#Mosspounce

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 59

Scrubmask was murdered. The culprit is unknown.

[Image ID: Downstar, Carnationspeckle, and James face Clammask. Under Clammask, Carnationspeckle and James, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING. Clammask says “I don’t… I don’t understand.”]

Scrubmask was scheduled for a border patrol at sunhigh, so she went for a walk in the morning. It was now late afternoon, and she had not returned to camp. For most cats, Clammask would have waited a while, wondering what mischief they got up to in their free time that kept them from their duties. But Scrubmask? No. Something was wrong.

Downstar sent out three patrols. Waspdawn led Tempestshade, Mosspounce, and Darkkick south. Weedfoot took Wildclaw, Elmsprout, and Drumpaw into the heart of the territory. Downstar’s patrol, which included Carnationspeckle, Halibutdusk, and shockingly, James, headed for the river. That left Clammask and the rest of her kits to wait in camp, stomachs twisted and claws itching.

“We should have our own patrol looking for Ma!” Leatherpaw snapped as he paced around the apprentice’s den. “Why does Drumpaw get to look for her, but we have to stay home?”

“Because your mentors are still in camp,” Clammask reminded her son. She sat in Drumpaw’s nest, giving her three sons extra company in the dreadful wait.

“Weedfoot’s on patrol,” Splashpaw pointed out, batting at the purple ribbon he chose to keep around his neck after his escapade.

“You’re still in trouble for disappearing, regardless of who you brought to camp,” Clammask huffed with a hard look.

“Hasn’t StarClan said anything, Honeypaw?” Leatherpaw huffed, turning to his lanky brother in the corner of the den. 

“Troutpool hasn’t taught me how to petition StarClan directly yet,” Honeypaw sighed. He laid on his side, tail flicking absent mindedly. “I’d go out if I could be any help, but I don’t think Ma wants us to see whatever problem she’s in.” 

“That’s right,” Clammask said. “Your mother wouldn’t want all four of her kits roaming the forest looking for her.”

“But Drumpaw gets to go,” Splashpaw muttered, getting to his feet and mimicking Leatherpaw’s pacing. 

Clammask gave up trying to steer her sons away from their doomed thinking. Instead she set her head on the edge of Scalepaw’s empty nest and studied the den. She hadn’t been inside the apprentice’s den since she graduated. She thought back to those first two moons, before Halibutdusk, Shadowdrop, and Wildclaw were apprenticed, the nights when it was just Clampaw, Burdockpaw, and Locustpaw, the first born to RippleClan, ready to make history. How many nights did Burdockcreek keep her and Locustseeker up with a new amazing story about the other Clans? How many pranks did Locustseeker scheme over when Clammask wasn’t looking? How different would it have been if Twinekit made it to that den as well? Oilstripe had told Clammask that all three were watching over her during the birth of her kits… were they there now, reminiscing with her?

A tortoiseshell pelt shifted outside the apprentice’s den. Clammask hurried to her paws. Downstar! She slipped around her impatient sons and joined her leader outside. Downstar, Carnationspeckle, and James all lingered near the entrance, exhaustion pulling at their pelts. Where was Halibutdusk?

“You haven’t found Scrubmask?” Clammask asked. Downstar started to say something, but she swallowed hard instead.

“Carnationspeckle,” Downstar muttered quietly to the brown ticked molly (whose fur had finally recovered from all the mats of her imprisonment), “find two cats to fetch the other patrols.” Carnationspeckle nodded, her stance stiff and paws uncertain as they led her to the warrior’s den.

“You’re stopping the search?” Leatherpaw launched out of the apprentice’s den, lips curled. “That’s our mother out there!”

“Leatherpaw,” Clammask growled, heart aching at the fear in her son’s eyes.

“We found your mother, Leatherpaw,” Downstar said softly. Clammask looked back to her leader. The world became just the two of them alone on the sand.

“I don’t…” Clammask gulped. “I don’t understand.” James whined softly and shook his head, retreating to the elder’s den.

“We found her in the river,” Downstar said. Her tail slipped under her. “She was muzzle-first in the water. I don’t know if someone held her under or smashed her head against the rocks–“

“Someone?” Leatherpaw yowled, his long pelt shaking and standing on end like Downstar was about to attack. “You said someone. You, you think a cat did it. You think a cat killed my mother!” Downstar flinched at the words. Splashpaw and Honeypaw stood in quiet horror in the mouth of the apprentice’s den.

The peaceful and content future Clammask imagined with her mate crumbled around her.

(Clammask: 53, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Leatherpaw: 7, male, warrior apprentice, vengeful, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

(Splashpaw: 7, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still, lover of art)

(Honeypaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

(Downstar: 118, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Carnationspeckle: 61, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(James: 135, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

An injured LynxClan warrior limps into camp, begging for sanctuary.

[Image ID: Leatherpaw, Honeypaw, and Trumpetspore watch a brown tabby enter camp. Trumpetspore yowls, “Spirit of Shadow!” Under the brown tabby, it says NEW PLAYER: RAPIDLEAF, 77, FEMALE, LONESOME, PROPHECY INTERPRETER, + CONDITION: WATER IN LUNGS.]

---

RippleClan had been through hard times; the war with AshClan, freeing Carnationspeckle… Scrubmask’s death, her murder, it was different. The confusion, grief, and rage that covered the Clan was different than anything Downstar had felt since founding the Clan. Scrubmask’s vigil was as noisy as a Gathering, with everyone arguing and debating what exactly happened to Scrubmask and if anyone could have prevented it. Leatherpaw was outright yowling at Trumpetspore, demanding someone, anyone, go out there and find his mother’s killer. Paleseed had to drag him back. Honeypaw was absorbed in weaving a vine necklace with Rabbitjoy, performing his duty as a cleric with unnatural solemnity. Splashpaw, idly rubbing his ribbon against his shoulder, would not leave his mother’s side. Drumpaw could not leave either cat alone.

Downstar didn’t want to think about Clammask.

When Puddlewhisper and Waspdawn returned from their investigation with Scrubmask’s body, they confirmed the patrol’s suspicions. The death blows matched that of a cat, but they were sloppy, lucky strikes. The river washed away the killer’s scent, and Scrubmask had no clumps of fur in her claws to narrow down the killer’s appearance. Both theorized that it was a Witch Hunter, some disgruntled member of the group who disapproved of the uneasy truce and decided to continue the killing. Yet Honeypaw, with a look in his eyes that screamed of wisdom older than he was, simply shook his head and returned to work.

Downstar couldn’t leave her den. First Fennelspot, her most loyal friend, with her since her first moments, gone in a ridiculous accident. Then Rustshade, her staunch supporter and former mate, taken by an oh so deadly disease. And now Scrubmask, the loyal young warrior who wanted something new. Downstar had only managed to drag herself out of camp with the news of Scrubmask’s disappearance. Now? Now it would take an act of StarClan to get her outside. 

She could not see her friend’s body again. She refused.

There was a place between sleep and consciousness that restored little energy and left the mind in a haze. That was where Downstar laid, quiet in her nest, when there was a shift to the chatter outside. Confused and angry mutters turned into sharp and shocked yowls.

“Spirit of Shadow!” Trumpetspore screeched. Downstar forced herself to her paws, heart pounding.

“Ya need your eyes checked, Ms. Trumpetspore,” Parsley scoffed. “That’s a cat.” Downstar hurried out of her den. Water dripped off short brown fur. Soaked paws caught the sand and left deep pawprints. Bleary cyan eyes bounced unfocused inside a large, gaunt skull. RippleClan hissed and instinctively gathered around Scrubmask’s body, despite there being nothing left of her to protect. Downstar recognized the enemy warrior. How could she not? In the days when she was Downdapple and RippleClan was but a dream, Scrubmask frequently appeared at Gatherings with her cousin, born at the same time as her, closer than cousins almost ever were; Rapidleaf.

Rapidleaf shook and coughed, water spilling out of her mouth. She blindly stumbled on, unaware of the angry cats around her. Honeypaw crept closer as Rapidleaf’s steps grew more and more unsteady. Honeypaw reached a paw out to Rapidleaf. Her eyes dilated, wide as the full moon. Rapidleaf swiped at Honeypaw. Her claws barely missed her eyes. Leatherpaw and Clammask, who suddenly snapped out of her spot beside her mate, grieving, tackled Rapidleaf. She shook and spluttered under their combined weight.

“How did a LynxClan warrior get all the way here?” Drumpaw gulped, sharing a scared glance with Splashpaw. 

“Perhaps she came here with a message from Mistlestar,” Spikecrash hummed, carefully approaching the trapped warrior. Darkkick, however, stood in front of her daughter and shook her head. 

“She’s half-drowned,” Troutpool huffed, weaving through the shocked crowd. “I don’t think she even knows where she is.” Rapidleaf panted hard, wild eyes glaring at Troutpool with a killer’s lust. Clammask shoved Rapidleaf’s face in the sand. Her shaking slowed and her eyes dropped. Leatherpaw froze.

“Mom, did we just kill her?” he gulped, turning to Clammask.

“She’s only unconscious,” Troutpool sighed, gently nudging Leatherpaw off. “StarClan only knows what she’s been through. Honeypaw, we need to bring her into the medicine den.”

“During Scrubmask’s vigil?” Trumpetspore huffed. “Shouldn’t we send her back to her Clan?”

“As though she could make it that far,” Honeypaw snapped, nosing Rapidleaf. Sand coated half her body. Troutpool would usually remind her apprentice to respect his elders, but Troutpool stayed silent and got Rapidleaf onto her back. In the confusion of the moment, Weedfoot slunk up to Downstar. Downstar startled at the sight of her loyal deputy.

“If I need to argue with Troutpool, I can,” Weedfoot muttered. “We can send a patrol to bring her home as soon as Troutpool treats her.”

“I’m not sending someone out to die,” Downstar snapped. She was so loud, nearby Clanmates turned their attention from the drowned newcomer to their angry leader. Weedfoot didn’t flinch at the sudden yowl, however. She kept a cool gaze. 

“The last few moons have hurt,” Weedfoot reminded her leader, “but don’t forget you still have a whole Clan at your side, Downstar.” Weedfoot brushed her tail against Downstar’s shoulder and followed Troutpool and Honeypaw into the medicine den. Downstar stared at her Clan. Her outburst was quickly ignored as her friends and family returned to mourning their first warrior. 

And Downstar? Downstar returned to her den.

(Downstar: 118, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Leatherpaw: 7, male, warrior apprentice, vengeful, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

(Honeypaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

(Splashpaw: 7, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still, lover of art)

(Drumpaw: 7, female, caretaker apprentice, loyal, moss-ball hunter) 

(Trumpetspore: 20, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Rapidleaf: 77, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

(Clammask: 53, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Spikecrash: 34, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Darkkick: 119, trans female, warrior, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Troutpool: 20, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense

(Weedfoot: 108, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Lavendertwist heals with a deep scar. He makes sure his collar covers it.

[Image ID: Lavendertwist has a big pink scar across his throat, covered by his black collar. Under him, it says LEVEL UP! GOOD SINGER -> GREAT SINGER, - CONDITION: CLAW WOUND.]

---

“Three—” Lavendertwist began to sing before a cough quickly took over. The sound grew muffled in the hum of the ocean at his paws. His stiff collar acted as a comforting weight against the large scar across his neck. Oh how he had missed his collar over the long season. He didn’t feel like a slab of leather anymore since Troutpool removed those stitches. 

“Three little kits—” Stars damn it! Another awful cough shook through Lavendertwist’s body. He had to get his voice back. He’d explode if he couldn’t talk! The last season of silence had been awful as it was! He slashed at the water with a hiss that made his wound ache.

“There you are!” Elmsprout trotted down the beach, squinting against the morning glow along the water. “From the way you’ve been eyeing the ocean from camp the last few moons, I knew you’d wander out here when you got the chance.” Lavendertwist’s grumpy mood softened as the friend who’d stuck with him throughout his healing journey took a spot beside him (although she refused to touch the salty waves; what a drypaw!). “I told Weedfoot I’d join you for a hunting patrol, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“I’m trying to sing,” Lavendertwist suddenly croaked, the words escaping before he finished his thought. His voice was so ragged! Troutpool insisted it would heal, but the thought of waiting another season to get his voice back made him grit his jaw tight.

“I could use a good song right now,” Elmsprout sighed. “I left AshClan to escape the stress and gloom being the leader’s daughter would bring about, and I didn’t join RippleClan to see everyone chase their tails over Scrubmask and Rapidleaf.” Lavendertwist brushed his paw against his neck, thinking.

“I taught her kits this song,” Lavendertwist said softly, so as to soothe his throat. “She and I weren’t the best mentor and apprentice, but I appreciate everything she did for me back then.”

“From what I know about StarClan,” Elmsprout hummed, “Scrubmask is probably listening now. She’d love to hear your songs, even if she never would have admitted it in life.” Elmsprout giggled as she insulted the dead, and that made Lavendertwist giggle too. He coughed again, swallowing hard. 

“I don’t think I can yet,” he muttered. Elmsprout stared at the blinding light on the ocean, eyes squinting as she thought up a solution.

“I’ll sing it for you?” she said, phrasing it like an uncertain question. “I’m not a good singer, but I can try. What’s the song?” Elmsprout’s gray fur glowed in the ocean’s salty spray, brightened by the simple kindness she likely didn’t realize she was showing.

“Three Little Kits From Camp,” Lavendertwist gulped, blinking wildly.

“I think I know that one,” Elmsprout said. She cleared her throat and sang, “Three little kits from camp are we, pert as a little kit can be, filled to the brim with youthful glee, three little kits from camp.” Elmsprout was right; she was not a good singer. She sounded more like a crow than a songbird.

But Lavendertwist didn’t care. He still loved it.

(Lavendertwist: 25, male, warrior, playful, great singer, good speaker)

(Elmsprout: 26, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

Mosspounce and Lemmy really think the Clan doesn’t notice how the pair look at each other? No one is shocked when they announce they are mates.

[Image ID: Mosspounce and Lemmy sit together. Under Mosspounce, it says + MATE: LEMMY. Under Lemmy, it says + MATE: MOSSPOUNCE.]

---

Yellowcough truly was awful. Sure, Lemmy was no longer trapped in a tiny human den filling up with her own sick and waste, she got the Clan’s strange medicine that helped her breathe, and Tempestshade would visit with whatever meal the artisans and caretakers had cooked that day. But she was still alone in the back of a shipwreck while everyone else in her new home tried to figure out who drowned Scrubmask in the river.

This was the sort of task Lemmy excelled at when she was with the Witch Hunters. It was why Madeline had trusted her to become an enforcer, someone who could protect the housecats and strays of the area under a shared leadership and set of rules. At least Puddlewhisper and Waspdawn were acknowledging her shared status as a codekeeper by filling her in on their investigation. If she had gotten to see the scene of the crime, Lemmy was certain she would know if the killer was a Witch Hunter or not. Alas, she would never know.

Couldn’t the clerics cure her already? She was supposed to be starting a life somewhere where she didn’t have to worry about everyone she slept beside turning on her for dreams she couldn’t control (thanks StarClan). She still had a foggy image of RippleClan in her mind. She should get to know her Clanmates!

“Food delivery!” Mosspounce carried a dried fish into the quarantine den, tail high. Lemmy had been finishing the last of her medicine when the black tom arrived. She swallowed the bitter medicine as Mosspounce set her food in front of her. Mosspounce then loafed a tail-length away with a stupidly happy expression on his face.

“You could get sick if you stay in here,” Lemmy pointed out as she bit into the fish.

“Troutpool says you’ll be better in less than a moon,” Mosspounce explained. “You probably aren’t even infectious anymore!”

“And yet I still feel like I’m breathing rocks,” Lemmy scoffed. Mosspounce chuckled, even though Lemmy wasn’t joking. Her pain eased slightly. 

“Well, um…” Mosspounce laughed, settling deeper into the den, “there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“Lemmy, did you finish your medicine?” Honeypaw poked his head into the quarantine den. “Oh, hello Mosspounce. Are you two finally mates now?” Lemmy stopped breathing. Mosspounce laughed again, this time with more strain in his voice as he kept his gaze away from the other cats in the den.

“I, uh,” Mosspounce coughed, “I was, uh… about to ask that. Actually. Thought, uh… since you helped me so much, Lemmy, and you know, left your home for us and all that… maybe we could be mates?” By the crows, the hope in Mosspounce’s face hurt. Why wasn’t Lemmy breathing? If she didn’t like Mosspounce, she would have been able to say so with ease. So why weren’t her words coming to her?

“Alright,” she said, despite herself. Mosspounce’s face glowed.

“Really?” Mosspounce gasped. “Thank you, Lemmy! I promise I’ll make you happy here.” He jumped to his paws and ran to Lemmy, but both Lemmy and Honeypaw hissed at him.

“She’s still sick!” Honeypaw reminded the eager new mate.

“Right, right,” Mosspounce gulped, backing up. His paw slipped on a clump of moss from a forgotten nest and his legs flew out from under him. 

In yet another awfully uncharacteristic moment for Lemmy, the young tortoiseshell laughed.

(Lemmy: 35, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Mosspounce: 20, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Honeypaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

James can hardly believe how quickly time has passed since Scalepaw was a kit. It feels like just yesterday he was tumbling around the nursery after a moss-ball. Full of pride and joy, James throws his head back and yowls the loudest as his son is named Scaleripple.

[Image ID: Scalepaw, now Scaleripple, stands as a long-furred adult with fully developed vitiligo. Under him, it says LEVEL UP! SCALEPAW -> SCALERIPPLE, AVID PLAY-FIGHTER -> FORMIDABLE FIGHTER.]

---

Scaleripple. Scaleripple. The white-speckled tom silently toyed with the new name as the final moments of his vigil crept to an end and dawn held the world tight. Had Downstar named him after the Clan? After his sister? Was the name based on him alone? He didn’t feel like the sign of change the suffix suggested. He felt rather dull, all things considered.

Although the view from the camp entrance did not allow Scaleripple to see the ocean, he could still hear the waves mix with the song of the morning birds. It was the world’s way of saying, “Hello, new warrior. You might be odd, but we are happy to have you.” It may have just been his own thoughts trying to comfort his strange habits, but it was a comfort nevertheless.

“Guess who gets to sleep!” Lavendertwist poked his head out of camp, beaming. His voice had lost some of the hoarseness from losing his stitches, but it wasn’t back to the bright ringing tone Scaleripple was familiar with.

“I’m not that tired,” Scaleripple noted, surprised at himself.

“The exhaustion will come on later,” Lavendertwist promised. “I was the same way after my vigil!” He sat next to his brother. “Just wanted to let you know before you go to sleep, I’m really proud of you! I know it was probably weird to have your brother as your mentor, especially when I couldn’t complete half of your training, but you turned out fine! You’ll be able to handle whatever comes your way.” Scaleripple dipped his head, warmth filling his chest. “Now, I mean it, go sleep! At least see your new nest.” 

Scaleripple’s tail perked up. He’d grown up with his older siblings telling him about when they came off their vigils and found tiny presents in their new nests. Lavendertwist was lucky; he got a small drum so he could make a beat to the artisans’ performances, singing along. What would Scaleripple’s gift be? 

The new warrior stood, muscles sore from sitting through the night. He followed Lavendertwist back into camp and, with a wave of his tail goodbye, entered the giant warrior’s den. Everyone was up and ready to start the day with the sun, leaving the den an empty field of nests. Well, save for one soul.

“Over here, Scaleripple!” Tempestshade chirped from beside the eastern wall. They kneaded the edge of a fresh nest, eyes sparkling. Scaleripple’s tail lifted higher, and he stepped into the den. His paw touched the soft pelts lining the floor. A painful shiver rattled through him. Oh, wonderful. It had taken him moons to grow used to the pelts of the nursery, then of the apprentice’s den, and how he would have to tolerate the pelts lining the warrior’s den. Yet Tempestshade, unlike so many others, noticed this.

“Hop on the other nests,” they suggested. “I won’t tell.” Tempestshade’s chuckle spurred Scaleripple on. He jumped onto Trumpetspore’s nest, then bounded across Elmsprout and Waspdawn’s nests to get to Tempestshade.

“I asked Rattlepelt if I could help her with your graduation gift,” Tempestshade said. “I hope you like it.” Scaleripple looked down. A small rattle sat amongst the moss and down. Scaleripple took it in his jaws and gently shook it. It wasn’t the loud clatter of many rattles, but something softer, like waves.

“I suggested she fill it with sand,” Tempestshade explained. “I know you tend to hide away during meetings and whatnot, the sound gets to be a lot for you. So, when that happens, you can shake your rattle and focus on the soft sound! It’s just like the ocean, isn’t it?” 

Scaleripple almost wanted to cry. He’d never talked about how peaceful the ocean sounded. He wasn’t much for words, after all. Yet Tempestshade knew. They knew, and Scaleripple didn’t have to explain himself.

“It does,” he said very, very softly, placing the rattle between his paws.

“I’m glad you like it!” Tempestshade cheered. They trotted out, but a moment later backed up into the den. “Uh, I’m glad you don’t leave when you’re alone with me. It… means a lot.” Scaleripple cocked his head. Omen or not, Tempestshade was lovely! Why shouldn’t others be alone with them?

“Alright,” he said. He and Tempestshade couldn’t look away for a while. Eventually Tempestshade licked their chest and hurried out. Scaleripple purred softly and curled up around his new rattle.

It was the best graduation gift ever.

(Scaleripple: 12, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Lavendertwist: 25, male, warrior, playful, great singer, good speaker)

(Tempestshade: 20, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Deeply depressed over the loss of her old friends, Downstar almost lets herself be taken by humans on a walk, but regains her spirit and fights back. The humans kill her in the struggle. While in StarClan, Fennelspot, Rustshade, and Scrubmask encourage her to push on; she still has many moons left to go.

[Image ID: Downstar faces Fennelspot, Rustshade, and Scrubmask. Under Downstar, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING, LIVES LEFT: 5.]

(Downstar: 118, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Fennelspot: 113, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Rustshade: 102, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Scrubmask: 76, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

[rippleclan]

Man how am I 50 notes late to my own fanart?

Thus, the kitocalypse.

[leohnoz]

Ripple ripple Part 2

Category: Meme

Contents: Mosspounce and Lemmy hanging out!

