize your new opponent - where do these fucking cats keep coming from?! - is smaller than the half-blind warrior you'd originally picked a fight with, and her technique is off; she's clearly far more used to hunting than actual fighting, so shaking her off is easy. You've got the upper hand once more, when that fucking nuisance is clambering onto your back again, yowling some form of a war-cry...

But you won't be foiled again - you're gonna get yours, stars be damned!

Except these two know how to fight together, to work as a cohesive unit; its only Martenfang's arrival that turns the tide. You don't really notice she's there until she's tearing into the belly of the runt, pulling them off you. Before the two of you can turn the tide, though, a call rings out: Prairieclan has come to aid Mistclan.

With your pelt ripped and shredded in several places, you're forced to retreat with your former apprentice.

As more of your clanmates fall back, Shalebelly finds you, thankfully in better shape than either you or Martenfang; the trek back across the tree bridge is hastily done and, before you can steady her, Materfang - weakened, likely, and injured - slips and plummets into the rapids below. You feel your heart shudder as Shalebelly herds you along, not letting you stop, the rush of battle leaving you abruptly cold as she vanishes under the current.

This battle is clearly lost; what a mistake.

---

You take a rotation of guard duty at the tree bridge; the metaphorical storm has arrived, but it has yet to move on from where it hovers over the clans. Tenses are still high, and are not sure when they will dissipate... Your wounds have healed, but the battle is still a sore spot for your ego.

Between Martenfang's death and the loss of Wolfstar, the only good outcomes of the whole debacle is that there is no longer an Oracle in Ridgeclan and...

Well, you've made a new friend; Cherrynose is so similar to you that, honestly, you are still surprised by how well the two of you get along. But grief at what you both lost in the aftermath of  the battle with Mistclan has bonded the two of you and its... begrudgingly nice to have another you can count on; Flarepatch and Shalebelly are, at least, happy to have her around.

Movement across the river has you and your fellow guard perking up, and you don't bother to hide your glare at the Mistclan patrol that stops to mark their side of the tree of the bridge. You rake your gaze over the group, but you don't spot any of those three traitors amongst their ranks; its probably for the best, especially that Dawnclaw is absent, or else you might do something provocative.

The Mistclan cats eye you wearily as you raise to your paws and approach the part of the trunk that rests on Ridgeclan's side of the river; you prop your front paws on it and, not looking away from the lot of cowards across the way, leave long, deep furrows in the bark with your claws. The scrapping sound echoes across the waters, despite the lively air of green-leaf.

Try. Me.

appearance