Cat's Name: Desertkit
Cat's Age: Just past six moons
Gender: Male
Alliance: ThunderClan (I know, everyone does it...but that's where I'm most knowledgeable.)
Position: Kit
Appearance:{Must include pelt and eye colour} A lean, light brown tabby tom with hazel-green eyes.
Personality: Desertkit, although ready to be apprenticed, is still a playful, cocky little thing. He believes he's unbeatable and is excited for adventure--But he has every reason to feel that way, right? I mean, you didn't see the way he took down those leaves. (...Couldn't resist...)
History: Desertkit was born a single kit in the litter, his mother dying in the process. His father, rather distraught by the whole event, blamed it on his son, taking no further interest in the young kit's life. Desertkit tried not to mind, hardly understanding it all as it was. He also couldn't really miss what he never had, although he did feel the occasional pang of sadness as he saw other cats being praised or comforted by their parents.
The kit often found himself playing alone, though he hardly noticed, his focus on the leaf or butterfly as it fluttered along its way, his rear end high in the air in his eagerness to stalk his "prey". His little adventures often took him out of the camp, though he was always caught and escorted back before he could get very far at all, his head bowed in shame at the lectures he received. His shame would often be quickly forgotten, however, as he spotted another unsuspecting leaf on the ground...
Roleplay Sample: As Desertkit's hazel eyes passed over the crackly leaf as it lay solemnly on the ground, he crouched down, his rear shaking from side to side behind him as he readied himself to pounce. In his mind, the leaf took form of a juicy vole, blissfully unaware of the deadly kit behind him. With a flick of his tail, the light-brown tabby kit leapt, his front paws landing down on the leaf's sides as he delivered the killing blow. Slowly pulling away as realization struck him, the kit's ears suddenly gave a few quick twitches as he turned his head to the side, spitting out his brittle catch--It didn't taste anything like a vole.