Again, originally i was gonna do the tea meme with the founders, but i decided to do this one instead. Now, for the life of me, i cant find the original video to this, so if you know it please do tell!

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 67

Oilstripe and Halibutdusk have recovered from birth and greencough, respectively. Meanwhile, Paleseed gets whitecough.

[Image ID: Waspdawn says to Paleseed, ““I know fighting whitecough can be awful, so I wanted to give you this tail weave I  made with Rabbitjoy to cheer you up.” Paleseed now has red feathers in her tail. Under her, it says + CONDITION: WHITECOUGH, + ACCESSORY: RED FEATHERS.]

(Waspdawn: 33, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Paleseed: 33, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

Rapidleaf talks with Honeybuzz about what it’s like to be a cleric.

[Image ID: Honeybuzz says to Rapidleaf, “It isn’t worth the pain.”]

---

Honeybuzz adjusted the long hunt pelt covering Tempestshade’s back. The black cat was asleep, one of their few peaceful naps as their leg deteriorated more and more. The thick snowfall outside sent cold air stirring between the wooden walls. Mosspounce and Carnationspeckle tirelessly tended to the fire outside the medicine den, making sure their fellow caretaker would not suffer anymore than they already did. Honeybuzz doubted it would do much, though. Whatever damage the silver jaw caused to Tempestshade’s leg, Honeybuzz and Troutpool only delayed its endgame. 

Honeybuzz groomed Tempestshade’s neck as his patient groaned softly. He muttered a soft prayer and turned to his pots and baskets of medicine. As he checked on the Clan’s supply of painkillers, paws trudged through the clumpy snow outside. Rattlepelt made her way inside, snow gathering in balls on her fox pelt. She slipped it off, seemingly unphased by the storm.

“Are you busy, Honeybuzz?” Rattlepelt asked. Honeybuzz glanced at Tempestshade.

“Not really,” Honeybuzz muttered. He peeked under the wraps on Tempestshade’s leg and sighed. “Are you staying warm, Rattlepelt?”

“As warm as I can be,” Rattlepelt sighed. She strolled by the shelves of medicine sitting along the sand and wood. “I’m hoping to find something for my mood. Something calming. Lavender, maybe?”

“Ah yes, lavender in the middle of winter,” Honeybuzz scoffed, mustering a pathetic laugh. His sarcasm soured at Rattlepelt’s sharp expression. Honeybuzz cleared his throat, further tucked Tempestshade under their pelt, and said, “There are a lot of herbs for mood. What exactly are you experiencing?”

“What am I not experiencing lately?” Rattlepelt sighed, undoing a leather lid from a pot and glancing inside. “You’re the cleric, I would think you’d notice.” Honeybuzz refrained from telling her actually I’ve been quite busy trying to save Tempestshade’s life, interpret a prophecy, and deal with the identity of my mother’s killer, but yes Rattlepelt, I’ve absolutely been studying your mood.

“Mood swings?” Honeybuzz guessed. “Anxiety?” Honeybuzz took the leather lid back from Rattlepelt and sealed the pot.

“The first thing, I suppose,” Rattlepelt huffed. “According to my mate and mothers, I’ve been acting… out of character lately. Not quite as lively as I used to be. You must have something that can bring me back to normal.”

“It might not be herbs you need,” Honeybuzz suggested. “Have you talked with Spikecrash or Paleseed?”

“I don’t need a mediator,” Rattlepelt grunted with a thrash of her tail. 

“You talked with Paleseed all the time when your mother was held hostage,” Honeybuzz pointed out. “Why the refusal?”

“It’s different!” Rattlepelt snapped. She shoved past Honeybuzz and studied the herbs on the other side of the den. “I don’t want others talking about my business. I’d rather deal with it on my own time. You really can’t spare a pot of something? I just need to chew on something so I don’t chew on someone’s head.” Rattlepelt stuck her face into a basket.

“I don’t want to waste herbs on an issue a mediator could resolve,” Honeybuzz said. “Can you please stop looting through our supplies? We need them for Tempestshade.”

“Oh, so you’ll give medicine to an omen but not to one of your Clan’s only artisans?” The curl in Rattlepelt’s lip was like an angry warrior scaring a trespasser from the border. She flung a paw toward Tempestshade’s weak form. Honeybuzz stood his ground; he was not his mentor. Only StarClan could order him around. Defiant blue pierced through angry copper. Rattlepelt’s eyes widened. She groaned, recoiling back to the shelves. “This is what I’m talking about! Can you please just give me something?”

“Rattlepelt,” Honeybuzz said, stressing every word, “I am not giving you a lick of medicine until you speak with a mediator.” Rattlepelt deflated, veiny ears falling. Her claws unsheathed for a moment, stabbing the packed sand floor. She quickly covered them with her tail. She marched to her discarded fox pelt.

“I’d better leave before I do something else I’ll regret,” Rattlepelt grumbled, sliding the wet pelt onto her back. “Good luck with Tempestshade, Honeybuzz.” Rattlepelt stared at the thick falling snow outside the den. She slunk into the gray light with nary a shiver, the fire outside bouncing off her red leather pelt. Just when Honeybuzz began to process the new problem lumped onto his back, Rapidleaf scurried inside. Really? Now, of all moments?

“StarClan, that’s cold!” Rapidleaf yelped, shivering violently. Snow tumbled off her back as she shook.

“I thought you were assisting Troutpool with a ritual,” Honeybuzz sighed, turning to his shelves and pretending to check the herbs in an empty pot. 

“We just got back,” Rapidleaf panted. “I… wanted to talk to you before Troutpool joined you again.” Honeybuzz sighed deeply, gathering his strength. He couldn’t put this conversation off forever. “I’ve been waiting for you to say something to the Clan. Why haven’t you?” Ugggghhhhh why did Rapidleaf have to do this to him?

“You said it was an accident, right?” he huffed, finally facing Scrubmask’s killer. “You didn’t even remember what happened until later. So I’m staying quiet. It isn’t worth the pain.”

“But I killed her,” Rapidleaf said, soft and slow.

“And we moved on!” Honeybuzz groaned, throwing his head back. StarClan, this was like talking to a kit. “Mom took a new mate. My brothers and I graduated. Everyone thinks a Witch Hunter did it. Why would I hurt them all over again with this?”

“Because I killed her,” Rapidleaf said again, emphasizing each word, sinking in Honeybuzz’s strong presence.

“If you want to be punished so badly, confess to a codekeeper!” Honeybuzz snapped. “I am a cleric. I help my Clan. This, what you’ve done? Knowing that now will help no one. Don’t pretend to care about the right thing when you’re just a coward.” Rapidleaf bowed her head low. The bright fire outside turned her fur dark red like dried blood.

“If that’s what you think is right,” Rapidleaf muttered.

“Do your job and we won’t have any problems,” Honeybuzz growled, his golden face burning like the sun in the fire glow. He turned back to his empty pots and said, “Get warmed up. I don’t want to have to treat you for shivers.” He kept his ears perked as Rapidleaf’s paws crunched through the snow. He only looked back when he was certain she was gone. 

Honeybuzz groaned loudly, trudging to his nest and flopping into it. If he had to take this secret to StarClan, he was more than happy to do so. It was just easier. Now he only had three problems to deal with.

Well, that wasn’t true, even if he didn’t realize it yet. He had two problems.

Because Tempestshade had stopped breathing.

(Honeybuzz: 15, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Tempestshade: 28, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

(Rattlepelt: 50, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

(Rapidleaf: 85, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

Tempestshade dies from their mangled leg. Mosspounce tells fond stories of his littermate while Trumpetspore mourns and Scaleripple tries to push his feelings aside.

[Image ID: Scaleripple watches Trumpetspore and Mosspounce leave. Under him, it says + CONDITION: SENSORY OVERLOAD.]

---

James quietly loaded Tempestshade’s body onto his back as dawn glimmered through the snowfall. Troutpool gave up an old vole pelt from her nest so Tempestshade’s crusted, wounded leg could be covered during the funeral. The leather wrapped around their leg and concealed their deadly injuries. Dried herbs poked out from under the leather, hiding the decaying smell. 

Scaleripple could still smell it, though. He smelled every decomposing muscle and faded blood-scent that clung to Tempestshade’s pelt. He could smell Trumpetspore and Mosspounce’s sorrow, still strong after a night at vigil. He could smell the concoctions and ointments the clerics used at first to stop Tempestshade’s deterioration, then to soften the end. He could smell death clinging to the snow that drifted over camp.

“Tempestshade would probably say something silly now about how we should just talk to Oilstripe if we miss them,” Mosspounce scoffed, swallowing hard. Trumpetspore laughed softly, leaning hard into Mosspounce. The laugh was like claws tearing at Scaleripple’s ears.

“Do you three have something to mark their grave?” James asked, shifting awkwardly with the added weight.

“I do, I do,” Mosspounce sighed. He stood, groaning and stretching his back. “One of our bowls broke a few days ago. With how much Tempestshade cooked, I want to use that as their marker. What do you think, Scaleripple?”

“Fine,” Scaleripple said. He stared at the spot where Tempestshade’s body had laid all night. The snow formed a hole in their vague shape.

“Scaleripple?” Trumpetspore peeked around her brother. “I know we don’t talk much, but… thank you for being there for Tempestshade. Mosspounce and I can’t say enough how much that… I’m sorry, I can’t.” It took all Trumpetspore’s effort to get even those few words out. Mosspounce groomed his sister, purring through the pain.

“It’ll be a long walk with this snow,” James sighed. “Let’s get on our way.” Trumpetspore and Mosspounce followed James, but when Scaleripple stayed seated, Mosspounce stopped and glanced back.

“You two bury them,” Scaleripple said. “Be alone with them.” No one had any energy to argue; Mosspounce nodded after a moment and rejoined Trumpetspore on their slow procession to the graveyard. Scaleripple stayed trapped in the scent of death. It clung to his fur like salt. Scaleripple closed his eyes.

“Scale?” Weedfoot shuffled across the thick snow, catching fat snowflakes in her fur. The new scar she sported around her ankle made Scaleripple’s paws burn just from its look. Her whole body sagged like a dying weed as she slipped beside her son. “Do you need me today?”

“I’m alright, Mom,” Scaleripple said. Weedfoot’s pelt was a whisker’s length from Scaleripple’s, but it felt like she was laying on top of him. 

Scaleripple needed that.

“I would have thought you’d go with the others to the graveyard,” Weedfoot noted. 

“I didn’t want to,” Scaleripple said. His gaze was drawn back to the hole.

“Well, I won’t be sending you on any patrols for the next day or two,” Weedfoot explained softly (StarClan bless her, finally a soft voice for Scaleripple’s strained mind). “I know your sister has whitecough, but if you need someone to talk to, Paleseed can listen.” 

“I’d rather go on patrol,” Scaleripple said. His expression remained unchanged, neutral and stuck on the hole.

“I don’t think you’re truly alright, Scaleripple,” Weedfoot mumbled. She got between Scaleripple and the place Tempestshade once laid. Scaleripple blinked wildly, trying to focus on his mother’s form as his vision blurred. He knew what was coming as soon as his ears began to ring.

“Do you want the truth?” Scaleripple asked. The tensions in his shoulders made his muscles burn.

“Isn’t that obvious?” Weedfoot hummed softly.

“No, it isn’t,” Scaleripple said. There was no intended malice, yet his tone still struck at Weedfoot like a rat bite. The ringing in Scaleripple’s ears grew louder. “There’s a lot I don’t understand that others do. I understood Tempestshade, though. They understood me. Now no one understands me.” 

Scaleripple’s eyes could not focus, even with Weedfoot standing right in front of him. Color and shadow melted together like beeswax in a pot. His skin burned. Weedfoot said something, but her words were just like the camp; melted, dissolved, burning. No one understands. No one understands. No one understands No one understands No one understands No one understands NO ONE UNDERSTANDS.

Some part of Scaleripple’s mind heard his Clan gather around him, wondering just what he was muttering. He could see worried faces peering into his huge blue eyes, even if he had no way to react to them. Despite all that, all he could do was stare at nothing, pressure building in his chest, sinking deeper and deeper into himself. The caring words of his Clan blurred together, yet each phrase was clear as air, layering over the next in a bloodbath of screeching bird song.

“Scale, come on now, what are you saying?”

“We should get him out of camp.”

“StarClan, does everyone have to stare at him?”

“Scaleripple, it will all be okay.”

“I understand you, Scaleripple!”

“Leave him alone, this doesn’t concern you.”

“How would you feel if we swarmed you after a vigil?”

“We may not understand you, Scaleripple, but we love you.”

If only Scaleripple could thank the soft, careful voices that slipped through the noise. Perhaps later. There was nothing he could say now. Only collapse into the spiral of his own, odd mind.

(James: 143, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Tempestshade: 28, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

(Scaleripple: 20, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Trumpetspore: 28, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter

(Mosspounce: 28, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Weedfoot: 116, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Weevilkit and Yarrowkit make snow lumps at the entrance to camp.

[Image ID: Weevilkit and Yarrowkit build a snow cat as Wolfkit approaches. Yarrowkit says, “It looks a bit like a cat!” Under her, it says + PERMANENT CONDITION: ONE BAD EYE. Under Wolfkit, it says + CONDITION: BRUISES.]

---

Weevilkit couldn’t feel her nose, but she didn’t care. She rolled snowballs across the camp clearing toward Yarrowkit, who studied the large snow lump she and Weevilkit had cobbled together. The many, many kits of RippleClan had woken up from their sunhigh nap and now ruled the camp, running and screaming through the snow, entertaining one another. Yarrowkit protected the snow lump from her rampaging littermates, leaving light paw prints in its sides. Four snowballs sat along the corners of the lump like fat, lazy paws. 

“Is this big enough?” Weevilkit groaned. She shoved her giant snowball at Yarrowkit with one last mighty push. Yarrowkit trotted around the snowball, gauging just how big it truly was.

“Perfect!” Yarrowkit chirped. “Help me lift it on!” Yarrowkit and Weevilkit stood on either side of the snowball. They tucked their heads under their mound, snow crumbling into their eyes. Necks straining and muzzles aching, they lifted the snowball off the ground and threw it onto the mound. The bottom chunk of the snowball plopped off, making Yarrowkit and Weevilkit shriek.

“Pack it in!” Weevilkit cried. She and Yarrowkit scooped up snow and shoved it under their lump’s new head. Eventually, the lump no longer threatened to fall off. When Weevilkit was certain the structure was stable, she made two smaller snowballs and stuck them on the lump’s head. She bounced off the lump and admired it from the back.

“It looks a bit like a cat!” Yarrowkit chirped.

“Snow cat!” Weevilkit cheered, rearing onto her back legs like a horse.

It was at that moment that something strange occurred, something Weevilkit would not fully understand until she was older. In fact, in the moment, it felt more like a daydream than anything else, something that had come to her in the night and performed for her once more under the light of day. Yet the way she would describe it matched no daydream or typical trick of the mind.

On the other side of camp, Wolfkit eyed a snow pile a few tail-lengths behind Weevilkit. Harvest helped Robinkit and Currentkit build a mountain to scale and dig into like moles. As Weevilkit watched her sister, the gray kit’s form flickered. She stayed where she was, staring hungrily at the mountain, but another Wolfkit charged forward, slipping out of her body like a ghost. There was a fogginess to this second Wolfkit, a transparent and shiny nature that seemed like Oilstripe’s tales of StarClan cats. The real, solid Wolfkit did not react to this secondary form running out of her chest, unseeing.

But Weevilkit saw it all.

This ghostly Wolfkit darted past Yarrowkit. A misty version of Yarrowkit overlapped her living form, fur spiking and lips curling. Two cats existed in the same space, one in the other, making Weevilkit’s head hurt. Weevilkit watched as the other Wolfkit left deep pawprints behind her, even though the snow was no more disturbed than it had been. The other Wolfkit threw herself at the snow mountain. Harvest, Currentkit, and Robinkit gained their own foggy forms, stepping away from the ghost of the mountain. The nonexistent Wolfkit slammed into the mountain, but rather than the mountain collapsing into light and fluffy clumps, her head made a hole in the stiff snow. Wolfkit’s ghost collapsed at the base of the mountain. Weevilkit blinked, and the ghosts were gone.

And then it happened again.

Wolfkit darted past Yarrowkit. The brown and white kit jumped, fur spiking and lips curling. Harvest, Currentkit, and Robinkit hurried back as Wolfkit threw herself full-speed at the snow mountain. She face-planted into the unyielding snow and stumbled back with a loud groan. Weevilkit blinked again, this time shaking out her snow-dusted pelt.

A smart kit would have questioned that strange sight. However (and with no disrespect intended), Weevilkit was not smart.

“Are you okay?” Harvest asked, trying to force back her laughter at the face-shaped imprint in the snow.

“My face hurts,” Wolfkit grumbled, pulling herself out of the snow.

“That’s what happens when you run into a mountain,” Robinkit said matter-of-factly.

“It’s okay,” Currentkit promised. He slipped beside Wolfkit as the gray molly whimpered softly and rubbed her sore face.

“Wolfkit!” Yarrowkit snapped. “Don’t run past me like that! That’s my bad side!”

“Your bad side?” Weevilkit scoffed. “What does that mean?”

“You know!” Yarrowkit whined, smoothing out her fur. “Your bad side! Your dead eye! How would you like it if I scared you like that?” Weevilkit cocked her head so far to the side, her neck hurt.

“I don’t have a dead eye,” Weevilkit said. “How can an eye be dead?” While Robinkit and Currentkit teased Wolfkit, Harvest appeared behind Weevilkit.

“Mom, can you tell her about your dead eye?” Yarrowkit huffed. “Which one is it?”

“Yarrowkit, I don’t know what you’re saying,” Harvest said softly, getting to her daughter’s level. “Is something wrong with your eyes?” Weevilkit peered closer at Yarrowkit’s face. There was a droopiness to her right eye. Her pupil was huge compared to her other eye. A green haze covered the eye, depriving it of its usual sharpness. Harvest leaned in as well, staring intently at the right eye.

“Wait,” Yarrowkit gulped, “is your other eye supposed to do something?” Harvest sat up, swallowing hard. She buried her twitching tail under her flank.

“Yarrowkit,” Harvest said, “can you come with me? I want you to talk to Troutpool and Honeybuzz.”

“But I’m playing,” Yarrowkit huffed, placing a paw on the snow cat.

“You can go back to your game afterward, I promise,” Harvest stammered. “Now come along. You need to tell the clerics just what you’ve told me.” Yarrowkit deflated as Harvest looped around her and nudged her toward the medicine den. She glanced at Weevilkit as she passed, turning her head far to see her with her one good eye. 

Now, truth be told, while she would have to train around it, Yarrowkit would get along just fine with a bad eye. That was not what Weevilkit should have been concerned about.

(Weevilkit: 2, female, kit, bullying, curious about StarClan)

(Yarrowkit: 2, female, kit, noisy, stares at fire)

(Wolfkit: 2, female, kit, polite, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

(Harvest: 55, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Robinkit: 2, male, kit, unruly, avid play-fighter)

(Currentkit: 2, male, kit, polite, constantly climbing)

Anchovykit wakes up with a splitting headache and can’t get out of his nest.

[Image ID: Anchovykit says to Tempestshade, now a ghost, “Do you need help?” Under him, it says + CONDITION: SEVERE HEADACHE.]

---

It wasn’t fair. All the other kits were playing in the snow, screaming and cheering at their winter fun, kept warm by the fire crackling between the elder’s den and the warrior’s den. Anchovykit should have been out there. He had to go out there and play! He was missing out on all the joys of the day!

When Anchovykit stood at the edge of the nursery, looking out over camp, his eyes burned. His head smacked him about like an enemy warrior. The snow intensified the pain. He squeezed his eyes as tight as he could, trying to fight off the headache. Honeybuzz had told him to just rest, but how could he rest when everyone else was having fun?

But then again, with a headache like his, Anchovykit couldn’t play. Especially since it made him see things.

The headache added an odd sheen to the camp. A soft sparkle danced around the medicine den like stars in the day. Weevilkit and Wolfkit, laughing over their snowbound antics, shared in this sparkle. Oilstripe, who told her kits stories by the Shiprock, had a glow to her eyes that made Anchovykit’s pelt itch. Even though the shine clawed at his eyes, Anchovykit found it hard not to look at the odd ways his head toyed with him.

Still, the soft awe of the camp was nothing compared to the sheer horror of looking at Rattlepelt. The furless artisan watched the Clan from the corner of camp, using her fox pelt as warm flooring against the snow. Her single white ear twitched casually as she watched Weedfoot return from patrol with Lavendertwist, Waspdawn, and Puddlewhisper. Her claws poked through the snow as Weedfoot laughed at one of Lavendertwist’s jokes. She groaned softly, forcing herself to look away from the family. 

It wasn’t her gray skin or odd behavior that made Anchovykit nauseous, however. Slime covered Rattlepelt’s smooth skin, slick yet dull like mud. Her legs grew black the farther down they went. Slushy pools of black gunk collected at her paws. She had become a river of dark mud, her body as its source. And then there were her eyes. Gone was the warm and cheeky copper shine everyone found so familiar in Rattlepelt. Instead, bright yellow eyes burned with unhidden, unquenchable hatred, a hatred that threatened to seep into every wrinkle and fold of Rattlepelt’s bony body.

Anchovykit ran back into the quiet shadows of the nursery. Headaches were terrifying! He crawled into his empty nest with a whine. He shoved his muzzle into the moss and leather. The sooner he took a nap, the sooner this headache would go away, and the camp would look normal again. He breathed in the leftover scent of his mother and littermates. He was always safe with them. They would protect him from the horrors of his headache.

“You’re a funny little kit, aren’t you?”

“Clammask, go away,” Anchovykit whined through the moss.

“I sound like Clammask? Huh. Isn’t that funny!” 

Anchovykit wasn’t in his nest anymore. He opened his eyes to blackness below. It was not pure darkness, though; tiny stars glimmered far, far away. The floor matched the ceiling. All around Anchovykit, Silverpelt shone in small white specks. There was no ground for Anchovykit to stand on, but regardless, he stood. He could feel something warm and soft under his paws, but when he lifted them, there was nothing but Silverpelt underneath. His mother had told him that on some nights, Silverpelt glowed with a myriad of colors, but all he saw now was black and white. The sunless land was shockingly warm, warm in the way Anchovykit imagined summer to be, that beautiful season he had yet to see. The clawing, tearing pain in his head was now a small worm, wiggling about behind his eye. Anchovykit stated at his pelt. There was no source of light, but his body was not covered in shadow. There was a dullness to him, something in between light and darkness, the pure essence of his colors untainted by the sun.

