Gullstep

Gullstep is a white tom with a silvery tabby pattern down his back, and navy blue eyes.

## Personality

Like his father, and his father before him, he happens to be more on the serious side, usually wearing an impassive, somewhat bored expression that gives nothing away. He gives one-word answers to others' questions whenever he can, and he can give the impression that he's quite irritable or a bit of a misanthrope, as if even being too close to other cats disgusts him. In reality, this is not the case. Around those he knows and trusts, he is far more open and relaxed, being a bit sassy and sarcastic instead of the abrupt and dismissive way he often treats those outside of his circle. He doesn't open up easily, even to those he's close to, instead tending to bottle up his emotions, sometimes drifting off into a sort of daze – staring off with glazed eyes, responding even less than usual to those around him, totally lost in thought – to reflect on his own feelings from time to time, trying to work things out for himself without assistance. Though his little "meditations" do help, they are often insufficient for him to deal with his thoughts and feelings; he, like his mother, is very compassionate and empathetic, able to feel and understand others' emotions or motivations on a deeply personal level, and others' troubles and moods tend to affect him one way or another. Of course, this isn't really obvious to others, since he usually has a poker face, and he wouldn't normally admit to it if asked, anyway. When his emotional state gets too bad, he sometimes devolves into panic attacks or screeching breakdowns, all of which he desperately tries to hide and make sure he's alone when having them, as he doesn't want to expose his insecurities or flaws to those around him. Since he is half-Clan and has rogue blood in his lineage, he sometimes (especially during his "meditations") wonders about the world outside of his Clan, and may tend to stray closer and closer to the border of MeadowClan territory and the reprehensible unclaimed terrain. Though these little trips around the very edges of MeadowClan's territory usually satisfy his wanderlust for a time, he always feels very guilty about it whenever his mind wanders towards thoughts of leaving. What would his parents think? What would the Clan think? Would he be kicked out for being disloyal if they saw him? So, if he's questioned on his whereabouts on a day where he edges closer to the border, he tends to go into a mental panic – it won't show on his face, and he'll usually evenly lie about where he was and what he was doing, even if his actions were not necessarily incriminating. However, this only ends up making him feel guilty, and – since no lie can really be kept forever – this contributes to the breakdowns that he sometimes suffers when no one is around. On top of the existing humiliation and emotional pain of his breakdowns, they will sometimes merge into angry, rage-filled bursts of hatred that nearly black him out, clouding his mind and leaving his body to tear whatever is in front of him apart. He has absolutely no idea where this trait comes from, and is scared to death of it. With his increased anxiety and fear, his wanderlust only gets worse, which, in turn, only increases his guilt, and that guilt leads to more panic attacks – you get the cycle. His vicious, violent streaks do not come out in every breakdown, so he is always very, very anxious to get out of camp and away from other cats, as he's never sure if he'll get violent during a breakdown or if it'll just be the usual emotional turmoil. His violence sometimes gets taken out on Clanmates as well, much to his horror; if someone sufficiently annoys him or says something upsetting, he'll verbally lash out (not loudly – usually in such a low and steady voice that only the cat he's targeting can hear him). If he's hurting bad enough, which is when he's really at his breaking point, he will go to one of his parents or someone else that he places a whole lot of trust in and just cry into their shoulder and let everything out, until he devolves into a spiraling mess of sobs and torturous thoughts and self-flagellation. Whoever he ends up crying on will have to pretty much coddle him to sleep to get him to calm down again. When he's in a calmer, more centered headspace, he does his best not to dwell on his own doubts, trying to keep himself firmly in the present, and usually paying astute attention to his surroundings, including the cats around him; though he isn't one to just walk up to someone and try to help them out like his mother might, if he notices someone seems to be going through something, he'll try to keep an eye on them from a distance and mitigate any further damage or upset that could befall them – so long as he feels that they're being at least mostly reasonable. While not necessarily open about his emotions, he does rather obviously care about his loved ones, tolerating their antics far more easily than other cats', merely offering cursory rolls of his eyes and the occasional reprimanding swat when he thinks it's appropriate. When joking around, he will usually adopt either dry, deadpan tones, or loftily try to assert some sort of authority over others and endlessly demand respect from them, even though actually being treated with an overabundance of respect, awe, or plain interest tends to make him rather flustered. He can carry on ridiculous notions and hypotheticals with the utmost seriousness for quite a long time without cracking or betraying that he's joking, and often doesn't show amusement by laughing out loud, instead simply offering small, amused smirks, little snorts, or physical gestures such as twitching his whiskers. He deploys sarcasm and teasing insults fairly often as well, and has a pretty sharp tongue when he sets his mind to it, though he tries not to strike any nerves when he's just joking around. Deep down he is a very soft boi, which is more apparent when he's sleepy or has just woken up, as he tends to be clingy in his sleep, and does desire comfort and affection from his loved ones, even though he mostly ignores that and tries to focus on Clan duties and presenting himself as a strong and independent warrior who can provide for the Clan, not someone who needs constant comfort and reassurance.