“Weird dream,” he muttered.

“I don’t like involving a kitten like this, but they shouldn’t have to suffer for long.” Anchovykit turned around. A blue-gray molly stood behind him. Dark, swirling stripes like water criss-crossed her starry pelt. A moth’s wing hung delicately behind her ear in an impossible fashion, as though the moth had perched itself just on the stranger’s head. 

“You look like Weedfoot,” Anchovykit gasped.

“I should,” the stranger laughed. “I’m her daughter! My name is Ripplefern. I’m a member of StarClan, and I need your help.” Anchovykit’s eyes widened. His mother had grown up with second-paw tales of StarClan’s power, while Anchovykit and his littermates got to hear of their glory straight from the mouth of RippleClan. Now Anchovykit was one of those blessed souls that got visited by the ancestors in his sleep, even if he wasn’t a cleric! He kneaded the invisible ground, purring.

“Am I important?” Anchovykit purred, eagerly running up to Ripplefern.

“More than I can explain now,” Ripplefern sighed. “I have a friend who will spend a long time alone if you don’t help them. Do you think you can help my friend?”

“I’ll try,” Anchovykit promised. Ripplefern purred, her blue eyes growing soft as down.

“Follow me.” Ripplefern turned gracefully and wandered deeper into Silverpelt. Anchovykit stayed at her side, eyes scanning the strange land around him. If this was StarClan, it was really empty!

“Where are all the other StarClan warriors?” Anchovykit asked.

“They wouldn’t be here,” Ripplefern explained. “Sometimes, when a warrior dies, they don’t go straight to StarClan. Sometimes they need to wait a while as we sort through some problems. This is where they go to wait.” Ripplefern looked up into the endless speckled black. “My friend was born with a problem. When they died, the problem sent them here, and they can’t leave until we fix it. But it’s not a problem StarClan can fix alone. My friend could be here for moons if we got help the normal way. But we’re lucky. You’re here.”

“What’s the normal way?”

“Rituals, visions, other calls for assistance from the living clerics. Being alive makes you special.” Anchovykit walked a little taller. He was special.

A figure appeared in the distance. It was hard for Anchovykit to see them with their black fur. Anchovykit’s paws grew heavy when he saw black mud clinging to the figure’s legs. He only managed to recognize them when he saw their dark green eyes.

“Tempestshade!” Anchovykit gasped, leaving Ripplefern behind. “Do you need help?” Tempestshade gawked at the kit. They still looked alive; a little hazy, perhaps, but alive. Anchovykit had only known them with their leg bandaged, but now it was strong and free of scars. They could stand and look down on Anchovykit, just as confused as he was. 

“Do I know you?” Tempestshade asked.

“He was born while you were fighting your death wounds,” Ripplefern explained. Tempestshade only just noticed Ripplefern. They grew as still as they had been when their body laid in camp for vigil. 

“You look better than when I saw you last,” they managed to gulp.

“Anchovykit is here to help you,” Ripplefern said. “Do you see all that black ichor, Anchovykit? I need you to rip it off, like when you tear into a fish.” Anchovykit sneered at the ooze on Tempestshade’s legs. He was supposed to touch that? With his mouth? What could he even hold onto? It was mud!

“Why?” Anchovykit groaned.

“You’re the only one who can,” Ripplefern said. Hmm. Well, if StarClan asked it of him…

Anchovykit peered at the ooze. Maybe if he just bit the whole paw…. He shut his tiny jaws around Tempestshade’s front leg. Tempestshade hissed and smacked Anchovykit.

“Alright, not like that,” Ripplefern laughed. “Just… pretend you’re removing the lid off a pot. Peel the ichor off like you peel off the leather.” Oh, that made much more sense! 

Anchovykit spat out the gunk that stuck to his teeth. He took a big breath and dug his fangs into the black ichor. He pulled at the ooze with a violent, suctioning sound. It was like a paw trying to rip itself from the mud. There was no ground to gain a foothold on, but Anchovykit dug himself in regardless. The ichor stuck to Tempestshade like some many-legged monster of the deep. Anchovykit dug deeper into the ooze and pulled harder. As it stretched farther and farther from Tempestshade’s leg, it began to take a new form. Feline ears poked out of the black. A slender form took shape, its scruff in Anchovykit’s grasp. 

It was a cat, utterly soaked in the gut-heaving black ichor, no bone or pelt to speak of. It wasn’t much smaller than Anchovykit himself. Anchovykit dropped the mewling creature and gagged.

“What is that?” Anchovykit groaned. The creature squirmed and twitched like a newborn, making the worm in Anchovykit’s skull spasm once more in a headache.

“The power of the Dark Forest made manifest,” Ripplefern said, her tone low and serious in a way Anchovykit had never heard anyone speak in his short life. “This is Tempestshade’s curse in physical form, the evil energy that struck out against those who got too close. Your special sight shows you their influence, and the influence of the stars. You are the one who can pull them from idea and ethereal being to something tangible.”

“Huh?” Anchovykit said.

“Strike it along its neck,” Ripplefern sighed, waving her paw at the creature. “Now that you’ve pulled the curse off Tempestshade, you can fight it.” Ripplefern needed to get better at explaining things. Anchovykit may have been young, but he understood what it meant to fight like a warrior.

Anchovykit jumped onto the creature with a yowl more suited to a play fight than true battle. The pathetic thing was no match for a harsh wind, let alone Anchovykit’s tiny fangs. He shoved the creature onto its back and bit into its neck. The creature stopped squirming at once. As Anchovykit tightened his jaw, the monster’s ichor dripped through the invisible floor. It tumbled through the starry abyss below, everfalling, never landing. Piece by piece the creature melted away until Anchovykit’s teeth smacked together with nothing left to hold.

“I just fought a Dark Forest cat,” he gasped softly. His flank wiggled as he cheered, “I fought the Dark Forest!”

“In a sense,” Ripplefern chuckled.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised I didn’t go to StarClan,” Tempestshade said with an awkward scoff. “Can’t really let in an omen, I suppose.”

“It’s not your fault the Dark Forest latched onto you,” Ripplefern said. She slowly approached the black tabby. Anchovykit stepped back before he even thought to give them room. “You did well with what you had to bear. But now you don’t have to wait here anymore. You can come with me.” 

Ripplefern’s nose touched Tempestshade’s forehead. A spark danced where skin met fur. Stardust shimmered over Tempestshade’s head. A glittering wave coursed over their pelt. Brilliant stars danced along the stripes in their fur. The gunk that clogged their paws was now a shimmery, sparkling mist. Tempestshade gawked at their new form, lifting each paw to study the shine.

“Oh,” Tempestshade muttered.

“StarClan is excited to taste some of your food,” Ripplefern purred, bunting Tempestshade’s shoulder. “There’s a lot I want to talk to you about.”

“I just want to know how Moss and Trumpet and Scale are doing without me,” Tempestshade sighed, touching noses with Ripplefern. They paused for a moment, then stepped back. “Actually, no, that isn’t the only thing I want to know. What’s his story?” Tempestshade looked at Anchovykit.

“I’ll tell you in private,” Ripplefern promised. She set her tail on Tempestshade’s back.

“Aren’t you going to tell me?” Anchovykit asked, marching up to Ripplefern. “I don’t know my story either!”

“I’ve shown you what you can do,” Ripplefern sighed, shaking her head, “but you’ll have to work some things through yourself. I’m afraid StarClan can’t do everything for you. Just remember what I taught you, Anchovykit. Be good to your mother.” Ripplefern touched her nose to Anchovykit’s head. It was as cold as the winter chill blowing off the ocean.

When Anchovykit woke up, he still had a raging headache, but that was nothing compared to the complete and utter confusion that made his vision spin.

(Anchovykit: 2, male, kit, charming, curious about StarClan)

(Rattlepelt: 50, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

(Ripplefern: 18, female, historian, charismatic, talented swimmer, good fighter)

(Tempestshade: 28, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Billowkit can’t stop sneezing.

[Image ID: Billowkit asks Troutpool, “So I’ll be sneezing forever?” Under him, it says + PERMANENT CONDITION: ALLERGIES. In the back, Currentkit calls, “Let’s see what makes you sneeze!” Under him, it says + NEW SKILL: HAS LOTS OF IDEAS.]

(Troutpool: 28, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Billowkit: 2, male, kit, bossy, active imagination)

(Currentkit: 2, male, kit, polite, constantly climbing, has lots of ideas)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 65

Clammask gives birth to three healthy mollies not long after Halibutdusk gets greencough. Worried, Clammask decides to name them early.

[Image ID: With Halibutdusk in the background sporting + CONDITION: GREENCOUGH under them, Clammask faces three newborn kits; one red tabby, one white tabby, one black tabby. Under the red tabby, it says NEW PLAYER: POTTERYKIT, 0, FEMALE, SELF-CONSCIOUS. The white kit says NEW PLAYER: MOONKIT, 0, FEMALE, QUIET. Lastly, the black kit says NEW PLAYER: VERVAINKIT, 0, FEMALE, FEARLESS. Under Clammask, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH.]

Somehow, giving birth to three kits was more exhausting than five. Perhaps it was all the stress of recent moons; Scrubmask’s death, three of Clammask’s four kits coming down with food poisoning, casually seeing Halibutdusk only to become pregnant… that was a lot for one molly to handle! Add in the fact that the moon did not shine over the Clans on the first day of autumn’s third moon when Clammask felt a familiar pain in her gut, and Halibutdusk was stuck in the quarantine den with a loud case of greencough, how could she not be stressed?

This kitting was shorter, thank StarClan. It was still nightfall when Clammask cleaned off her last little kit and helped her snuggle up to her belly. Oilstripe, Tallowkit, and Slushkit had vacated the nursery for a while to give Clammask room to kit, but Lemmy, her belly fat against her thin frame, still slept inside, dreams undisturbed by the new life born to the Clan. The only other cat in the nursery was Troutpool (Clammask simply couldn’t ask her own son to help deliver her kits, it felt so strange!). 

The head cleric carefully examined the three mollies at Clammask’s side while the golden molly caught her breath. The first was red with markings that reminded Clammask of her father. The second-born kit was white, with pale gray rosettes along her back. Although she was still slick from birth, Clammask could tell she would be long-furred in the future. The youngest looked so much like Drumtooth that Clammask was taken aback for a moment.

“They all look very healthy,” Troutpool said, stepping back. She placed her dirty bowl (once full of strengthening medicine for the kitting) and the broken stick Clammask bit into a basket at the den’s edge. “I don’t notice any deformed limbs or other issues. I… I won’t try to predict their future this time.” Clammask licked each kit’s head. None of them looked like her lost golden daughter. Perhaps that was for the best. “Do you still want me to perform that ceremony we discussed?”

“It would make me feel better,” Clammask sighed. Troutpool nodded and stuck her face into her basket. She took out a tiny jar; the gouges carved in for teeth holds left little room on the inside. She peeled off the thin leather lid trapping the contents. The jar was full of dirt. Troutpool sprinkled a bit of dirt over each kitten’s back. Each was too caught up in the shock of being alive, mewing and nursing, to really care.

“Dustfur, Celestial of the Newborn,” Troutpool prayed, setting the jar at Clammask’s head, “you taught the Clans not to mourn the stillborn and those taken before they even got a chance to see the faces of their kin. You were the one who revealed to us how StarClan accompanies litters on their way to the Clans and return to Silverpelt when their time is done. One of Clammask’s kits was one of these StarClan guardians. We do not know what awaits these kits in the coming quarter moon, but we ask you, give them souls of their own. Allow them to grow into strong and proud individuals who will make RippleClan proud. Do not taunt Clammask once more by taking a kit away. Allow them all to live, Dustfur. Give us your celestial blessing.” The ritual done, Troutpool licked the dirt off the kittens, sneering at the taste. 

“If one of your daughters is a StarClan warrior,” Troutpool explained, “performing this ritual so soon after their birth may allow them to become cats of their own, rather than a protector for the others.” Clammask nudged her little mollies back to her belly, purring as they cried outrage at yet another grooming. “When you feel strong enough, we can move you to a fresh nest and get rid of all this dirty moss. Do you need anything else?”

“Maybe a leather pelt over my back?” Clammask asked. “It’s a cold night.”

“I’ll also have Mosspounce build a fire outside the den when he wakes up,” Troutpool promised with a nod. She touched noses with Clammask and trotted off. 

With a few moments alone in the nursery, Clammask stared at her daughters. Halibutdusk’s daughters too. Scrubmask wasn’t one to hold grudges, Clammask doubted she would be mad at her for finding another mate. But was she right for Halibutdusk? Her feelings for them were not a perfect match to her relationship with Scrubmask. Perhaps it was because she grew up alongside Halibutdusk, shared every heartbreak and celebration alongside them. Scrubmask was a whirlwind that pulled Clammask into a new life, a new family. Halibutdusk had just… always been there. They were the ocean, forever licking the shore, something whose absence Clammask could not imagine.

She prayed she would not have to live in that absence soon.

“I’ll warn you now,” Troutpool said, entering the den with a stitched-up pelt thrown across her back, “your sons are chomping at my tail to see you.” Troutpool threw the pelt over Clammask’s haunches.

“Send them in,” Clammask purred.

“We can come in? Finally!” Honeybuzz and Splashtuft shoved their way into the nursery, bumping shoulders to get a better look at their new siblings. Leathermask and Drumtooth lingered behind them, trying to catch a glimpse from the side. Honeybuzz and Splashtuft almost knocked Troutpool over.

“Is that all of them?” Leathermask gasped, squirming between his two boisterous brothers.

“They’re all mollies,” Clammask purred. “How funny is that?”

“Big brothers for little sisters,” Drumtooth hummed, finally managing to get into the den by shoving Splashtuft’s big flank to the side.

“I don’t suppose you can let me out?” Troutpool chuckled, slipping her basket around her neck.

“Sorry, Troutpool,” Splashtuft chirped. He moved to the side and knocked Drumtooth against the den wall. Troutpool left before she became the next victim of the litter’s excitement.

“How do you feel, Mom?” Honeybuzz asked. His clerical eye studied Clammask’s messy nest and the newborn shine on his sisters’ pelts.

“Very tired,” Clammask admitted, “but very happy. And I'm a little nervous if I’m honest.” Clammask nuzzled her daughters once more. “I want to do something, but I’m afraid you may judge me a little, Honeybuzz. I know I should wait to name them, like Scrubmask and I waited to name you four, but I don’t want to do that this time around. I want them to have names now.” Clammask was right; the enthusiasm in Honeybuzz’s face froze as he tried not to let it drop.

“Don’t do that,” Drumtooth huffed, appearing on the other side of the pack and shoving Honeybuzz’s shoulder.

“If you want,” Clammask sighed, “you can help name your sisters. We can keep it between the five of us for now.” 

“Really?” Leathermask gasped softly. “Honeybuzz, let’s name the red kit first!” Honeybuzz squirmed a bit, but joined his brown-furred brother in study of their red-colored sister.

“Could we call her Redkit?” Honeybuzz suggested.

“That’s such a boring name,” Splashtuft scoffed. Clammask couldn’t help but laugh at that. He looked so much like Scrubmask in that moment.

“Troutpool left something behind,” Leathermask pointed out. The small jar with the ritual dust still sat at Clammask’s head. “Huh. The jar is the same color as the red kit’s fur. What if we called her Potterykit?”

“I approve,” Clammask purred. “Let your other brothers name the white molly.” Drumtooth squirmed closer to Splashtuft and they turned their gaze to the long-furred kitten.

“I want to name her Moonkit,” Drumtooth said.

“But our Clan’s guide is called Moonpaw,” Honeybuzz reminded him. “That feels… wrong, in a way.”

“StarClan isn’t going to ban the use of a prefix for the rest of history just because of one cat,” Splashtuft scoffed. “I like it, Drumtooth. Potterykit and Moonkit.”

“But what in the world do we call the last kitten?” Leathermask sighed. All four brothers leaned so close to the black molly, they were practically touching Clammask’s belly.

“I can’t think of a single good name for her,” Splashtuft muttered.

“Nightkit?” Leathermask suggested.

“How many black cats in history have been named Nightkit?” Drumtooth said. “Don’t we want our sister to stand out?”

“Stormkit, Butterflykit, Oysterkit…” Honeybuzz muttered. “Hootkit?”

“Hootkit?” Splashtuft laughed. “Do you want apprentices to make fun of her at Gatherings?”

“Hear me out, hear me out,” Drumtooth said, his soft voice catching his brothers’ attention. “Vervainkit.”

“But vervain is purple,” Splashtuft said.

“And drums are brown,” Drumtooth pointed out. “Vervains are pretty flowers. Something about their color reminds me of her.”

“Potterykit, Moonkit, and Vervainkit,” Clammask declared. She leaned over and nuzzled all of her kits, toms and mollies, newborn and adult. “Welcome to the family.” All four toms purred deeply.

“Do you think Halibutdusk will be upset that we named the kits without them?” Drumtooth wondered. 

“To be fair,” Splashtuft chuckled, pulling back, “we don’t have to tell them.”

“I know you all said you were happy for me,” Clammask said, shuffling tighter around the newborns, “but I want to be sure here. They aren’t a replacement for Scrubmask. I wasn’t trying to do that.”

“We know, Mom,” Honeybuzz promised. “We’ll still love the kits. We’re happy to have little sisters to care for.” Clammask’s purrs took over her entire body. Her sons gathered around her and groomed her tired pelt as she soaked in the joy.

(Clammask: 59, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Halibutdusk: 57, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Splashtuft: 13, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Leathermask: 13, male, warrior, nervous, great speaker, good fighter)

(Drumtooth: 13, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Potterykit: 0, female, kit, self-conscious)

(Moonkit: 0, female, kit, quiet)

(Vervainkit: 0, female, kit, fearless)

Lavendertwist works with the AshClan historians to make a proper record of the Rippling Ashes (Darkkick, Weedfoot, and Paleseed) and their exploits in the Dark Forest.

[Image ID: Lavendertwist and Splashtuft face a black rosette apprentice. Under her, it says NEW PLAYER: MITEPAW, 7, FEMALE, INSECURE, QUICK TO MAKE PEACE.]

---

“It’s hard to believe our former leader would grow to hate us so much…” sighed Minkshine, an AshClan historian. She and two other historians, Blackmist and Comfreytoe, sat along the AshClan border while Lavendertwist and Splashtuft lounged on their side, sharing tongues with their forest counterparts. It was sunhigh, after all, and if the group was going to spend most of the day describing the official story of the Rippling Ashes, Lavendertwist and Splashtuft were going to relax.

“When you’re stuck in your ways like he was,” Lavendertwist sighed, “friends can quickly become enemies.”

“So Autumnstar used his Dark Forest powers to curse AshClan…” Blackmist muttered, grooming Splashtuft’s long fur as he spoke. “So many of our friends and family died because of him… their names have to be recorded in the story. All of them.”

“Ah, name memorization,” Lavendertwist chuckled, squirming. “My old nemesis.”

“I can handle that,” Splashtuft chirped. “Start listing out names, Blackmist.”

“Actually,” Comfreytoe groaned, glancing back into the trees of AshClan, “we’re still waiting on someone. She should be here before we continue.”

“Who’s our special guest?” Lavendertwist asked, leaves crunching underneath him as he rolled onto his back. 

“Someone who needs a fresh start,” Comfreytoe sighed.

“It’s still hard to believe Eelstar and Barkfur agreed to this,” Blackmist muttered, letting Splashtuft take a turn grooming him, “but if Mitepaw can find some peace from it, so be it.”

“Mitepaw?” Lavendertwist hummed.

“I’m here!” a young voice gulped. While Lavendertwist heard the cat crunching leaves under her paws and panting, he only saw her once she stood in front of a pale bush. She was one of the blackest cats Lavendertwist had ever seen, with even blacket rosette markings. Pale yellow eyes bounced between Lavendertwist and Splashtuft. Bouldersong, one of AshClan’s caretakers, joined the small apprentice.

“RippleClan,” Bouldersong purred, placing his tail on the apprentice’s back, “I would like you to meet Mitepaw. She would like to join your Clan.”

“What?” Splashtuft gasped, sitting up so quickly that his head smacked Blackmist’s jaw. 

“Both of her parents died as a result of the chronic frostbite that kept infecting our older Clanmates,” Minkshine explained as Mitepaw rubbed a paw deep into the leaf litter. “She’s struggled in our Clan ever since. We believe that in order to give her a fresh start, she needs to leave our home for another. Since RippleClan’s developed a reputation for accepting wayward apprentices, we thought she would fit in well with you.”

“Eelstar is letting one of his apprentices join RippleClan?” Lavendertwist scoffed. “I thought he hated us.”

“His opinions are more nuanced than you’d think,” Comfreytoe insisted. “Mitepaw is an artisan apprentice. She has a knack for woodwork and should take to your Clan’s crafts well.”

“You really want to join us, Mitepaw?” Splashtuft asked. He risked crossing the border to approach the small apprentice. Since no one clawed his ears off, he kept going. “This isn’t a decision you can take back.” Mitepaw hesitated, words getting caught in her mouth. She looked at her Clanmates, as though waiting for someone to snap at her. She swallowed hard.

“I don’t like AshClan,” Mitepaw said. “Everyone is grieving. It makes it hard to breathe. I don’t want to grow up in a Clan that’s carrying such hurt with them.” The AshClan historians grew lost as Mitepaw explained herself. No one countered her claim.

“I’m sure Downstar will welcome you, then,” Splashtuft purred, touching noses with Mitepaw.

“You can always talk to your old Clanmates at Gatherings, Mitepaw,” Bouldersong sighed. “I hope RippleClan will be better for you than we have been.” Bouldersong licked Mitepaw’s ear. The young apprentice purred softly. She left Bouldersong’s side and joined Splashtuft.

“So you’ll take her to your camp when we’re finished here?” Minkshine asked.

“Absolutely,” Lavendertwist promised as Splashtuft led Mitepaw across the border. “We have just the mentor for her.” 

(Lavendertwist: 31, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Splashtuft: 13, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Mitepaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, quick to make peace)

[Image ID: Rapidleaf, Asterpaw, and Elmsprout stand behind Mitepaw as she listens to Rattlepelt say, “It will be better for you to live in a Clan that is loyal to its members. You’ve escaped a rotten place, Mitepaw.”]

Later that day, as RippleClan buzzed with sunset activity, Mitepaw took in the sights of her new home. The shipwreck was so tall! Despite the late autumn cold, the sand felt warm from the sun. Even the air felt lighter in RippleClan! This was the right choice, Mitepaw was certain of it. There was a glimmer in everyone’s eyes as they surrounded her following her new apprentice ceremony. She soaked it all in as she stood beside her strange and famous new mentor; Rattlepelt. 

“Mitepaw!” A long-furred gray molly made her way to the front of the crowd of unfamiliar faces. A brown molly and a silver tom followed close behind.

“Hello,” Mitepaw chirped softly, bowing to the strangers. 

“No need to bow to your Clanmates in this Clan!” the silver molly said. “You’ve probably heard about me. I’m Elmsprout.”

“Oh, Eelstar’s daughter,” Mitepaw gasped. She took Elmsprout in a second time; she could see Eelstar’s color in Elmsprout’s darker tints. “Your father’s told the kits about you.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Elmsprout chuckled. “He and I have… an awkward relationship. I wanted to make sure I could talk to you after your ceremony, because I’ve been where you are. We all have. We’re a bit of a Clan-within-a-Clan, you could say. We’ve all left our original Clans to join RippleClan. This is Rapidleaf and Asterpaw.”

“I’ll show you how to adapt to life in RippleClan,” Asterpaw promised, raising his tail high.

“Leaving my Clan was hard for me as well,” Rapidleaf said with a nod. “Like you, staying in LynxClan would have been too painful. RippleClan has built itself on second chances. Elmsprout befriended me as we both recovered from a bought of food poisoning a few moons ago, and we’ve both looked after Asterpaw since his arrival. If you need help, we promise to look after you, too.” 

“That’s…” Mitepaw purred, her whole body rippling, “that’s amazing!”

“It will be better for you to live in a Clan that is loyal to its members.” Oh, right! Rattlepelt was still standing there! She was so unlike any other cat Mitepaw had ever seen. Who else would have the courage to wear a fox pelt? She looked more like a fearsome warrior than the talented artisan Lavendertwist and Splashtuft made her out to be on the walk to RippleClan. “You’ve escaped a rotten place, Mitepaw.”

“I’m excited to learn under you, Artisan Rattlepelt,” Mitepaw said, bowing once more.

“Mitepaw, we don’t bow here!” Elmsprout laughed.

“Leave her be,” Rattlepelt scoffed. “If she wants to bow and use honorable titles, let her. It’s nice to be respected. Now Mitepaw, how would you like to learn the intricacies of leather-making from a master?” Mitepaw’s eyes sparkled. Learn to craft a leather pelt with the quality and skill of Rattlepelt’s fox fur? Learning in a Clan so bright and welcoming, under a mentor that was clearly wise and strong and clever, better than her old mentor in every way?

“Yes please!”

(Mitepaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, quick to make peace)

(Elmsprout: 32, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

(Rapidleaf: 84, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

(Asterpaw: 12, male, caretaker apprentice, thoughtful, has lots of ideas)

(Rattlepelt: 48, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

Tallowkit reminds himself it will all be okay while Slushkit chews on a stick.

[Image ID: Tallowkit says “She won’t choke, she won’t choke…” as he watches Slushkit. Under Tallowkit, it says + NEW SKILL: SPLASHES IN PUDDLES. Under Slushkit, it says + NEW SKILL: QUICK WITTED.]

(Tallowkit: 1, male, kit, skittish, splashes in puddles)

(Slushkit: 1, female, kit, polite, quick witted)

Scaleripple and Tempestshade officially become mates.

[Image ID: Scaleripple and Tempestshade face each other. Under Scaleripple, it says + MATE: TEMPESTSHADE. Under Tempestshade, it says + MATE: SCALERIPPLE.]

---

Scaleripple couldn’t help but be in awe of Troutpool and Honeybuzz’s skill. When he had found Tempestshade half a moon prior, leg encased in a shimmering silver jaw, he had been certain it would have to come off. Yet there they were, half a moon later and still possessing four legs, even if one was so bandaged and slathered in ointment that it could hardly be called a leg. Honeybuzz had changed the bandages not so long ago, but Scaleripple could already see dots of blood leaking through. Not that Troutpool and Honeybuzz would notice; no, when Scaleripple visited Tempestshade that day, the Clan had a bit more exciting news to swallow.

“Our instincts are never more controlling than when a queen is kitting,” Troutpool explained to Mosspounce, waiting eagerly outside the den as she and Honeybuzz collected a few supplies into a basket. “Lemmy will know what to do with her kits, but she’ll need spiritual and emotional support. We’ll be with her the entire time, Mosspounce.”

“Are you sure Tempestshade can’t join us?” Mosspounce groaned, glancing around Troutpool to Tempestshade, whose nest sat in a quiet, warm corner of the medicine den. Scaleripple sat beside her, ice-faced and observant. “I want my kits to meet all of their kin.”

“Mosspounce, your kits won’t be able to meet anyone for a while,” Honeybuzz laughed. He slipped the basket around his neck. “They’re born with their eyes and ears shut. They’ll get to meet Tempestshade in the future, don’t worry.”

“But I wanna meet them,” Tempestshade whined. They laid sprawled across the nest, mangled leg carefully frozen on the edge. Their dark green eyes lacked some of their usual sparkle, devoured by the pain.

“You will, I promise,” Mosspounce said. Honeybuzz joined Mosspounce outside the den and the two trotted to the nursery. Troutpool, however, lingered, eyes wandering to Scaleripple.

“Will you be okay while we help Lemmy?” Troutpool asked.

“I won’t die,” Scaleripple growled. He laid in a loaf against Tempestshade’s nest, ignoring Troutpool’s gaze. Tempestshade chuckled, a soft, almost feverish sound. Troutpool shuffled her paws about.

“I didn’t want to have that vision,” Troutpool gulped. “I thought revealing it would spare Tempestshade a guilty verdict and protect RippleClan. I wouldn’t use StarClan to hurt them.”

“Did I say that’s what you did?” Scaleripple scoffed, daring to look up, even if Troutpool’s awkward expression made his skin hurt. “You don’t need to explain yourself. You just have to live with making Tempestshade a living omen of death.” Troutpool bowed her head low, closing her eyes. She followed her former apprentice and Mosspounce to the nursery, where Scaleripple could already hear Lemmy panting with the effort of her kitting.

“You showed her,” Tempestshade mumbled, purring. Scaleripple stared at Tempestshade. Why were they seemingly the only cats who truly understood the other? Scaleripple’s family loved him, he was certain of that, but did they know him like Tempestshade? Did they understand the strange way he worked, which separated him from everyone else? And did anyone else in the Clan dare to face the blunt of Tempestshade’s curse just to spend time with them? Did they appreciate their youthfulness, their honesty, their loyalty? From everything Scaleripple knew, two cats who were as close as he was to Tempestshade could only be called one thing.

“Tempestshade, are we mates?” he asked. Tempestshade cocked their head. A little life came back to their eyes.

“Haven’t we been mates since the summer?” they laughed. Oh. Well then.

“Maybe so,” Scaleripple purred. He rested his head on the edge of Tempestshade’s nest, a whisker length from their nose. Tempestshade hummed happily. They stretched and quickly touched noses with Scaleripple.

For once, Scaleripple didn’t mind.

(Scaleripple: 18, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Mosspounce: 26, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Tempestshade: 26, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Mosspounce wants to be a father with different motivations than his own, and feels proud when Lemmy delivers four healthy kits.

[Image ID: Lemmy and Mosspounce watch four newborn kits; a tortoiseshell, a black molly, a silver molly, and a gray tabby. Under Lemmy, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. The tortoiseshell says NEW PLAYER: WEEVILKIT, 0, FEMALE, BULLYING. The black molly says NEW PLAYER: RAVENKIT, 0, FEMALE, SWEET. The silver kit says NEW PLAYER: SILVERKIT, 0, FEMALE, DAYDREAMER. Finally, the gray tabby says NEW PLAYER: WOLFKIT, 0, FEMALE, POLITE.]

(Mosspounce: 26, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Lemmy: 41, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Weevilkit: 0, female, kit, bullying)

(Ravenkit: 0, female, kit, sweet)

(Silverkit: 0, female, kit, daydreamer)

(Wolfkit: 0, female, kit, polite)

Downstar is almost intimidated by the knowledge Asterpaw has gained in his short time in RippleClan and confidently names him Asterblaze.

[Image ID: Asterpaw, now Asterblaze, is an adult! Under him, it says LEVEL UP! ASTERPAW -> ASTERBLAZE, HAS LOTS OF IDEAS -> CONSTANTLY FIDDLING WITH TOOLS.]

(Asterblaze: 12, male, caretaker, thoughtful, constantly fiddling with tools)

While Troutpool and Honeybuzz are on patrol, Troutpool sees strange shimmers in the distance. They encounter a kittypet who grew up with old stories of RippleClan and wanted to raise her kits in the wild. Troutpool and Honeybuzz help welcome five more kits to the nursery.

[Image ID: Troutpool and Honeybuzz approach a brown and white molly and five kits; one light brown, two red, and two brown, all with white markings. Undee the mother, it says NEW PLAYER: HARVEST, 53, FEMALE, NERVOUS, GOOD FIGHTER. Under the light brown kit, it says NEW PLAYER: ANCHOVYKIT, 0, MALE, CHARMING. Under the upper red kit, it says NEW PLAYER: CURRENTKIT, 0, MALE, POLITE. The second red kit says NEW PLAYER: ROBINKIT, 0, MALE, UNRULY. The first dark brown cat in the upper corner says NEW PLAYER: YARROWKIT, 0, FEMALE, NOISY. The last brown kit says NEW PLAYER: BILLOWKIT, 0, MALE, BOSSY.]

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Harvest: 53, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Anchovykit: 0, male, kit, charming)

(Currentkit: 0, male, kit, polite)

(Robinkit: 0, male, kit, unruly)

(Yarrowkit: 0, female, kit, noisy)

(Billowkit: 0, male, kit, bossy)

[rippleclan]

Wow wow wow wow WOW!!! Amazing!!!! A wonderful entry!!! I love the thought put into it!!

As an update for the contest, I have decided to extend the deadline to September 27th, because everyone has been putting so much care into this contest, and I want to give you the time you need to make more amazing art! You’ve got some tough competition!

"Livind death omen" Rippleclan art contest entry!!!

This is an entry for @rippleclan 's art contest, in the 18+ Scene category!

The scene of the trial stuck with me a lot while reading, so when I heard of the contest I knew exactly what I wanted to do!

under the readmore there'll be notes on my process, plus some closeups!

-all the markings are taken from both the sprites and Picrew Minis, favoring the sprites for color accuracy, the picrew for the fur shape, and going a bit back and fort for the markings.

-I included the shadow of the storm clouds as a callback to what happened when Troutpool received the prophecy, then the explanation of it is implied through the scenes. They're flowing out of her mouth like that because I wanted them to look like ripples a bit, both for Troutpool's name, Rippleclan, and the crime Tempestshade was accused of.

-of course in the scenes we have Cinderella about to die in pain from birth, with Shadowdrop and Wildclaw taking away Mosskit, Trumpetkit and Tempestkit; Shadowdrop heaving his last breath as he dies from the cold while sheltering Tempestkit from the hail; and Ripplefern being swept away by the wave alongside the raft, still tangled in the rope.

-Tempestshade is pretty simple, they're all scared with big pupils, droopy whiskers and an arched back. The quote is directly from the post!

-I got inspired by the recent Warriors Graphic Novel on how to draw Troutpool's eyes as she receives the prophecy, with all the sparkles and stars, and I made her extra floofy with a bit of a mustache.

hope you like it!

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 66

Weedfoot recovers from her adventure in the Dark Forest with a scar. She encourages Lavendertwist to have a difficult conversation with Elmsprout.

[Image ID: Weedfoot has a scar around her back left ankle. Under her, it says - CONDITION: MANGLED LEG. She says to Lavendertwist, “You obviously care about her. if you want to get to know her better, you have to be willing to get hurt.” Elmsprout stands to the side.]

(Weedfoot: 115, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Lavendertwist: 32, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Elmsprout: 33, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

Spikecrash helps Mosspounce handle some of the kits.

[Image ID: Mosspounce and Spikecrash face Wolfkit and Billowkit. Under Wolfkit, it says + NEW SKILL: CURIOUS ABOUT STARCLAN, CONFIDENT WITH WORDS. Under Billowkit, it says + NEW SKILL: ACTIVE IMAGINATION.]

---

Getting fourteen kits to take a nap was about as hard as holding water in your paw. How exactly the Clan would survive a winter with so many kits in the nursery, demanding attention and care, Spikecrash didn’t know. What she did know was if the kits didn’t nap now, they would be ornery that night as Longest Night celebrations took hold and the entire Clan gathered under the cloudy winter sky. Somehow, by some miracle, Oilstripe, Clammask, Lemmy, and Harvest (who still looked so exhausted from her long journey to find the Clans from her kithood storied) napped with their children around their bellies. 

Twelve of them, at least. It was up to Spikecrash and Mosspounce to stop the two most stubborn kits from bothering the rest of the Clan as they set up holiday decor.

“Mama’s notta warrior,” Billowkit huffed, staring hard at the ground as he thought. “She’s notta care cat. She’s notta… uh…”

“Codekeeper or historian or mediator or artisan or cleric,” Wolfkit recited, sitting quietly. She had a strong and clear voice for such a little kit. The pair of them were barely a moon old, only recently able to fully see camp for all its glories. If Spikecrash was honest, from the way Billowkit wobbled around, he and his littermates might have still been under a moon. From what Spikecrash could vaguely remember, all she had wanted to do at their age was nap. So why wouldn’t they?

“So what is Mama?” Billowkit whined, throwing his little paws about the sand and snow. 

“She’s your mama,” Wolfkit huffed, cocking her tiny fuzzy head.

“I know that!” Billowkit cried. He threw his whole body down, mewing pathetically.

“Your mama doesn’t know how she wants to contribute to the Clan yet,” Mosspounce explained, laying on the snow beside Billowkit. “She’s focused on caring for you right now.”

“But the other mamas have jobs!” Billowkit huffed. “Mama needs a job!” He stuffed his face in the snow.

“Well, do you know much about Clan roles?” Spikecrash asked. Billowkit mewed a pathetic no, voice muffled by the sand. “If you don’t know about them, how can your mother choose? Maybe you can help her by learning more about what we do with our time. Mosspounce is a caretaker, and I’m a mediator. We have a lot we could share with you.”

“Maybe,” Billowkit grumbled, still refusing to reveal his face.

“I’ll listen!” Wolfkit chirped.

“Excellent,” Spikecrash purred, settling down between the two kits. “There’s a lot that goes into being a mediator. Maybe one day when you’re older, I might train one of you, or one of your littermates.”

“I want to hear what Dad does,” Wolfkit said, trotting to her father’s side. She nipped at his ankles, spurring on a hearty laugh.

“Oh, so it’s the life of a caretaker that proves more interesting?” Mosspounce said. He scooped his little daughter underneath him with a playful growl. Wolfkit squealed, kicking up fluffy snow in her attempts to get away from Mosspounce’s grasp. The black caretaker was too mighty for her, however, and grabbed her by the scruff. Billowkit pulled his head from the snow as Wolfkit laughed and laughed. Mosspounce dropped Wolfkit beside Billowkit and sat around them. “If that will keep you little mice happy, then sure, I’ll tell you about being a caretaker.”

Hmm. Maybe kit-sitting wouldn’t be as hard as Spikecrash thought.

(Spikecrash: 41, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Mosspounce: 27, male, warrior, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Billowkit: 1, male, kit, bossy, active imagination)

(Wolfkit: 1, female, kit, polite, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

Rapidleaf gets Ravenkit in trouble.

[Image ID: Rapidleaf yowls at Ravenkit, “No, no, no! You’ll hurt your sister!” Weevilkit and Robinkit watch on. Under Ravenkit, it says + NEW SKILL: PICKY NEST BUILDER. Under Weevilkit, it says + NEW SKILL: CURIOUS ABOUT STARCLAN. Under Robinkit, it says + NEW SKILL: AVID PLAY-FIGHTER.]

---

For Rapidleaf, Longest Night used to mean painting the mountainous walls of LynxClan’s camp, covering yourself with dye that wouldn’t leave your paws for a moon. It was watching the stars from the highest point in the Clans. It was a gift given someone dear; a shiny stone tool, a special trinket, even an exceptionally pretty pebble. It as snow and fire in the place she’d grown up.

Longest Night in RippleClan, like so many other things, was very different. It was hard to clear snow for the great bonfire, as the sand shifted with it. Rather than exchanging a gift or two in private, everyone pulled out their gifts come nightfall, enjoying the love in the fire’s protection. When Troutpool and Honeybuzz weren’t offering thanks to the ancestors, cats gathered around historians and artisans alike for a tale or enjoyed the peace of the bonfire. Scaleripple and Tempestshade laid beside each other, even though Tempestshade seemed only half-there, mind blurry from their mangled leg. Downstar shared tongues with Wildclaw while Rattlepelt wandered the edge of camp, quietly checking the necklaces adorning the torches.

A surprising number of cats played music, encouraging their friends to sing and dance. Rabbitjoy danced as she sang an old WheatClan tune. Drumtooth eagerly beat his namesake instrument. Slushkit shook a rattle offbeat to Lavendertwist’s song. Trumpetspore showed Tallowkit how to make scrapers; notched bones that made a delightful sound, especially when you had a stick strapped to your tail. Waspdawn and Wildclaw argued over who could use the Clan’s only Gutpluck; a half-moon shaped instrument of curved wood and a long taut line as a base, with different lengths of string made of prey gut running through the center. All a cat had to do was carefully pluck strings with their paws, and their music would be as varied as birdsong. Of course, the unique and delicate nature of the instrument meant it was in high demand for the celebration; had Rapidleaf been younger, she likely would have fought for a turn plucking the strings as well.

Rather than join in on all the music and laughter, Rapidleaf sat with her few gifts (a shell-tooth comb from Asterblaze, a cat’s face carved into bark from Mitepaw, and a rock from LynxClan that Elmsprout traded for at the last Gathering) beside the bonfire. Harvest sat with her; the former kittypet looked shockingly like Fennelspot with her white markings. The new arrival had mostly kept to the nursery since Troutpool and Honeybuzz found her, slowly carrying her five tiny kits through the forest. She had a lot of gifts from many of RippleClan’s most friendly cats, all happy to have an eager new addition to their home. Rapidleaf and Harvest had a quiet spot away from the noise and laughter of the rest of the Clan.

“Old Oakface told me about Longest Night when I was a kit,” Harvest muttered, breaking the comfortable silence between her and Rapidleaf as she shuffled through her gifts. “This is so much like his stories. Well, almost. We haven’t painted anything like he said his Clan did.” Rapidleaf dragged herself out of her quiet observations.

“That’s a LynxClan tradition,” she said. “You knew a LynxClan cat?” Oakface, Oakface… had any of Rapidleaf’s kin known an Oakface? They must have for Harvest to know him.

“I thought Troutpool would have shared my story with the rest of the Clan,” Harvest gulped, suddenly very intrigued by a stone someone gave her.

“If there is anything this Clan won’t do,” Rapidleaf said quietly, “it's to pressure you about your past.” If Harvest could see any of the deeper meaning in Rapidleaf’s words, she ignored it. She cleared her throat and brushed out her whiskers

“I grew up in a large stone settlement with an older tom named Oakface,” Harvest explained. “He would tell me stories of his old home with the Clans. He was taken from them and was too old to make the long journey back. He always encouraged me to find them if I grew tired of our quiet life with the humans. When I became pregnant, that’s just what I did.”

“You were traveling with kits for two moons?” Rapidleaf muttered, taking Harvest in a new light. 

“Oakface taught me how to protect myself,” Harvest gulped. “It was hard, but I’m glad I made it. Just look at my kits.” Harvest’s large litter squealed and laughed on the other side of the bonfire. Elmsprout stomped around, dancing to Lavendertwist’s song, showing Anchovykit, Yarrowkit, and Currentkit how to place their paws to the beat. All three laughed and shrieked whenever they tumbled into one another. Billowkit slept on top of Wolfkit, their missing nap finally catching up to them, nestled beside Lemmy and James. Robinkit trotted away from his siblings to join Weevilkit and Ravenkit in their play-fight. 

“I’ve never been around so many kind faces before,” Harvest purred. “I’m glad my kits have so much support now. Is this what your kithood was like too?” Rapidleaf laughed. How often had she found herself playing with Scrubmask like that in their youth, pretending they were truly littermates rather than distant kin? Her gaze drifted over to Clammask, who sat outside the apprentice’s den with Halibutdusk. The pair told a story together with an attentive audience. Drumtooth had abandoned his drum to join his brothers in front of their mother. Potterykit, Moonkit, and Vervainkit watched Halibutdusk with awe, completely enthralled in their story. Both generations of siblings listened to Clammask with all their focus. Rapidleaf’s laughter faded

Scrubmask should have been telling them that story.

“Yes,” she said softly. “It was this happy.”

“Ow!” Weevilkit squealed, catching Rapidleaf and Harvest’s ears. Ravenkit had her tiny jaws around Weevilkit’s scruff, pinning her into the snow. Weevilkit squirmed under Ravenkit’s grasp. 

Not again.

“No, no, no!” Rapidleaf yowled, launching up and around the bonfire. She snatched Ravenkit by the scruff and threw her off Weevilkit. Ravenkit yelped, tumbling into the snow and sand. Weevilkit and Robinkit, the unfortunate bystander he was, gasped. “You’ll hurt your sister!” Ravenkit’s green eyes froze on Rapidleaf. She cowered under the brown tabby’s curled lip. 

“What did I do?” Ravenkit whimpered. Her tiny, broken voice bit at Rapidleaf’s pounding heart. The music quieted, Clanmates stopping to stare. Rapidleaf took a step back as Ravenkit mewed pathetically. What was she doing?