## Long Posts

he trees beyond the Thunderpath - that is, if trees could think - must have been sick of seeing him by now, Gullstep thought wryly.

Frostflame and Sedgestar, who definitely *could* think, were almost *definitely* sick of him being out here. Gullstep didn't think he'd ever intentionally avoided patrols or other duties before in his *life*, but he sure seemed to be making a lot of excuses to get out of things, lately. Being around groups of other cats had never been so grating. Trying to focus on marking borders or hunting had never been so difficult. Staying in camp for any amount of time had never been so excruciating.

The only times he found himself not nearly coming out of his skin was around his littermates or Sweetpaw - at every other moment, his skin crawled and his paws itched with the constant need to *run*.

Everything felt too loud and too close and too *much* inside of MeadowClan's camp. Gullstep had never liked being cooped up in camp anyway, had always preferred running himself ragged being out on the prairies all day rather than spend a full, dull day sitting around, but now being still for any longer than it took him to eat a small meal or sleep (and sometimes not even then) felt *unbearable*. More than once, he had left his nest in the middle of the night to escape the oppressive crush of so many other bodies in the warriors' den - he had run back and forth over the hills until he had no energy left, and collapsed in a heap in the grasses to sleep there instead.

The frustrated search party and stern talking-to from Sedgestar had not served to make him feel guilty about it.

The shaken quietness with which Coralsong spoke to him the following day and Windtooth's more obvious frustration at him were more convincing. Gullstep vowed not to do it again.

During the day, though, nothing kept him from simply leaving camp and not returning until nightfall. Sometimes he would even slip out before dawn, staying out all day to avoid being called for patrols, and avoiding any other cats he happened to hear or scent moving about on the moors any other time of day. Time seemed to pass both painfully slowly and in the blink of an eye when he was out of camp; his twitchy restlessness gnawed at him when the sun seemed to inch across the sky at a snail's pace, but he always found himself sore and exhausted, wondering where the daylight had gone, by the time the sun sank behind the horizon. He was glad to not have been called for any Gatherings recently - he was sure he would have been too tired to stay up under the light of the full moon after a day of constant movement.

But no matter how many hours of every day he spent outside of camp, pushing himself to physical exhaustion, the restlessness didn't abate. Even slipping a tail-length (or two, or a fox-length) over scent markers into other Clans' lands only distracted him for a few moments, before he remembered himself and scurried back to the meadows, guilt thick and tar-like in his veins. He had tried crossing the Thunderpath a few times, but monsters prowled along it more frequently now that the weather was warmer - perhaps they hibernated too, like prey did - and it always seemed just a little too risky for Gullstep to justify to himself.

The trees on the other side of the Thunderpath had bore witness to all of his attempts thus far. He wondered if they would be braver in trying, if they could move. Thinking of their deep-rooted stillness, their immobility, made him feel nauseous, but he grit his teeth, bunching up his muscles. He wanted to be there, so see something different from the grassy hills and tussocks that were so tired and familiar, that he couldn't help but imagine the stench of blood on, that seemed to whisper with kittenish wails when the wind grew too strong.

He snarled under his breath and sprang forward, darting out over the hard surface. He hissed - the sunlight had warmed the sticky black stone uncomfortably, the heat hurting his paws, but he pushed himself onward regardless. *You just have to get across, you just have to go faster, you're almost there, don't stop now you idiot, it barely hurts, don't stop -*

Then the rumble of a monster reached his ears, and for a moment, he froze, panicked.

*Is this how Palekit felt?* he wondered, when he turned his head to see the monster's gleaming eyes staring him down as it barreled towards him. *Wondering if he was fast enough to outrun death?*

He unfroze in time to push himself further, to dive from the side of the Thunderpath into the thin, short grass beyond and narrowly avoid the huge creature, wind tugging harshly at his fur as it sped past him. He sat up with no air in his lungs, coughing at the stench that the monster left behind where it had gotten into his throat, and stared back the way he'd come with watery eyes.

He'd made it.

He had crossed the Thunderpath.

He was outside of MeadowClan's land.

He was outside of *any* Clan's land.

...And he had slipped out of camp to avoid sunset patrol earlier that day just so he could nearly get himself *killed*.

Anger bubbled up in his stomach, and Gullstep forced himself to his paws to cross back over the Thunderpath, this time uninterrupted by any monsters. Almost idly, he wondered if any of whatever sickly, awful thing was contorting itself into ugly shapes inside of him showed on his face. He should be in camp with his family, or out serving his Clan, or *anything* but what he had been doing - but even thinking about doing any of those things made him feel like something was trying to claw its way out of him.

The feeling burned through his whole body, like the dry heat of eyes that could no longer shed any more tears.