“We were playing, you old flea!” Weevilkit yowled. The tiny tortoiseshell fluffed up her fur like an angry warrior. Robinkit, not one to be left out, copied his friend.

“Go away!” Robinkit hissed. 

“I thought—” Rapidleaf stammered.

“Rapidleaf.” Lemmy stood silhouetted by the bonfire behind her, blue eyes sharp. Even with a kittypet’s collar around her neck, her icy voice crept along Rapidleaf’s pelt. “Step away from my daughter.”

“I’m sorry,” Rapidleaf gulped, quickly scampering back with her head bowed. “I thought Ravenkit was hurting Weevilkit.”

“So you threw her,” Lemmy growled. Ravenkit met her mother halfway, burying her face in Lemmy’s hind leg. A dozen eyes stared at Rapidleaf. The small decorated torches that lined the edges of camp seemed more like judges than the memories of cats lost. 

Her sins were on display. If only they knew the depth of Rapidleaf’s transgressions.

[Image ID: Rapidleaf says to Honeybuzz, “None of this was supposed to happen. Your mother should be here, not me.” Scrubmask’s spirit watches.]

Rapidleaf was quick to join Honeybuzz in his duties the next morning. She didn’t want to be in camp, to be near Lemmy’s burning blue eyes, to see Ravenkit flinch at the sight of her… better to brace the snow and assist a cleric. That sort of work was redeeming in the eyes of StarClan… Rapidleaf could use some of that redemption. She hadn’t asked what Honeybuzz needed help with, merely agreed as soon as he requested a warrior. Rapidleaf didn’t care much, however. If Honeybuzz needed her help, why would she say no?

Honeybuzz’s pelt seemed barren without his beloved cicada wings; he had kept them carefully dried and stuck onto a tiny piece of wood, which he then hung around his neck, but the cold weather and a few poor decisions broke the fragile wing apart. Now, as he waited for the cicadas to return, there was a physical absence to his appearance that left a rock in Rapidleaf’s lungs. Honeybuzz trotted confidently through the snow, which parted around the two RippleClan cats like a snail left a trail of slime in their wake. Rapidleaf followed Honeybuzz south, bracing herself against the open wind. 

The harsh diluted winter light drained Honeybuzz and Rapidleaf of their bright colors. Honeybuzz’s vibrant golden head was now a dull, dark cream, and Rapidleaf looked more like mud under the Great Northern River than her usual brilliant brown. It seemed the entire territory had nothing to say to Rapidleaf, save for the hiss of the wind rumbling in her head. 

“I shouldn’t be long,” Honeybuzz promised, lifting his paws high with every step, the cold seeping through his thin fur. “Just keep an eye out for any disturbances; holes, fallen markers, moved stones, issues like that.”

“What are we marking?” Rapidleaf asked. She looked around Honeybuzz. There was a field up ahead, where pawprints dotted the land, human dens lingered in the distance, and only a few trees blocked the cold wind. It seemed like a common hunting ground, yet Rapidleaf scented little prey.

“Sorry, I’m a mouse-brain,” Honeybuzz sighed with a light heart and soft laugh. “You were still recovering the last time someone died. I bet no one’s even told you how RippleClan handles their dead.” Rapidleaf forced her tail to stay out and not slip under her. Her stance stiffened.

“Do you not just dispose of the bodies?” she muttered, still staring at the field.

“It didn’t feel right,” Honeybuzz explained. “We take our dead to this field. We call it a graveyard; Parsley gave us that word, according to Oilstripe. We sometimes have our elders help us, like in AshClan, but we don’t force them. We bury the dead a little ways under the ground, cover their bodies, and place wood and stones over their graves to remind us where we left them.” Rapidleaf stepped back. It was one thing to know the body of an old Clanmate had been returned to the cycle of life and death, feeding the world in return for how the world fed them. But to know exactly where their body lay, to stand over them?

“You should have told me,” Rapidleaf gulped. Honeybuzz cocked an ear.

“There’s nothing to fear,” Honeybuzz promised. “Their spirits don’t linger here. I just wanted to make sure they fared well during Longest Night. The snow makes it easy to tell what graves have been disturbed by—”

“Stop,” Rapidleaf snapped, eyes shut tight. “Stop talking, Honeybuzz. I…” Scrubmask was there. Her body was somewhere in that field. Rapidleaf had gone hunting here before, she was certain of it. She had caught and killed prey on top of Scrubmask’s body. She had spilled blood over her grave. It didn’t matter if spirits roamed the field or not, the ghost in Rapidleaf’s heart yowled.

Let me out.

“I can just—” Honeybuzz said.

“I’m the one who killed your mother,” Rapidleaf said, eyes locked on the golden tom. “I killed Scrubmask.” 

Only the wind replied. Honeybuzz stared back at Rapidleaf. Rapidleaf’s breath clouded her face. 

“No,” Honeybuzz scoffed, face curling as though Rapidleaf had simply gotten a fact wrong. “You didn’t kill anyone. You were half dead yourself when you got to camp.”

“How do you think I got to camp?” Rapidleaf groaned. Honeybuzz shifted, gaze drifting north as he thought. The dismissal curling his face softened.

“The leaders guessed you fell in the river escaping the cougar…” he muttered. He blinked rapidly and shook his head like he was clearing water from his ears. “No, no, you didn’t remember what happened, you didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t remember until shortly after I recovered,” Rapidleaf gulped. She sat, snow freezing her flank, fighting against her warm and pounding heart. “I did fall into the river. But I didn’t crawl out on my own. Scrubmask was there.” The memory still came in lightning flashes; bubbling currents, throwing Rapidleaf against the rocks; water pouring into her lungs; fangs lunging toward her. “I didn’t even know what was happening, all I saw was someone trying to grab me, and I reacted.” She hadn’t even known who or what it was that had pulled her from the river. Familiar blue eyes melted with the angry glare of a cougar. She did what any warrior was trained to do.

Grab it. Bite down, hard. Smash its head in, drown it. Protect LynxClan. Get help. Head for the tallest thing you could see. The shipwreck, the mountain of wood…

“None of this was supposed to happen,” Rapidleaf whispered, her air gone once more. “Your mother should be here, not me.” She didn’t deserve to take Scrubmask’s place. She deserved to go on trial, be judged and exiled or even executed for taking a mother from her sons, for killing a Clan founder. So why was Honeybuzz just looking at her? He barely even breathed! The only sign of life in his body was the twitch of his golden ear and his dark, narrow pupils.

“I need you to go home now,” Honeybuzz said, quiet as a pawstep.

Rapidleaf did not argue. Her body turned before her mind processed the request. Anything to get away from the smoldering, rotting corpse under her paws.

(Rapidleaf: 84, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

(Harvest: 54, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Weevilkit: 1, female, kit, bullying, curious about StarClan)

(Ravenkit: 1, female, kit, sweet, picky nest builder)

(Robinkit: 1, male, kit, unruly, avid play-fighter)

(Lemmy: 42, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Honeybuzz: 14, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

Clammask and Halibutdusk’s litter try to go on an adventure but are easily caught.

[Image ID: Vervainkit, Moonkit, and Potterykit are stared down by Clammask and Currentkit. Potterykit yowls, “Tattletale!” at Currentkit. Under Vervainkit, it says + NEW SKILL: LOVES NATURE. Under Moonkit, it says + NEW SKILL: QUICK TO HELP. Under Potterykit, it says + NEW SKILL: LOVES TO SING. Under Currentkit, it says + NEW SKILL: CONSTANTLY CLIMBING.]

(Vervainkit: 1, female, kit, fearless, loves nature)

(Moonkit: 1, female, kit, quiet, quick to help)

(Potterykit: 1, female, kit, self-conscious, loves to sing)

(Clammask: 60, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Currentkit: 1, male, kit, polite, constantly climbing)

Silverkit and Yarrowkit annoy older cats with bird calls so Anchovykit can eat a bug.

[Image ID: Silverkit and Yarrowkit chirp at Splashtuft and Downstar while Anchovykit is naughty in the back. Splashtuft says, “Should I be annoyed or laugh?” Under Anchovykit, it says + NEW SKILL: CURIOUS ABOUT STARCLAN. Under Silverkit, it says + NEW SKILL: ALWAYS ASKING QUESTIONS. Under Yarrowkit, it says + NEW SKILL: STARES AT FIRE.)

(Anchovykit: 1, male, kit, charming, curious about StarClan)

(Silverkit: 1, female, kit, daydreamer, always asking questions)

(Yarrowkit: 1, female, kit, noisy, stares at fire)

(Splashtuft: 14, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Downstar: 125, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

Honeybuzz hears the voices of StarClan cats.

[Image ID: Honeybuzz stands alone. Under him, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: STAR-BLESSED PROPHECY.]

---

Honeybuzz shouldn’t have just left camp. Halibutdusk was so close to beating their greencough, and Tempestshade grew weaker and weaker. He couldn’t leave Troutpool to care for them alone, not for long. But he couldn’t be in camp, not when Troutpool had Rapidleaf assist in medicine preparation. 

He hadn’t believed her at first, but the more she spoke, the more it all made sense. Why had no one suspected her before? She was soaked, reeking of the river, the place they had just found Scrubmask’s body. But no, it had all seemed so deliberate, Rapidleaf was too weak to do something like that, the thought never even bloomed in the codekeepers’ minds. But then again, that was the problem; everyone thought it had been deliberate.

Honeybuzz mindlessly fiddled with a small stick and stone deep in RippleClan’s forest. There wasn’t much he could do with it, no useful craft to aid in healing or interesting trinket to brighten a patient’s stay in the medicine den. But it gave his body something to do. He rolled the stick over the stone, the worn bark rubbing into his pads. He’d borrowed one of Rattlepelt’s “long hunt” pelts for the day; various leather pelts stitched together by Rabbitjoy, forming something close to the size of Rattlepelt’s famous fox pelt. Honeybuzz tucked himself under this pelt, hiding from the winter chill, even as snow melted underneath him.

His ears buzzed from the formless thoughts clawing at his mind. His head felt filled with wax. The wind seemed muffled to him. Honeybuzz scratched at his ears, letting his stick slip into the snow. Why did Rapidleaf have to tell him anything? Why leave the burden of that all on him? He had moved on from Scrubmask’s death, why bring it back?

Something slipped through Honeybuzz’s plugged ears; a soft, shimmering sound like water on water, the ocean at rest. The fur along his spine rose. Someone was there.

As the ocean rises, so does the shore rise to meet it in eternal war. So too do curses and blessings fly through the Clan, balancing the other out. Balance our three blessings, Honeybuzz.

What. What. What was that. What was that? The voice, the voices, they were inside Honeybuzz, speaking directly inside his heart! Honeybuzz gasped as a violent shiver overcame him. He’d been to StarClan’s Shrine enough to guess what that could have been. Troutpool had prepared him for this day. This was a prophecy, one StarClan felt too important to wait to share until the half moon.

“Couldn’t you tell me what to do about Rapidleaf first?” he groaned to the cloud-masked sky. Another gust of wind brought him his answer. Long hunt pelt thrown over his bony back, Honeybuzz hurried back toward camp. The issue with Rapidleaf could be put to the side for now. Troutpool needed to hear this message.

What were these blessings? Even more important, what were the curses?

(Honeybuzz: 14, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 53

Mosspounce is caught giving his catch to a rogue, whom Lavendertwist chases off.

[Image ID: Mosspounce speaks to Lemmy, but Lavendertwist approaches, yowling, “Mosspounce!”]

“So you’re…” Mosspounce said, “...an enforcer?”

“It’s a position of some authority with the Witch Hunters,” Lemmy explained. “I’m responsible for carrying out the plans of our higher ranking members and managing the day to day activities of some of our community. I make sure they’re following the rules of our home.”

“Like a codekeeper?” Mosspounce asked.

“Do you think I know enough about Clan culture to say?” Lemmy scoffed. With cold weather slamming into the Clans early, Mosspounce met his friend on her side of the river that day, beside a small fire. Mosspounce caught a small fish and staked it beside the fire to cook. Lemmy’s fur looked yellow in the firelight and the dull morning haze that broke through the thick clouds.

“Well that meeting of yours looked a lot like one of our Gatherings,” Mosspounce sighed, poking the fish. “Maybe you know more than you let on.” 

“Mosspounce—” Lemmy groaned.

“No, please don’t tell me to let it go,” Mosspounce snapped, his tail smacking the ground. “This is the third time I’ve seen you since then and you still won’t explain what in StarClan your friends are doing. You promised we would talk about it later, Lemmy. I need you to tell me the truth, were you one of the cats who killed Bubblemoon?”

“No,” Lemmy growled, lips curling. Mosspounce forced himself to relax. He stared at the fire to cool the flames itching in his blood.

“You have roles and leaders and faith, just like we do,” Mosspounce huffed, “so why try to kill us?” Lemmy tucked her tail over her paws. She stared at the fire as well. It was easier than one of them meeting the other’s eye. The smoke blew over Mosspounce’s head.

“Do you know what I mean when I discuss the Other Side?” Lemmy sighed. “Most of the loners and house cats of the land believe that after a year in the mortal world settling our affairs, we will all go to the Other Side to play out our own eternal peace. Good or bad, we all go to the Other Side. The crows guide us there when our time comes, and they protect its denizens.”

“Can your leader really speak to crows?” Mosspounce asked. He glanced up, half expecting to see a beady-eyed crow watching from the trees, ready to fly back and report.

“It’s the other way around,” Lemmy explained. “Madeline would not understand the crows if they did not want to speak to her. The peace of the Other Side is more sacred than anything else. We call those who disturb that peace witches. It’s the job of the Witch Hunters to make sure no one is disturbing the dead. Madeline became the Witch Hunter General about a year ago, and that’s when she started learning more about the Clans. We didn’t know about your StarClan until she heard a story from a housecat. She believes you are the worst witches to ever wander near our home. She believes killing you all will protect the peace of our dead. She’s been studying you and strategizing how to pull you apart ever since she declared war in the name of the Other Side.”

“StarClan chooses to talk to us,” Mosspounce huffed. He couldn’t help but grit his teeth as he spoke. “They want to be involved in our affairs. We aren’t disturbing anyone! How is that any different from your crows?”

“Madeline either does not know,” Lemmy muttered, “or does not care. She and many of the Witch Hunters believe they are securing their eternal peace by ambushing who they can by the borders. They hope to find your weaknesses and tear into your camps. They’ll kill most of you and rescue the young cats to save them from witchcraft.”

“That’s what you wanted me to do.” Mosspounce pulled the cooked fish away from the fire. He stared into its dead eye. “You wanted me to leave my family to die. Is that what you still want, Lemmy? I may like you, but I’m not letting you do that.” Even though he laughed through it, shock slipped between the cracks in Mosspounce’s anger. Did he just say he liked Lemmy? Out loud? He waited for Lemmy to mock him. He needed her to mock him for that, to ease the strain in the air. Mosspounce dared to look at Lemmy. She was staring at him, expressionless.

“Mosspounce, why do you think I visit you?” Lemmy asked. Mosspounce wanted to say “Because you like me too,” but found his words dead well before they reached his mouth. Lemmy walked up to the river. She stared downstream, toward the ocean stretching out into infinity in the distance. “I dream of rock-lined shores and strangers sitting beside me, offering me suggestions. It’s usually a black kit, encouraging me to listen to my deepest curiosities. I know I’ve never met her before.” Lemmy looked back to Mosspounce. “She told me she was a member of StarClan.”

“Not many cats get visited in their dreams,” Mosspounce mumbled. He joined Lemmy along the river. “Usually they visit leaders and clerics. You… you must be pretty special if StarClan speaks to you.”

“No, Mosspounce, I can’t be special,” Lemmy insisted. “I can’t be speaking to the dead. I’m a Witch Hunter! It is my job to protect the dead, not to cavort with them!” She sat with a huff, staring at her rippled reflection in the rushing river. “I tried to ignore the dreams, but after Madeline ordered us to attack a Clan patrol and gauge their strength, they started coming every night. They’re constantly asking me to see you, of all cats. It’s why I didn’t kill you last summer. The Witch Hunters are trying to do what they think is right, I can’t—”

“Mosspounce!” Mosspounce nearly choked. Lavendertwist stood on the other side of the river, collarless. Mosspounce turned to Lemmy, but she hurried back through the trees.

“Wait!” Mosspounce yowled, but it was of no use. Lemmy would not be coming back that day. Lavendertwist waded across the river, watching the fire and the cooked fish. Mosspounce groaned and braced himself.

“Mosspounce, were you cooking this fish for your runaway friend?” Lavendertwist asked. Mosspounce’s stomach clenched. He didn’t know who Lemmy was. Mosspounce liked to say he had his father’s charm; now it was time for him to inherit his father’s skillful lying.

“She was hungry,” Mosspounce gulped, slowly joining Lavendertwist by the fire. “She was thinking about joining the Clan. There’s so much prey at camp, I thought it would be alright to cook something for her.”

“I’m not mad, don’t worry,” Lavendertwist sighed, tail touching Mosspounce’s side comfortingly. “Glad you have a friend, but really, Moss, you know we can’t be sharing prey with cats who aren’t in the Clan. We gotta feed Clammask’s kits.”

“I’m sorry,” Mosspounce chuckled awkwardly, giving his chest a lick.

“Make sure everyone else eats today, and we won’t tell my mother,” Lavendertwist purred with a wink. He kicked dirt over the fire and dug a hole for the code-breaking fish. Mosspounce nodded along. Better to not eat than tell Lavendertwist who Lemmy really was. Still, he couldn’t help but glance the way Lemmy ran and wonder, how much longer would she be safe with the Witch Hunters?

(Mosspounce: 14, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Lemmy: 29, female, Witch Hunter enforcer, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Lavendertwist: 19, male, warrior, playful, good singer, good storyteller)

Even though he is excited to be an apprentice, Scalekit still needs coaxing from James to step up for his ceremony. He is named Scalepaw and is apprenticed to Lavendertwist.

[Image ID: Scalepaw is now an apprentice, and is clearly developing white spots of vitiligo. Under him, it says LEVEL UP! SCALEKIT -> SCALEPAW.]

(Scalepaw: 6, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, avid play-fighter)

Rustshade gives Leatherkit a task.

[Image ID: Rustshade says to Leatherkit, “Leatherkit, fetch Carnationspeckle for me. I need to ask her something.” Under Leatherkit, it says + NEW SKILL: ACID PLAY-FIGHTER, + NEW SKILL: CONFIDENT WITH WORDS.]

(Rustshade: 97, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Leatherkit: 1, male, kit, impulsive, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

Tempestshade goes on trial to determine her responsibility for Ripplefern’s death.

[Image ID: Puddlewhisper stands with Tempestshade while Troutpool speaks. Under Troutpool, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: LIVING DEATH OMEN.]

---

“This collar is killing me,” Tempestshade groaned into Puddlewhisper’s ear, one paw digging under the tight leather around her neck.

“Tempestshade, please,” Puddlewhisper muttered. She eyed the cats gathered around her, engrossed in Tempestshade’s trial. She rubbed the band around her paw. Only one other cat had ever worn the band in RippleClan’s history; Puddlewhisper’s mentor, and the cat in charge of finding Tempestshade guilty of deadly recklessness. Rustshade took this trial as seriously as he took Shadowdrop’s trial over a year ago. How ironic, then, that it was one of Shadowdrop’s kits on trial.

Save for Weedfoot’s statement of the accident’s aftermath, there weren’t exactly other witnesses to Ripplefern’s death. It made it hard to disprove anything Tempestshade claimed (she had spoken first in the trial, fervently defending the sudden and accidental nature of the incident). Most of Rustshade’s argument, therefore, was based on Tempestshade’s character. He actually called Oilstripe to testify as a historian, relating Tempestshade’s personal history to the Clan. Puddlewhisper flinched for Tempestshade’s sake with each new descriptor thrown out. Kit-like. Reckless. Irresponsible. Selfish. 

“Downstar, at this point, Rustshade is bullying my charge,” Puddlewhisper finally snapped midway through Oilstripe’s testimony. “None of this changes the facts of the event. Tempestshade could be StarClan’s shining example of responsibility, and Ripplefern would still be dead!” Nausea almost overcame Puddlewhisper. Ripplefern had loved the ocean. She loved swimming with Carnationspeckle. If she hadn’t been with Tempestshade that day, would she still be with her littermates? Puddlewhisper glanced toward her surviving family. Waspdawn was as stoic as ever, watching the trial intently from in front of the medicine den. Scalepaw watched from behind him. Paleseed and Lavendertwist leaned into each other, with Elmsprout occasionally licking Lavendertwist’s ear. James sat as close to Weedfoot as he could without disrupting her role. How badly did Puddlewhisper’s mother want to slip into the comforting embrace of her family?

“I would appreciate it if I could continue laying out the basis of my argument, Puddlewhisper,” Rustshade huffed. 

“Alright,” Downstar snapped with a wave of her tail. “Let’s try to finish this statement and move on with this trial, shall we?”

“Lucky for us, I’ve asked all of my questions,” Rustshade sighed. “Thank you for your time, Oilstripe.” Oilstripe glanced awkwardly toward Tempestshade and Puddlewhisper. She bowed her head and scurried back into the crowd, settling next to Carnationspeckle and Troutpool.

“Puddlewhisper, you haven’t had much to say,” Downstar said. “Do you have a witness to call or evidence to present?”

“Actually, Downstar,” Puddlewhisper huffed, getting to her paws, “I don’t have anything else to present. Because there is nothing I could present to you. This was a sudden, unexpected accident. There was nothing else Tempestshade could have done to save Ripplefern’s life. Even if you truly suspect that she, she abandoned my sister to the waves to save herself, there’s no way to prove that. Weedfoot and Troutpool found Tempestshade after the accident, the raft has nothing to tell us… Rustshade’s argument is baseless.” Would Ripplefern agree? Puddlewhisper could almost feel her sister rubbing against her in silent support (yet did not notice Oilstripe staring her way, seeing something Puddlewhisper could not).

“And yet I direct you back to Oilstripe’s official summary of Tempestshade’s life in the Clan,” Rustshade interrupted. He had the gall to block Puddlewhisper’s view of Downstar. “Tempestshade’s kithood mischief led to the death of her father. She was an ornery apprentice. She has put herself above her Clanmates many a time. What is more realistic? That Tempestshade fought to save Ripplefern and risked her own life? Or that she left Ripplefern attached to the raft and saved herself?”

“Hold on!” Troutpool squirmed away from her mothers and marched into the clearing. “Hold on, please. I have something to say about all this.”

“Is this as a witness, or as a cleric?” Downstar asked.

“A cleric,” Troutpool gulped. “Tempestshade technically is at fault for the accident, but not in any way she could control.” Tension rippled through RippleClan. Puddlewhisper dug her paws into the sand.

“You say that like I caused the wave,” Tempestshade scoffed. Troutpool flinched, whiskers twitching in pained sympathy. Tempestshade’s bravado faded, slowly replaced with horror. “That is what you’re saying.”

“Shortly before the trial, I was checking the gardens,” Troutpool explained quietly. “A cloud passed over the sun and covered the garden in shadow. When that happened, I couldn’t breathe. My whole pelt itched and burned. For a second, I thought StarClan was striking me dead. But then the cloud moved away from the sun. As soon as the light touched my fur, I could breathe again. I needed time to understand what that sign meant, but after listening to my mother’s summary of Tempestshade’s life, I think I understand.” Troutpool turned away from Tempestshade and Puddlewhisper. “Tempestshade was born to a dying queen. I believe that this event… infected her on a spiritual level. We saw it with Shadowdrop and one of Downstar’s lives, and now we see it with Ripplefern. Being alone with Tempestshade risks death. She is a walking omen of death.” The Clan was eerily silent.

“That’s a lie,” Tempestshade growled, lips curled. “That’s a lie! I’m not an omen! Tell them, Puddlewhisper!” Yet Puddlewhisper was as silent as everyone else. Tempestshade stepped away from her, eyeing her Clanmates like they were ready to attack. She left long claw marks in the sand. Puddlewhisper flinched away from her charge, staring at Troutpool.

You couldn’t call someone guilty for being born an omen. You could, however, feel guilty when said omen ran out of camp the moment the innocent verdict came back, and no one dared to follow her.

(Tempestshade: 14, female, caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

(Puddlewhisper: 18, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

(Rustshade: 97, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Downstar: 112, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Troutpool: 14, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

Halibutdusk spars with Splashkit while James looks after Honeykit and Drumkit.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk plays with Splashkit while James sits with Honeykit and Drumkit in the back. Under Splashkit, it says + NEW SKILL: NEVER SITS STILL. Under Honeykit, it says + NEW SKILL: HAS LOTS OF IDEAS. Under Drumkit, it says + NEW SKILL: MOSS-BALL HUNTER.]

(Halibutdusk: 45, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Splashkit: 1, male, kit, noisy, never sits still)

(James: 129, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Honeykit: 1, male, kit, noisy, has lots of ideas)

(Drumkit: 1, female, kit, quiet, moss-ball hunter)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 57

Weedfoot believes she is meant for something greater. Wildclaw recovers from her bite but is left with a new scar. Leatherkit eats a bug.

[Image ID: Weedfoot talks to Wildclaw while Leatherkit plays in the background. Weedfoot yowls, “Leatherkit! We do not eat bugs!” Under Wildclaw, it says + NEW SKILL: GOOD FIGHTER, - CONDITION: BITE WOUND.]

(Weedfoot: 106, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Wildclaw: 49, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Leatherkit: 5, male, kit, impulsive, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

Weedfoot leads a patrol to track down the Witch Hunters and free Carnationspeckle, once and for all.

[Image ID: Weedfoot leads Wildclaw, Waspdawn, Puddlewhisper, Darkkick, Mosspounce, and Trumpetspore.]

---

Lemmy knew where they were keeping Carnationspeckle.

Madeline and Achilles finally welcomed Lemmy into the inner circle of enforcers after she caught a scout stealing prey set aside for the pregnant and nursing queens of the community. According to her, they let her spend the night guarding Carnationspeckle near somewhere she called the Singing Place. She’d told the entire Clan as soon as she could cross the river. Today was the day to act. Today was the day RippleClan would get their beloved Carnationspeckle back.

Weedfoot led a large patrol across the river. Wildclaw had fully recovered from her dog bite and sported a bright scar to remember the moment by; despite having only just been cleared to fight, she was determined to rescue her old mentor. She swam right at Weedfoot’s side, a deputy’s deputy in the coming conflict. Darkkick and Trumpetspore brought along a warrior’s combat skill, sticking by one another’s side as they followed the stepping stones across. Weedfoot had to keep reminding Mosspounce to stick behind her while Waspdawn and Puddlewhisper were stoic and prepared to do whatever it took to rescue their dear friend.

They had a plan to rescue Carnationspeckle, and a plan to get the Witch Hunters off their backs. Weedfoot just had to pray that Oilstripe and Troutpool could find success with their side of the attack.

It was a long and quiet walk in the earliest glimmers of dawn. When Weedfoot glanced back at her patrol, most of them were dark shadows walking through the wet grass. There was still some snow on the ground, but it clung in patches under the cool shade of giant trees. Blooms were beginning to grow on the twigs, telling the RippleClan cats that something new was on the horizon. A new year meant a new freedom from the chaos the Witch Hunters had wrought on the Clans.

The human settlement was like a slice of Silverpelt on the ground. The small, flickering lights within the dens gave every home a feeling of warmth and nourishment that made Weedfoot’s stomach growl. The humans could not be trusted, however; James’ stories warned her of the fickle and unpredictable nature of their kind. Yet, oddly enough, it would be the humans and their odd rituals that would prove Carnationspeckle’s salvation.

“Mosspounce, you’ve been here before,” Weedfoot whispered as they neared the settlement. “Did you see the Singing Place during your visit?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t know it,” Mosspounce said. “Lemmy said it wouldn’t be hard to hear when the humans arrived. It’ll be a few hours, though. They don’t wake up until late in the morning.”

“We should wait somewhere outside the settlement,” Puddlewhisper said with a shiver. “I don’t trust this place. It feels hostile.”

“Then we’ll camp here,” Weedfoot said, stopping by the remnants of a dead monster, all shards of wood and leather, never able to make it home. “Wildclaw, pass out the pemmican.” Wildclaw had a leather pouch wrapped around her torso; she reached around and tugged off the strap, letting the leather drop. She passed small chunks of pemmican out to each member of the patrol, who gratefully held it between their paws as they nibbled. They saved a large chunk for Carnationspeckle; she would need the nourishment when she was free.

Weedfoot watched the sun rise. She could not see the ocean from where she sat, but she felt its presence in the air, another quiet comfort of RippleClan in hostile territory. The patrol shared tongues and stretched as they waited, unable to stay still. Puddlewhisper kept her eyes out for Witch Hunters or any other cats who could warn Madeline and her lackeys of their approach. Wildclaw and Waspdawn discussed strategy. Darkkick was the only one able to nap, for reasons Weedfoot could not understand. Everyone was ready to bring their friend home.

Some time later, Weedfoot held a paw to the horizon. The entire sun rested on top of her paw. She steadied herself. If Lemmy was right, now was the time to strike. Weedfoot jumped onto the dead monster and raised her tail. Puddlewhisper nudged Darkkick awake. The patrol focused on their deputy. Just as Weedfoot was about to lead the patrol toward the human settlement, a massive bang rang out from the tall dens. Trumpetspore and Waspdawn hissed, flinching at the loud sound.

“That’s the sound of the Singing Place!” Mosspounce gasped. “Lemmy told me they make a loud sound to summon other humans. They’ll be starting soon!”

“Then we need to hurry,” Weedfoot huffed. “Stay to the shadows between the dens. Do not let any cats see you. We don’t know who may recognize us.” Weedfoot hurried toward the clanging sound, ears ringing as her patrol of loyal friends and family followed.

According to Lemmy, humans gathered at the Singing Place four or five times a moon in some sort of grand Gathering of music and community. The tall white den was so busy and loud that few cats could stand to live there, and even fewer would stay while the humans sang. Someone (hopefully Lemmy) would be forced to stay and guard Carnationspeckle through the clamor, but they wouldn’t be able to stand up against seven angry Clan cats.

Weedfoot would not call the sound echoing through the settlement “singing”. It was more like wailing, the sort that pierced the patrol’s ears. Weedfoot had no desire to understand their definition of music. She was more focused on rescuing the kind little kit she once found sleeping in the shipwreck, unaware of the loving family she would build.

The singing made it easy to find the Singing Place. Even if the den had been quiet, it would have stood out for its peaked roof and snow-white walls. Weedfoot didn’t know it was possible to find wood that white. The walls seemed to shake with the force of the humans’ sound. Weedfoot held her tail up. The patrol pressed into the stone wall of a human den, hidden in darkness. 

“Wildclaw, Waspdawn,” Weedfoot whispered. The pair slipped next to her. The rest of the patrol waited by the den as Weedfoot, Wildclaw, and Waspdawn crossed the empty horse path to the Singing Place. The den rose out of the ground, leaving a small hill around it. While stones lined the foundation, sometimes the earth slipped deeper, leaving small gaps underneath the Singing Place. Weedfoot pressed against the vibrating white walls and snuck along the den.

Weedfoot looked around a sharp corner. A light brown torbie sat beside a large hole under the Singing Place, seemingly unbothered by the noise. So they wouldn’t be dealing with Lemmy; no matter. This is what RippleClan cats trained for. Weedfoot looked to Waspdawn and twirled her tail high. Waspdawn nodded and trotted the other way, looping around the back half of the den. Wildclaw readied herself at the corner, eyes locked on the Witch Hunter guard. A short time later, Waspdawn poked his head around the other side of the wall. Weedfoot raised her tail high. All three cats held their breath.

Weedfoot dropped her tail. Waspdawn and Weedfoot sprinted out of cover. They tackled the Witch Hunter at the same time, dragging her to her belly. Their claws and fangs tore through her bicolored pelt. The Witch Hunter yowled as the Clan cats drew blood. Wildclaw gave her a good strong kick. The Witch Hunter, tail between her legs, tumbled down the hill and scrambled away from the Singing Place. She would be back with reinforcements soon, Weedfoot was certain. They had to be quick.

“Carnationspeckle!” Weedfoot cried. She stuck her head into the dark hole. A shadowy mass sat in the back of the den. Tired blue eyes shone in the morning light. Carnationspeckle limped into view. Her long and fluffy coat was matted and tangled. Her strong swimming muscles had eroded and allowed her bones to press against her skin. Rage once again sparked through Weedfoot. Madeline and her Witch Hunters would be receiving too light a punishment if this was how they treated dear, gentle Carnationspeckle.

“Weedfoot,” Carnationspeckle gasped. Carnationspeckle scrambled out of the hole. Weedfoot grabbed her scruff, helping her weak paws to solid ground. Wildclaw, blood covering her claws, pressed so hard into Carnationspeckle that she almost knocked her former mentor over.

“Did Oilstripe make it home?” Carnationspeckle asked as Waspdawn propped her back up.

“She’s safe and waiting for you,” Weedfoot promised. Wildclaw looted through her leather pouch and pulled out the pemmican. Carnationspeckle took a huge bite and purred deeply.

“We don’t have time to eat,” Waspdawn reminded the pair. That was when a yowl bounced around the stone dens. It came from the shadowy path where the rest of the patrol lay hidden.

They had been found out.

[Image ID: Mosspounce says to Weedfoot, “Weedfoot, I still haven’t found Lemmy. She was supposed to be here.” In the back, Carnationspeckle reunites with Troutpool, Rattlepelt, and Oilstripe.]

Weedfoot knew Madeline by description alone, but it was not hard to identify the crow-loving molly among the other Witch Hunters assaulting the patrol. Darkkick and Trumpetspore tore into a gray tom while Puddlewhisper had her fangs deep into Madeline’s shoulder. A giant red molly pounded Mosspounce’s face into the dry ground. More Witch Hunters hurried over, darting past a human riding a horse. The horse shrieked and bucked, making the human yowl.

“Protecting Carnationspeckle is your top priority,” Weedfoot barked at Wildclaw and Waspdawn. “We are not leaving anyone here, understood?” Weedfoot didn’t wait for an answer. She charged into the foray, her teeth quickly finding a target.

The Witch Hunters shoved Weedfoot against the hard stone walls of the human den. Her skin burned. Sharp teeth clacked together, trying to get at her throat. That was when Darkkick thundered in, knocking the Witch Hunters back with a blow from her shoulder.

“Thank you!” Weedfoot panted, shoving off the wall.

“I’m just making up for what I couldn’t do before,” Darkkick huffed, smacking a Witch Hunter aside. 

At the other side of the skirmish, Madeline and Puddlewhisper had each other by the throat, rolling about and smacking into the walls. Weedfoot spun and jumped off the wall, flying into Madeline. They flung one over the other, tumbling through the battle. Weedfoot kicked Madeline in the stomach. The Witch Hunter General stumbled.

“Weedfoot, there are more coming!” Mosspounce yowled. Sure enough, a swarm of Witch Hunters, led by the torbie guard from earlier, hurried between the dens, teeth glistening.

“Fall back!” Weedfoot ordered. She scrambled over stunned Witch Hunters and ran for Wildclaw and Waspdawn, who had chased off a Witch Hunter trying to claw at Carnationspeckle. Darkkick, Trumpetspore, Mosspounce, and Puddlewhisper shoved off their opponents. They grouped around Carnationspeckle with arched backs and deep growls.

“We have to split up,” Wildclaw huffed. “We can’t escape them all as one patrol.”

“I won’t risk losing anyone!” Weedfoot yowled as the Witch Hunters gathered along the edge of the Singing Place’s hill. Their growls and hisses were muffled by the singing still ringing out from behind the white wood walls. Weedfoot’s flank met Waspdawn and Puddlewhisper, instinctively gathering around their mother for the coming battle.

A shadow flickered over Weedfoot’s eyes. A loud and violent caw broke through the hissing cats and yowling humans. A crow looped over the crowd. The Witch Hunters froze, staring at the feathered beast. More crows fluttered onto the high roof of the Singing Place as their leader landed on Madeline’s head. It cawed once more, wings flapping. Madeline’s blue eyes grew wide.

“What?” she gasped, eyes straining to see the crow. “Let them go?” 

“That’s exactly right!” Weedfoot’s heart soared as a ginger tabby, a cream and white molly, and a furless gray cat bolted into view, panting hard. Had they run all the way from the Clans? The Witch Hunters yowled in outrage, eyes narrowing and tails flicking. The crow hopped off Madeline and stood by her, cawing softly. The Singing Place grew quiet.

“Oilstripe!” Carnationspeckle cried, utter relief breaking her voice. “Troutpool! Rattlepelt!”

“Mom!” Troutpool and Rattlepelt cheered. Weedfoot’s patrol made way for the enthusiastic pair. Their faces dug deep into Carnationspeckle’s long fur. They cried as they purred, drawing sobs from their mother’s throat as well. 

“You,” Madeline growled, focused on Oilstripe. “The ghost seer. The worst of the witches.”

“I know,” Oilstripe huffed, eyes darting about. “You and the… many, many spirits around here have made your hatred very clear. I can understand where that hate comes from, considering how differently we view death. That’s why I went over your head. They call you the Crow Speaker, after all. I thought maybe you would listen to them.”

“Blasphemy!” a Witch Hunter yowled.

“Only Madeline can understand the crows!” screamed another.

“I never said I understood what they said,” Oilstripe pointed out, moving between the RippleClan patrol and the Witch Hunters. “I just talked to them. In the Clans, some of our famous dead are considered Celestials who wield power over elements of the natural world. My daughter over there? She’s a cleric. She helped me pray to Feathertongue, Celestial of Crows, for help in finding your friends here. He answered. He led us to where the crows were gathered and I made my case.” In the bright morning glow reflected off the Singing Place, Weedfoot thought her old apprentice looked like a leader, encouraging her Clan through the hard times ahead.

“You only learned about StarClan recently,” Oilstripe explained. “We had no idea about your Other Side until you declared war on us. Our beliefs, our worlds, they don’t have to interfere with one another. We won’t disturb the rest of your dead anymore. We’ll even avoid hunting crows! But you have to understand that we don’t speak with the Other Side, we speak with StarClan. How can we be witches if our worlds don’t interact? We can keep living the way we’ve always had, keeping out of the others’ affairs. That’s what I told the crows, and it seems that’s what they’re telling you.” The crow beside Madeline cawed again, and Madeline lowered her ear to better hear. Weedfoot squirmed as Madeline listened to her feathery leader. Madeline growled softly, but sheathed her claws.

“I want all of you out of our home, now,” she hissed. “Our war is over. Our affairs will be our own. Make sure all of your kind know that we will no longer harp over what you do with your own ancestors, but may your Celestials help you once more if you harass ours.” The Witch Hunters began to complain, but the crows on top of the Singing Place screamed and flapped their wings wildly, shutting their mouths.

Oilstripe hurried to Carnationspeckle’s side. She stood strong for her mate, grooming the mats that would have to be cut out. Mosspounce crept closer to Weedfoot.

“Weedfoot, I still haven’t found Lemmy,” he whispered. “She was supposed to be here.”

“You’ll have to pray you see her again,” Weedfoot sighed, shaking her head. “It’s time for us to go home.”

(Weedfoot: 106, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Wildclaw: 49, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Darkkick: 117, trans female, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Trumpetspore: 18, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Mosspounce: 18, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Waspdawn: 23, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Puddlewhisper: 23, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

(Carnationspeckle: 59, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Madeline: 105, female, Witch Hunter General, faithful, omen sight)

(Oilstripe: 59, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Troutpool: 17, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Rattlepelt: 40, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 52, Part 2

The rest of Shadowdrop’s litter earn their names.

[Image ID: Tempestshade and Mosspounce earn their names. Under Tempestshade, it says LEVEL UP! TEMPESTPAW -> TEMPESTSHADE, TROUBLESOME -> CHILDISH, LOVES TO EAT -> INCREDIBLE COOK. Under Mosspounce, it says LEVEL UP! MOSSPAW -> MOSSPOUNCE, STARES AT FIRE -> TALENTED FIRE-STARTER.]

(Tempestshade: 13, female, caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

(Mosspounce: 13, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

Mosspounce sneaks off to the human territories to explore.

[Image ID: Mosspounce talks to Lemmy, who says, “Moss, this isn’t a game. Leave.” Achilles and Pearl walk away in the far corner.]

---

Ha! Downstar could not have picked a better day to give Mosspounce his full name. Even if he hadn’t had his vigil that night, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep. He could meet Lemmy not as a humble apprentice, but the newest caretaker of RippleClan! His paws carried him to the Great Northern River as soon as he could get away from camp.

Mosspounce and Lemmy had developed a routine since their “playful” spar by the river at the start of last summer. They met at the river around sunhigh every three days to chat and enjoy the cool breeze over the water. While Lemmy insisted they not talk about their homes for both their sakes (a statement that confused Mosspounce, although he kept his mouth shut), there was a lot they could talk about. They complained about annoying acquaintances (like how Scalekit had a creepy habit of staring at others across camp), the trials of navigating around noisy humans (Mosspounce couldn’t understand how Lemmy slept alongside them), and, truthfully, anything that came to mind. Lemmy was a standoffish molly, but Mosspounce couldn’t help but listen in awe at her intelligent words, like how she assured him that Mousesong would find peace on the “Other Side” after her death. He couldn’t help trying to make her laugh, and laughing harder when he heard her purr. He couldn’t help teasing her about her murderous friends and taking her biting comments about the Clans in return.

Mosspounce couldn’t help but like her!

He burst through the trees and preened in the river’s mist. He laid out across the river’s edge and stared at the sky, thick with clouds but bursting with a few powerful sunbeams. It would still be a minute before sunhigh, but Mosspounce could wait. Weedfoot had told him and Tempestshade that they had the day to themselves to celebrate their new positions, so Mosspounce could take all the time he wanted for his friend to arrive.

The problem was, Lemmy took a while to arrive. At least from Mosspounce’s perspective. Exhaustion from the long vigil wore at his eyes and worked with the midday weather to ease him into a nap. Yet he stayed half-awake, often sleepily lifting his head at a random noise from the other side of the river. Where was she? Had something gone wrong?

“I do have the day to myself,” Mosspounce mumbled, shaking out his damp pelt. He eyed the unknown trees beyond the river. Lemmy always made the trek to the river… why shouldn’t Mosspounce meet her halfway? He didn’t live in AshClan or SlugClan or any of the other Clans, who held a stigma against exploring beyond the land or being overly social with non-Clan cats. He was a RippleClan caretaker, and he could explore the land beyond the Clans as he pleased! Mosspounce strolled to the high stones and waded through the low water to the other side of the river. He shivered as he stepped on foreign territory. No one would yowl at him for this, yet there was an air of troublemaking to it that poured energy into his paws. 

Mosspounce took off through the trees, letting his nose guide him. He knew the humans camped to the north, but he didn’t know how far that camp was. If so many loners and kittypets from the camp came toward Clan territory, it couldn’t be too far. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before the stink of horses and humans flooded Mosspounce’s nose. Then came the sound. StarClan, the camp was loud. Yowling humans, thundering horses, the creaks and groans of human gadgets. Did humans ever shut up? It was only when Mosspounce broke out of the forest, legs aching from the jog, that he laid eyes on the huge settlement. 

Human dens were bigger than anything Mosspounce imagined. James, Parsley, and Rabbitjoy often talked about their days among humans, but their descriptions were nothing when compared to the hulking wood and stone structures that dappled the landscape. Smoke drifted from the ears of each structure like a foggy breath on a chilly day. Horses pulled monsters between the dens. Some humans even sat on their backs, guiding the horses down slimmer paths and around humans in strange, gawky pelts. Mosspounce had only ever seen humans from a distance, ones that James insisted were male. If that was the case, were the females the ones with the giant pelts? Why did they have such fluffy, brightly colored fur cascading around their flanks? Didn’t that make it difficult to move? 

Mosspounce braced himself as he left the safety of the forest and stepped into camp. The humans paid him no mind, but he kept close to the tall den walls, eyeing the passersby. The yowling made his ears hurt. How did Lemmy live among them? How did any cat? He could smell traces of loners and kittypets along the streets, even see a few pawprints in the muck and mud, but he had yet to actually see anyone. How could he hope to find Lemmy in this enormous place?

“Human kits have no sense,” a voice laughed. “Our kits, they tend to understand what’s dangerous as soon as they open their eyes. But little humans? I saw one pull on a horse’s tail until the brown beast kicked them in the stomach.” The voice wasn’t Lemmy’s, but it was a voice. Pelt pressed against the stone walls of the human dens, Mosspounce jogged toward the sound.

“They can be rather sweet, though,” another voice purred. “When the humans gather in the Singing Place, the kits will wander off and give me scraps.”

“By the crows, I will take my packed den over the Singing Place any day of the moon,” yet another voice groaned. Mosspounce’s ears perked up. That was Lemmy! He picked up his pace. There was a path cut between two huge dens. The voices echoed off the stiff walls. Mosspounce turned the corner… and froze. Lemmy sat facing Mosspounce, chatting with her companions. Those companions, whose pelts were as stuck in Mosspounce’s memory as Lemmy’s, had their back to Mosspounce, thank StarClan, while they spoke with Lemmy. The wind blew their scent toward Mosspounce. Achilles and Pearl. Witch Hunters.

“But the Singing Place is only that busy a few times a moon,” Pearl reminded Lemmy. Lemmy’s gaze froze on Mosspounce. A look of half-concealed shock and horror flooded her blue eyes. Mosspounce crouched back around the corner.

“Alright, enough chatting,” Achilles chuckled, stretching his back. “There are still a few cats we have to gather for the meeting.”

“I’ll continue down this alley,” Lemmy quickly suggested. “I’ll see you both soon.” Lemmy headed in Mosspounce’s direction. Mosspounce pulled his head back, praying Achilles and Pearl could not smell him. A few moments later, Lemmy appeared. Her shock had vanished, replaced by a hard glare that stuck Mosspounce to the wall.

“Moss, this isn’t a game,” Lemmy growled, rounding on the black tom. “Leave. Now.”

“Lemmy, I was just worried about you,” Mosspounce explained, tail tucked. “You always meet with me. I wanted to make sure something hadn’t happened.” Lemmy’s tail thrashed and her eyes narrowed, even though Mosspounce didn’t think it possible for them to get any narrower. “Alright, it was also an excuse to explore where you live, but I do have something I want to share!”

“Mosspaw, we can talk about this later,” Lemmy huffed. Her fur prickled in a sudden stiff wind. 

“That’s what I wanted to tell you!” Mosspounce chirped, a bit of his confidence surging back. “I’m not Mosspaw anymore. I graduated! You’re looking at Mosspounce, caretaker of RippleClan.”

“Good for you?” Lemmy said, looking Mosspounce up and down. “That doesn’t change anything. Mosspa—pounce, if the other Witch Hunters see you, they will kill you. You do understand that, right?”

“What exactly are the Witch Hunters?” Mosspounce asked. “My aunt’s seen a few others in your group by the river. Why are they interested in the Clans? Why did you ambush me all those moons ago?”

“You talk like we’ve known each other for years,” Lemmy sighed. Her shoulders stiffened and the frustration itching at her fur softened. She stayed quiet for a while, making Mosspounce shift uncomfortably. Finally, she said, “If you really want to know more, head west until you come across the stage. It’s a large wooden platform the humans built. There will be a lot of cats there, so you need to get to the roof of one of the dens behind the stage. Do not let anyone see you. When the meeting is over and everyone leaves, go home. We will talk more later.”

“What—” Mosspounce said.

“Promise me you will leave when we are done,” Lemmy snapped. Her nose was a whiskers-length from Mosspounce.

“I promise,” he said quietly. Lemmy eyed Mosspounce, testing the sincerity of his promise. Satisfied, she turned and jogged back the way Mosspounce came. Mosspounce glanced west. He braced his nose against the reek of horse dung and hurried between the crowds of bumbling humans.

[Image ID: Mosspounce hides in the corner while Achilles steps back, declaring, “Witch Hunters! We call your attention to our leader, the defender of the Other Side, the Crow Speaker, the Witch Finder General… Madeline!” In the center of the screen is a black and white molly with blue eyes and black feathers in her tail. Under her, it says NEW PLAYER: MADELINE, 100, FEMALE, FAITHFUL, OMEN SIGHT.]

The cats Mosspounce once struggled to see now flooded the paths, heading in the same direction as Mosspounce. A few wore ribbons and collars, but many were bare-necked, worn by the loner’s life. Where had they all been a minute ago? Did they all live in the human camp? Mosspounce kept his breath steady. He had never seen these cats before. His scent would be odd, but they had no reason to think he was a Clan cat. He could get through them.

Mosspounce followed the crowd to this “stage” Lemmy mentioned. Her description was apt; the humans’ impressive woodworking allowed them to make wooden designs far bigger in scale than anyone in the Clans could hope to create. A few cats, including Pearl and Achilles, sat on the stage. Mosspounce kept his head down. There was a tall tree that reached the pointed roof of a wooden den. Mosspounce snuck to the tree and scaled the trunk. He eyed the slim point of the roof. He wiggled his flank, gauging how far he would have to jump from the farthest reaching branch. And then, he jumped.

His paws dug into the harsh point. His tail kept him balanced. Easy. Mosspounce carefully sat on the tip of the roof and watched the stage. 

A short time later, Lemmy hopped onto the stage and joined a group of loners near the corner. That was interesting. Was Lemmy an important figure in her group? Or could anyone sit up there? As Lemmy got settled, Achilles strolled to the edge of the stage. A large crowd gathered below. It was like a Gathering!

“Witch Hunters!” Achilles yowled. The chatter of the crowd below died down. “We call your attention to our leader, the defender of the Other Side, the Crow Speaker, the Witch Finder General… Madeline!” Achilles stepped back as the crowd cheered. A gray and white molly took his place. Her white markings reminded Mosspounce of water dripping from a cat’s mouth and down their chest. Bright blue eyes, sparkling with life, watched the adoring crowd. A necklace of black feathers hung from her neck. More feathers decorated her flank and tail.

“Thank you!” Madeline purred, nodding to the crowd. “Thank you for the praise. And thank you all for making it. I know some of you have had to travel some ways to make it here today. You are all loyal scouts, and we thank you for your efforts.” She turned to Achilles. “I thank my second, who helps manage this mess of a community.” Achilles chuckled as Madeline turned to Pearl and the few cats gathered beside her. “We thank our Witch Finders, constantly searching for perversions to the Other Side.” Now she motioned to Lemmy’s group. “And we thank our enforcers, who assist us in our tasks. The crows say thanks to you all.” Madeline glanced up. A crow sat on a tree across from Mosspounce. The Witch Hunters stared at the bird like it was their leader, not Madeline.

“I called you all here for two reasons,” Madeline said. “The first is to celebrate two new additions to our enforcer ranks. Stella, Charon, join us onstage and claim your new positions!” The crowd cheered as two cats climbed onto the stage and joined Lemmy. They seemed comfortable with Lemmy, just like everyone else. It was nothing like the violent personas Pearl and Achilles took on when they tried to kill him.

“The other reason is another cause for celebration,” Madeline continued. “You all know of our plans to destroy the Clans of warriors that live to the south and disturb our ancestors day in, day out. The Clans who claim to speak to the dead and pull them from their peace as though it were a natural thing. Well today, dear scouts, we have struck a decisive blow against these witches. We have killed one of their clerics!” A grand yowl rose through the crowd. What? “After moons of studying the witches that call themselves SlugClan, we have killed their elder cleric, the center of their perversion!” 

No. They killed Bubblemoon? He had been alive at the last Gathering! He was one of Fennelspot’s closest friends! Mosspounce looked to Lemmy, but she either did not see him on the roof or refused to look at him.

“Today, we celebrate with a feast at Pearl’s farm!” Madeline cheered. “With me, everyone!” The Witch Hunters yowled and cheered. Madeline flicked her tail and marched off the other side of the stage. Lemmy, Pearl, Achilles, and all the other cats in the clearing around the stage followed her like a massive flood. Mosspounce crouched against the roof as they swarmed past.

In the words of his sister, what just happened?

(Mosspounce: 13, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Achilles: 80, male, Witch Hunter second, daring, eloquent speaker)

(Pearl: 33, female, Witch Finder, careful, explorer, clever)

(Lemmy: 28, female, Witch Hunter enforcer, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Madeline: 100, female, Witch Hunter General, faithful, omen sight)

Tempestshade and Ripplefern head out on patrol, but misjudge the strength of the ocean. Ripplefern is swept away.

[Image ID: Tempestshade yowls at Troutpool and Weedfoot “It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault!” Underneath Weedfoot, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

---

Tempestshade thought that rafts were one of the greatest things artisans and caretakers could have ever invented. They required a lot of wood to build and had to be taken care of, stored somewhere that storms and waves could not destroy them, but they allowed cats to venture farther into the ocean than ever before. Tied together with glue and twine, with flax leads that could connect swimmers to the raft, it was, in Tempestshade’s opinion, the best way to fish.

For this hunting patrol, it was Tempestshade’s job to tie Ripplefern to the tether and stay on the raft while Ripplefern collected the ocean’s bounties. Ripplefern was great at diving, maybe even better than Carnationspeckle! Every time she dove, she would come back with a new crab or clam or some other wonderful treasure. Tempestshade kept their catches safe, dozing off to the shifting waves below her. 

Ripplefern climbed back onto the raft with a big gasp, jolting Tempestshade from her nap. She shook out her pelt, gray fur clinging to the tether around her torso. Tempestshade blinked hard as saltwater stung her eyes. The wind sent a small wave billowing over the raft, almost washing away Ripplefern’s catches. Tempestshade quickly pulled them close, shivering as the cold water ran over her belly.

“Do you think we have enough for the day?” Ripplefern said with a yawn. “I’m too cold to keep diving.”

“I have some fun ideas for this crab,” Tempestshade purred, batting at the crab on the top of the pile. “I’m going to boil it whole. It’ll be delicious.”

“Hopefully we can have a bite of it,” Ripplefern laughed. “I’m sure my mom will want it to go to Clammask. Help me get my tether off.” 

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I clamped the crab’s claw to my ear and wore that to the next Gathering?” Tempestshade laughed. She put her face close to the dead crab. “Wouldn’t that impress the other Clans?”

“I think that might cross the line of how to treat our prey,” Ripplefern chuckled, squirming in her tether. “Now come on, this tether is starting to dig into me.”

“Alright,” Tempestshade hummed. As she groomed dripping water off her belly, a deep hum caught her ear. It was a deep, creaking, rushing sound, the sort of sound both Tempestshade and Ripplefern grew up hearing from beyond the nursery walls. A wave gathered along the edge of the ocean, growing in size and racing toward the raft.

“I don’t like the look of that,” Ripplefern gulped. “Just cut me out, Tempest.” Tempestshade nodded and searched for the sharp stone they always brought along for emergencies. Yet, when Tempestshade shuffled through the fresh-kill pile and scanned the raft, she could not find the stone. Carnationspeckle had taught her, time and time again, that when she was on the raft, using the tether, she needed the stone for moments like this.

“I can’t find it!” Tempestshade stammered. Ripplefern reached around and dug her teeth around the flax lead. She couldn’t get the right angle on the tether to pull it off. Tempestshade looked back to the approaching wave. Had it been that tall a moment ago?

“Tempest, help me,” Ripplefern snapped. “Help me, I can’t get it off!” Tempestshade grabbed the base of the tether, where the loop connected to the main lead, but she couldn’t stop shaking. It wouldn’t loosen! The tether was tied into the raft itself; Ripplefern dove at the tie and started chewing. Tempestshade joined her, fangs aching against the tight flax. 

Tempestshade looked up just in time to see the wave devour the raft.

Tempestshade flew away from Ripplefern in a haze of blue and gray. Bubbles thundered past her. The screaming of the wave flooded her ears with intense pressure. She’d taken a deep breath when the wave hit, but the force of the impact knocked the air back out. She flipped head over tail as the wave carried her stars-know-where.

Suddenly, Tempestshade skittered across soaked, brown sand. The remnants of the wave nearly reached the grass. Tempestshade shivered and choked on water, eyes burning from the salt. How in StarClan’s name had she not hit one of the many pebble-lined shores? She blinked violently, trying to shake the water off, trying to breathe, to understand where she was. She stared out at the ocean, which seemed black with the sun behind the clouds.

The raft bobbed and weaved not too far from shore. The wood was dark and utterly soaked. The twine and glue had given way to the intense pressure of the sudden wave, and part of the raft was gone.

The part that Ripplefern’s tether had been attached to.

“Ripplefern!” Tempestshade screeched. She scrambled toward the sea, paws sinking into the wet sand. StarClan, where was she? Tempestshade hacked up more water, shivering in the autumn chill. Her voice burned as she screamed, “Ripplefern!”

“Tempestshade?” The call, sadly, did not come from the water. Troutpool and Weedfoot, each with leather pouches around their neck, emerged from the trees and hurried up to Tempestshade. Tempestshade spun around like she was cornered by dogs. Troutpool and Weedfoot both startled.

“It’s not my fault,” Tempestshade stammered, breathing hard. “It’s not my fault!” No. No, no, no. Tempestshade didn’t understand. She didn’t know what happened! Why couldn’t she get Ripplefern free?

“Tempestshade,” Weedfoot said, eyes catching on the broken raft. “Tempestshade, where is Ripplefern? Where is my daughter?” Fear overtook her voice at the end.

Tempestshade couldn’t breathe. She crouched on the sand, falling deeper and deeper into a whirlpool of her own mind, the image of the wave taking over her senses.

(Tempestshade: 13, female, caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

(Ripplefern: 18, female, historian, charismatic, talented swimmer, good fighter)

(Troutpool: 13, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Weedfoot: 101, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 58

Rustshade dies of yellowcough.

[Image ID: Oilstripe begs the ghosts of Rustshade and Fennelspot, “Dad… Dad, no, I need you to visit.” Under her, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

Oilstripe probably should have felt bad about her father’s death. He was another founding member of the Clan, gone barely a moon after Fennelspot. And yet, Oilstripe was closer to Fennelspot in life and still didn’t grieve him. That was, in part, because she still saw him all the time.

Fennelspot loved to linger. Oilstripe was sure he would be one of the Blessed Ones, guiding the growth of herbs along, the Celestial of RippleClan Clerics (she was trying to get that title going for him early on, he was the first of their Clan after all). Oilstripe would see Fennelspot in the gardens often, trotting around the caretakers and eyeing how they tended his herbs. He would also show up in the medicine den, surprising Oilstripe when she went to see her daughter. Oddly enough, Troutpool was never shocked to hear of Fennelspot being around. She would say she “had a feeling” he was watching. Sometimes, Oilstripe forgot Fennelspot was dead at all. How could she grieve someone who never left?

That was how it was with Rustshade as the Clan sat at his vigil. Rattlepelt treated him well, weaving a crown of wheat stalks tenderly bartered from WheatClan, honoring his role in the Clan’s founding. His grandkits were with him now; Troutpool gently groomed his forehead as Honeykit, Splashkit, Leatherkit, and Drumkit, all just a few days away from their apprentice ceremony, pretended they weren’t still kits and kept quiet. Carnationspeckle, whose pelt was half-shaved from all the mats they had to cut off, sat with Downstar, offering a gentle word to her old mentor while her daughter and mate grieved. Except Oilstripe wasn’t grieving. She sat with Clammask, grooming the sadness off her pelt with Scrubmask on the other side, but Oilstripe’s eyes were off to the side. She wasn’t looking at her father’s empty shell, she was looking at Rustshade himself.

Rustshade sat with Fennelspot and Puddlespeckle, watching his own vigil. Valleybrook’s ghost sat a ways behind them (he had passed a while ago, killed by a human farming wheat). Oilstripe figured Rustshade needed time to process the fact that he was dead. She was sure it would have been a shock for him to fall asleep and never wake up. As Scrubmask collected her kits from Rustshade’s body, the ghosts wandered toward the exit. Oilstripe brushed against her younger sister once more and followed the spirits outside.

“Dad!” she called. Puddlespeckle continued on, vanishing into the tree line, but Fennelspot and Rustshade stopped and turned around. Oilstripe had to dig her back paws in to avoid tumbling through her father’s spirit. “So then, what did you think of your own vigil?”

“I’m happy with how I’ve been honored,” Rustshade sighed, whiskers drooping. “Take care of your sister and your kin, Oilstripe.” There was an odd finality to the phrase that made Oilstripe cock her head.

“You say that like I’m not going to keep seeing you around,” she laughed. Rustshade bristled and Fennelspot placed his tail on his friend’s back. One of the red petals that forever stayed in his fur slipped onto Rustshade’s pelt.

“I’m dead, Oilstripe,” Rustshade huffed like a mentor reminding their apprentice of an obvious fact. “That means I’m not going to be here to help you.”

“Yes, not in the same way you used to be,” Oilstripe chuckled awkwardly, one ear tilted to the side. “But you’ve always been a comforting weight at my side, and you’ll keep being that as a spirit of StarClan. You can join Applepelt when they shadow me sometimes. They’re good company.”

“No, Oilstripe,” Rustshade growled. “You don’t understand. The next time you see me, you’ll be a warrior of StarClan yourself.” Rustshade was right. Oilstripe did not understand.

“But I’ll see you when you visit the territories,” Oilstripe huffed. “just like I see Twinekit and Locustseeker and Burdockcreek.” A hole, not too different from the gnawing anxiety that bit her pelt when Carnationspeckle was held captive, opened in her chest.

“What your father means,” Fennelspot sighed, stepping closer, “is that he’s tired. He’s lost many of the cats he cared for. He is one of StarClan’s ranks who find returning to the Clans too painful. The friends you’ve known who have joined StarClan, they like to visit, but Rustshade wants to spend time with his long-gone children in the stars.”

“But no,” Oilstripe said, unable to stop a panicked laugh from slipping out, “that would mean he’s leaving me.” Fennelspot and Rustshade simply stared at Oilstripe, their gazes heavy. “Dad… Dad, no, I need you to visit.”

“You haven’t needed me in a long time, Oil,” Rustshade sighed. “You have a strong life built for yourself. You don’t need me.”

“No, Dad, I don’t know…” Oilstripe stammered. She reached a paw toward her father’s ghost. Rustshade stepped back. With a soft shake of his head and one last look with his stern heather eyes, he walked out toward the trees. “Dad, stop! Come back! Fennelspot, stop him! Bring him back!”

“I’m sorry, Oilstripe,” Fennelspot gulped. “Let him rest in peace.” Fennelspot ran to catch up to his old friend. 

“Stop!” Oilstripe begged. “You can’t leave like that! You have to come back! Even for one visit! Dad!” Fennelspot and Rustshade were nothing but specks of red among the early dawn trees. One blink and they were gone..

When the Witch Hunters captured Carnationspeckle, Oilstripe had not known what to do. There was an uncertainty in her heart, a hundred questions she could not answer. She supported Troutpool and Rattlepelt, demanded answers from Lemmy, and searched for reassurance when she could. She was scared, but she had not felt hopeless, because if Carnationspeckle had died, her spirit would have stayed at her side. She would return, not in the way she wanted, but she would have returned.

Was this what true grief felt like?

Oilstripe needed the pain to go away. She didn’t know how to handle it. It was killing her. She couldn’t breathe. She needed her father’s quiet support at her side. She crouched in the sand, shaking. Why would Rustshade leave her like that? Didn’t she mean something to her father?

“Oilstripe.” Carnationspeckle’s soft, gentle fur pushed into Oilstripe’s stiff pelt. Her touch broke down the wall in Oilstripe’s throat. A deep, guttural sob broke free.

“He’s leaving me!” Oilstripe wailed. “He’s leaving me behind!” Carnationspeckle was strong; she could handle Oilstripe’s entire weight against her. Oilstripe shook so hard, she thought she might break like Trumpetspore’s half-finished pottery.

“When you rescued me,” Carnationspeckle said softly, “you told me you’d do everything possible to make my heart right again, and thanks to you, I know I’ll get there someday. I’ll do the same for you.” Each mate pressed into the other, clinging for life like debris along the sea.

(Oilstripe: 62, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Fennelspot: 113, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Rustshade: 102, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Puddlespeckle: 156, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

(Carnationspeckle: 60, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

When Scrubmask and Clammask’s kits are apprenticed, Honeypaw asks to train as a cleric and gets cicada wings as decor. His littermates train as a historian, warrior, and caretaker respectively, apprenticed to Weedfoot, Trumpetspore, and Elmsprout.

[Image ID: Honeypaw, Splashpaw, Leatherpaw, and Drumpaw all have their apprentice forms, with Honeypaw sporting some cicada wings. Under Honeypaw, it says LEVEL UP! HONEYKIT -> HONEYPAW, NOISY -> DARING, + ACCESSORY: CICADA WINGS. Under Splashpaw, it says LEVEL UP! SPLASHKIT -> SPLASHPAW, NOISY -> BOLD. Under Leatherpaw, it says LEVEL UP! LEATHERKIT -> LEATHERPAW, IMPULSIVE -> VENGEFUL. Under Drumpaw, it says LEVEL UP! DRUMKIT -> DRUMPAW, QUIET -> LOYAL.]

(Honeypaw: 6, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

(Splashpaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still)

(Leatherpaw: 6, male, warrior apprentice, vengeful, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

(Drumpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, loyal, moss-ball hunter)

Waspdawn’s tail is injured by a fox.

[Image ID: Splashpaw sneaks off while Troutpool and Honeypaw surround Waspdawn, who has + CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL written underneath him.]

---

Elmsprout had gotten into a bit of trouble; Parsley accused her of giving prey to AshClan, as seen on one of her many strolls with Carnationspeckle. Waspdawn and Puddlewhisper, chosen as defender and inquisitor to the potential trial ahead, went out to investigate the scene and get information from AshClan. Unfortunately, they stumbled across a rather sickly and feral old fox that stuck a solid blow against Waspdawn, nearly biting his tail clean off! It threw the Clan into a bit of a whirlwind. Lavendertwist, who had gotten his stitches out but still wasn’t allowed to speak or eat hard foods, stayed at his wounded brother’s side. Weedfoot and James shared tongues outside the medicine den, waiting for news. 

That left Splashpaw deeply, deeply bored.

He probably should have felt worse about Waspdawn’s terrible injury, but he had no doubt he would be fine. Honeypaw had only been training for a quarter moon and was already great at his job. But with Weedfoot worrying over her kit, Splashpaw could only sit in camp and kick at clouds.

Leatherpaw and Drumpaw trotted out of the apprentice’s den, laughing. Splashpaw rolled to his paws, eyes gleaming.

“What are you doing?” Splashpaw asked, leaping to his littermates’ side.

“Trumpetspore and Elmsprout are taking us to our first sparring session!” Leatherpaw cheered with a playful wiggle of his flank. “I won’t lie, I’m a little nervous to see what actual battle is like, but I can’t wait to drive off predators and rogues!”

“Nervous?” Drumpaw laughed softly. “More like overeager. Trumpetspore will stomp that out.”

“Please take me with you,” Splashpaw begged, crouching pitifully. “I’m so bored.”

“Our mentors will be focused on our training, not yours,” Leatherpaw said. “You’ll have to keep yourself entertained.”

“But Honeypaw’s busy with Waspdawn, and our moms are on patrol!” Splashpaw whined. 

“Figure it out!” Leatherpaw said without a hint of sympathy. Drumpaw, at least, gently batted Splashpaw’s ear. Leatherpaw and Drumpaw ran to the entrance, where their mentors were already waiting for them. Splashpaw watched, envy bubbling in his stomach, as they sauntered off. As soon as they left, Mosspounce walked in, tail held low.

“Mosspounce!” Splashpaw called. “Can you show me some battle moves? Or take me hunting? Please, give me something to do.” Splashpaw rolled onto his back in front of Mosspounce.

“Not now, Splashpaw,” Mosspounce sighed, stepping over the gold and white apprentice. Splashpaw cocked his head, still upside-down.

“Did you not enjoy your walk?” Splashpaw huffed, turning right side up. Mosspounce groaned dramatically and gave into the apprentice’s insistence, sitting.

“It wasn’t just a walk,” he grumbled. “I was waiting by the river for Lemmy. Again.” Splashpaw had a very clear memory of Lemmy from her visit three moons prior, after Carnationspeckle went missing. She had seemed so fierce, even with her silly yellow collar. 

“She still hasn’t come to see you?” Splashpaw huffed. “I thought we were friends with the Witch Hunters now.”

“They could have found out about her dreams,” Mosspounce mumbled. “They would have labeled her a witch if they knew about them. It’s just that… I think I really liked her, Splashpaw. I wanted her to join RippleClan. I thought that’s why StarClan visited her dreams. But maybe not.” Mosspounce shook his head and slunk into the warrior’s den. As his black tail vanished, Splashpaw got an idea. A brilliant, stunning, heroic, fun idea.

Splashpaw glanced around camp. Most cats were focused on the medicine den, waiting for an update on Waspdawn. Splashpaw fluffed himself up and marched out of camp.

“Where are you off with such swagger?” Tempestshade was guarding the entrance and purred mischievously when Splashpaw appeared. The lie came to Splashpaw with shocking ease.

“Weedfoot said I could join my littermates at Battle Beach!” Splashpaw chirped. “It’s north along the shore, right?”

“Head straight there, and have fun,” Tempestshade said with a nod. Splashpaw chirped happily and jogged away from camp.

Splashpaw was going to be a hero. He was going to find Lemmy and bring her to RippleClan for the reward she deserved.

(Splashpaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still)

(Leatherpaw: 6, male, warrior apprentice, vengeful, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

(Drumpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, loyal, moss-ball hunter)

(Mosspounce: 19, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Tempestshade: 19, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Splashpaw heads into the human settlements to find Lemmy.

[Image ID: Splashpaw now wears a purple ribbon collar, and has + ACCESSORY: PURPLE RIBBON COLLAR written under him. He says to Lemmy, who has + CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH under her, “This is a rescue mission!” Lemmy replies, “Yet we’re both trapped now.”]

---

Splashpaw wasn’t sure why so many of his Clanmates talked about the human settlement like the Dark Forest on earth. Yes, it smelled, it was loud, and until just recently, the loners that lived there might have killed Splashpaw for visiting. But Splashpaw liked the intense smells and sounds. He liked the tall dens and whinnying horses. He could see why so many cats lived here, whether with humans or along the horse paths. Who knew what stories and adventures lay hidden among the humans and Witch Hunters?

Splashpaw trotted eagerly through the streets, largely ignored by the humans. It was late afternoon, and the humans were as active as a Clan full of kits. They yowled and jostled one another, waving their paws about and stepping around the horse dung that covered the paths. Splashpaw knew the dangers of a horse path; Spikecrash made it her mission to warn every new litter of the danger of horses, sharing the tale of her scar. Yet the horses and monsters they dragged about moved slowly, careful to avoid the humans.

As Splashpaw crept among the humans, one of their gangly pink paws reached down and stroked his back. He shivered at the foreign touch and scampered away. To his surprise, the touch didn’t feel too bad! If humans touched kittypets like that all the time, Splashpaw could see the appeal of the lifestyle. He shook himself out though. He needed to focus!

A group of humans yowled and gawked at baskets of strange fruit, set within a wooden structure. A lilac tom relaxed at the base of the structure, idly watching the humans.

“Excuse me!” Splashpaw yowled. He weaved around the humans to reach the tom. “I’m looking for Lemmy. She’s a tortoiseshell with a yellow collar. Have you seen her?”

“I haven’t seen Lemmy since before that trouble at the Singing Place,” the tom sighed. “Sorry, young tom. .” Splashpaw crept underneath the structure and around the chattering humans. Even the loners of the human settlement hadn’t seen Lemmy? What had happened to her?

Two pink paws wrapped around Splashpaw’s torso. He should have yowled and clawed, bitten and kicked at his attacker, scrambled away to rethink his plan. Yet as his paws left the ground, Splashpaw was frozen. What was happening? He looked overhead and saw the gleaming, furless face of a human. It bared its teeth and made a high pitched sound that hurt Splashpaw’s ears. Splashpaw hissed as his heart beat wildly. He snapped his jaws at the human’s small paws, but even as his fangs dug into the soft flesh, the human’s grip only tightened. It made that high pitched sound again and pressed Splashpaw to its chest. The billowing fabric around its lower half swished as it spun and took off down a side path away from the taller humans.

How had Splashpaw not seen the human reaching for him? He had been so distracted by the other humans and his own quest, he forgot to pay attention to his surroundings. That was the first thing Weedfoot told him when she showed him the territory; even when he was simply enjoying time outside camp, he had to pay attention. He could never predict when an excited dog or angry bear could stroll through the trees and pick Splashpaw as its next meal. He had forgotten that simple lesson, and now he was going to meet some cruel fate at the paws of a mad human. 

Splashpaw squirmed and clawed at the human’s pale overcoat, but he couldn’t break through the strange material. All of his efforts were met with a tighter hold that squeezed the air out of him. The human was slow, but its gangly walk disoriented Splashpaw. Eventually, as fewer and fewer humans appeared around Splashpaw and his captor, the human slowed. It stood in front of a den that was likely squat by human standards but still towered over any cat. Another small human waited by the den’s entrance with a long white pelt in its paws. It hurried over to its companion and wrapped the pelt around Splashpaw. His legs pressed into himself. He couldn’t move!

The second human revealed a new object from the ripples of its colorful pelt; a bright purple ribbon. It reminded Splashpaw of James’ ragged black ribbon he still insisted he wore. Splashpaw’s terror cooled for a moment as the human wrapped the ribbon around his neck. It was shockingly smooth; no wonder James and Lavendertwist wore theirs as much as they could!

The peace only lasted a moment, however, as the pair of humans carried Splashpaw around their den and toward a smaller wooden den. The second human hurried ahead and moved the wooden barrier that revealed the dark interior. The human carrying Splashpaw quickly unwrapped his restraints and tossed him into the shadows. He spun and bolted for the exit, but the humans quickly slammed the wooden wall shut.

“Let me out!” Splashpaw yowled. “I’m not a kittypet! I’m a RippleClan historian!”

“They’ll be back with food later.” Splashpaw jumped. He peered into the darkness of the small den, barely big enough for a few cats. Giant human tools sat against the wall, sharp points jutting toward Splashpaw, ready to kill. A black lump laid in the corner, deep blue eyes glaring at Splashpaw. The entire den reeked of sick. As Splashpaw’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could see the strange molly’s yellow collar and red patches.

“Are you Lemmy?” he gasped, trying not to sneer at the smell.

“You were one of the kits from RippleClan,” Lemmy huffed. She crept closer to Splashpaw before suddenly shivering. She coughed violently, bright yellow phlegm splattering onto the wooden floor. Memories of Rustshade’s phlegm crusted face splashed through Splashpaw’s mind.

“Stay back!” Splashpaw yelped, pressing against the wall. “You have yellowcough. You could get me sick.”

“I’ll try not to,” Lemmy grumbled as she shook from the effort of coughing. 

“Have you been here this whole time?” Splashpaw asked, claws digging into the wood. “Mosspounce has been looking for you.”

“I’m not surprised,” Lemmy sighed softly. “I was going to assist him in rescuing his friend, but those human kits snatched me and threw me in here. I think they want me to be their housecat.”

“A collar means you already have a human, though,” Splashpaw huffed. “Why would they take you from them?”

“I don’t believe my human is very popular among the others,” Lemmy grumbled, shaking her head as she shivered once more. “He tends to keep to his den. I wouldn’t be surprised if the kits thought they were rescuing me.”

“That’s what I’m here to do!” Splashpaw chirped, standing a bit taller. “This is a rescue mission!”

“Yet we’re both trapped now,” Lemmy said. She returned to her spot in the back of the den. “If you’re quick when they return, you can likely slip away.”

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Splashpaw huffed. 

“Then you’ll rot,” Lemmy growled, lips curled. Muffled yowls broke through the walls. Splashpaw backed up, ears perked. The yowling grew closer and closer. Suddenly, the wooden barrier tilted aside. Two big humans, male and female, crouched in the grass with long pelts in their paws. Splashpaw hissed, a warrior’s courage filling his heart. The humans cooed and clicked, but Splashpaw now knew better. He slashed at the long pelt and raked his claws along the big human’s paw. This time, the human yelped and pulled back.

“Still hopeless now?” Splashpaw yowled, kicking Lemmy. “Let’s go!” Life leaked through Lemmy’s cold eyes. She pushed herself up and, with whatever strength she had left, ran between the big humans. Splashpaw was right on her tail.

The human kits cried and wailed from the comfort of their large den as the older humans nursed their wounds. Splashpaw and Lemmy kept going. They ran across empty horse paths, as far from the human dens as they could. Splashpaw glanced back. Thank StarClan, the older humans were not chasing them; rather, they yowled at their wailing kits, utterly ignoring the escaping cats.

Lemmy collapsed as soon as they hit the trees. Splashpaw stopped, panting. Lemmy hacked up more phlegm, almost vomiting from the effort.

“I did it!” Splashpaw cheered, prancing around Lemmy. “I rescued you! I’m a hero!”

“We only got out because the adults finally realized their kits were keeping us trapped in there,” Lemmy growled, struggling to breathe.

“But maybe that realized that because they saw their kits grab me!” Splashpaw chirped. “And you said it yourself, you didn’t feel strong enough to run out on your own. So that means I saved you.” Lemmy laughed softly, shaking her head.

“That little black kitten kept telling me to stay strong,” she scoffed. “I never thought she would send a kit barely older than she.”

“I’m an apprentice!” Splashpaw huffed with mock indignation. “Wait, I never told you my name! I’m Splashpaw. Mosspounce has been waiting for you. He rescued Carnationspeckle thanks to you! Everyone in the Clan loves Carnationspeckle, so Downstar agreed that if Mosspounce found you again, he could offer you a position in the Clan!” Lemmy narrowed her eyes. “What’s that face for? What, do you not want to join RippleClan?” Lemmy seemed to have a sharp retort ready to go, but she tightened her jaw instead. 

Splashpaw took in their surroundings. Truthfully, he had no idea where he was. Still, he knew his directions, and if he kept heading south, he would eventually hit the Great Northern River. He wasn’t sure if Lemmy had the strength to swim, but if they could find the stepping stones, they would be back in RippleClan like that! It was close to sunset though; his mothers would be so mad when he finally got home.

“I should make my way back,” Lemmy muttered, but she did not get up.

“And break Mosspounce’s heart?” Splashpaw scoffed. “You do realize he is in love with you, don’t you?” Lemmy blinked, her emotions well hidden behind her calculated gaze.

“He does remember I tried to kill him, doesn’t he?” Lemmy said.

“I think that’s part of why he likes you,” Splashpaw admitted. “It’s a little gross to me, but you shouldn’t keep him waiting. He told the Clan you would make a great codekeeper. I think it’s like what you used to do with the Witch Hunters, but you’re enforcing the warrior code rather than what the Witch Hunters follow. The Witch Hunter Code? I don’t know.” Lemmy stared at Splashpaw for a while. She stared for so long that his long fur started to burn. Eventually, Lemmy got to her paws with another cough.

“I can at least get my cough cured, I suppose,” Lemmy sighed. Splashpaw couldn’t hide his glee as his tail rose high. Lemmy shook her head, but there was no longer any malice in her face.

“Then I’ll lead you home, new Clanmate,” Splashpaw chirped. 

As Splashpaw and Lemmy stalked into the trees, making their way toward their new shared home in the dimming light, Lemmy asked, “Do you know the way back?”

“I’m trusting my instincts!”

“So you don’t know?”

“...no.”

“This will be a long night.”

(Splashpaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still)

(Lemmy: 34, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 55

Puddlewhisper tries to have a conversation with Tempestshade but it ends up awkward when neither of them speak up.

[Image ID: Puddlewhisper says to Tempestshade, “Sorry about the, um… the omen… thing…”]

(Tempestshade: 16, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

(Puddlewhisper: 20, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

Curious and adventurous, Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle travel to the human settlement to hunt.

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle faces down Madeline, yowling, “Just run, Oil!” while Oilstripe obeys.]

---

There was something eerily exciting about entering the human settlement. Oilstripe couldn’t help but shiver as she and Carnationspeckle trekked further north, following Darkkick’s advice on what to look for. The world of humans was an unknown frontier to Oilstripe, and she was exploring it with her mate on a noble mission. How could she not be excited?

“Are you sure about carrying the kits this time?” Carnationspeckle asked as she walked alongside her mate. “Troutpool alone was exhausting. I don’t think we’ll get just one kit again. I’m worried about how you’d handle it.”

“But that’s just it,” Oilstripe purred. “I want to be a mother again, but this time, you won’t be worn down, and we won’t have… Shadowdrop to deal with.” Carnationspeckle’s tail patted her flank as she sneered. StarClan clearly decided he did enough to get in, since Oilstripe occasionally saw him looking after his kits or siblings or mother (she didn’t speak with him. She wasn’t sure he would want to anymore than she did). None of that was enough to wash out the bile that filled Oilstripe’s mouth at the thought of Shadowdrop’s creepy, selfish behavior.

“If you’re sure, I’m sure,” Carnationspeckle promised. She rubbed against Oilstripe’s cheek. 

“In that case,” Oilstripe chuckled, “what do you think of focusing on a brown tom for a sire? That way the kits might look more like you.” 

“I’ll take whomever seems kind,” Carnationspeckle sighed as the smell of the human settlement stung the couple’s noses. Oilstripe could see traces of the shipwreck’s design in the towering dens and sluggish monsters. It made the foreign land feel a little less foreign and pushed Oilstripe’s paws on.

She had seen a couple spirits on her way to the settlement (Twinekit watching after her lively cousins, Locustseeker and Burdockcreek play fighting along the river), but the human settlement stole Oilstripe’s breath when she realized that her mate did not see the many cats wandering the streets. Most of them were translucent like water, as taut and strong as they likely were in life. They looked just like Cinderella’s spirit had before she stopped appearing. Each spirit moved quickly and with purpose or lingered around a living cat. 

Oilstripe’s curiosity spun. How did these cats work? Where did they go when they were finished in the mortal world? What were the details of their beliefs? She wanted to stop a spirit and ask them everything, but she bit her tongue. She had barely convinced Cinderella to testify during Shadowdrop’s trial, and the entire time she muttered, “This isn’t right.” Oilstripe hadn’t added that to her translated testimony, and Cinderella always ignored her after that. The spirits of the human settlement would probably act the same. 

“Oilstripe,” Carnationspeckle whispered, “how many dead cats are we walking around right now?”

“More than I expected,” Oilstripe admitted. One of the spirits had been only a few fox-lengths away from the couple when Oilstripe made the comment. Their green eyes met Oilstripe’s with a sudden realization that made the ginger molly feel too big for her pelt. The spirit slipped between two dens in a hurry.

Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle continued on, looking for a suitable tom. The humans ignored the pair, so long as they stayed out from under their feet. Their odd pelts reminded Oilstripe of Rattlepelt’s fox leather. Humans didn’t have fur either; was that why they wore such odd pelts? Oilstripe had no time to ponder, however. She was on a quest!

“Rabbitjoy told me about a group of young toms she spent a moon with during her traveling days,” Carnationspeckle said. “We could see if they’re still around. They may be willing to help.”

“I like that,” Oilstripe said. A crow cawed loudly from the roof of a tall den. The bird stared at Oilstripe, head cocked slightly. Spirits sat around the crow, watching Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle. Oilstripe nudged her mate onward. The crow cawed again and flew overhead.

“Are you feeling alright?” Carnationspeckle asked. She stopped to study Oilstripe’s face. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No, I want kits,” Oilstripe insisted, trying to focus on her mate over the prickling of her fur. “I’m just starting to wonder if this isn’t the right place to look for a sire. I have a bad feeling about the spirits here.”

“They can’t do anything to us,” Carnationspeckle reminded her. 

“Well, there are those rogues you saw a while ago,” Oilstripe said. A crow landed on the roof right above Oilstripe.  “We’ve had some reports of them lingering by the river.”

“This is a big place,” Carnationspeckle said, leading Oilstripe toward a shadowy path away from the stomping humans. “If they’re here, it’s unlikely we would see them.” Another crow landed across the horse path behind Oilstripe with a loud caw. Oilstripe scurried down the path. There were no cats or humans between the dens, giving Oilstripe a moment to breathe. Carnationspeckle let out a meow of laughter and said, “Are you scared of a few crows, Oilstripe?”

“It’s not the crows that worry me,” Oilstripe gulped. “It’s what they mean.”

“Alright, you’re too nervous to keep going,” Carnationspeckle sighed, stopping. “Let’s go home. We’ll try the farmland to the south tomorrow. If it’s about being pregnant, I can carry the kits again, Oilstripe, you don’t have to lie for my sake.”

“Carny, I’m not lying to you!” Oilstripe groaned, unable to keep her fur flat. “There’s something wrong with this place. I never lie about what I see, and I don’t lie to you.”

“What exactly is it that you see?” Oilstripe’s back arched high. She hissed, turning to the newcomer at the end of the path. Carnationspeckle matched her stance, all traces of humor or annoyance gone. A black and white molly sat half in shadow, half in sunlight. Crow feathers wrapped around her neck and decorated her pelt. 

“I see a molly who needs to back away from my mate and I,” Oilstripe growled. A chorus of cawing made Oilstripe jump once more. Crows lined the edges of the rooftops overhead, staring at Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle. Spirits watched from beside the crows with burning eyes. One large crow flew down and landed beside the strange molly. It cawed in her ear, and the stranger nodded.

“A molly who claims to see the dead,” the stranger said. Her lips curled as she got to her paws. “That may be even worse than your blasphemous clerics. Who are you to poke your nose into the business of the dead? What gives you the authority to meddle with their affairs?” The stranger flicked her tail, and three more cats appeared behind her, claws out. Carnationspeckle moved in front of Oilstripe.

“Oilstripe, I want you to run,” she growled, her fur making her look twice as big as she was.

“I’m not leaving you!” Oilstripe gasped. “Why would you say that? We can take them on together!” Oilstripe stood beside Carnationspeckle, even as her mate tried to nudge her back.

“They want you dead, Oilstripe, not Carnationspeckle.” Oilstripe turned around once more. Applepelt shimmered and glowed at the other end of the short path. The crows screamed, wings flapping wildly. The spirits watching from above hissed and yowled, backing away from the ghost that did not belong to them. “As your friend, and as someone who’s learned a thing or two since dying, let your mate stall for time and get out of here.” The crow beside the black and white stranger cawed so violently that Oilstripe’s ears burned. The cool anger in the stranger’s blue eyes shifted to bloodlust.

“Get the witches!” she screeched. Carnationspeckle reared on her front paws and kicked Oilstripe back.

“Just run, Oil!” she yowled. Carnationspeckle launched at the feather adorned stranger with a battle cry. The crows swarmed down in sync with the living cats, sharp beaks diving toward the Clan cats. Oilstripe rolled back on her paws. Applepelt was at her side, hissing at the approaching crows.

What else could Oilstripe do? She ran back toward the crowd of humans and horses. The crows were on her tail, screaming with such fury Oilstripe thought her ears would bleed. But Applepelt was at her side too, matching her pace. When the crows reached Applepelt, they squawked and fluttered back, bumping into one another.

“Who are these cats?” Oilstripe yowled. She weaved between strolling humans, who panicked at the sight of a dozen crows flying so low to the ground. Their high-pitched yowls drowned out the crows and the sounds of battle.

“You know how those of us in StarClan like to help when we can?” Applepelt huffed. “They are the exact opposite.”

(Oilstripe: 59, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Carnationspeckle: 57, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Madeline: 103, female, Witch Hunter General, faithful, omen sight)

(Applepelt: 31, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

[Image ID: With Mosspounce behind her, Lemmy speaks in the background, saying “The Witch Hunters see the Clans as a threat to the safety of the Other Side, our afterlife. They’ll pry what information they can out of your friend and use it to kill you all. They may even turn her against you.” In the foreground, Troutpool, Oilstripe, and Spikecrash stand to the left together, while Downstar, Weedfoot, and Wildclaw stand to the right together.]

---

“If you don’t see her, then she has to be fine, right?”

“No, Rabbitjoy, because if I saw her, I would at least know she wasn’t suffering. I would know who to kill. Something far worse could be happening to her. You spent moons traveling, how did you not know about these cats?”

“I never heard of them!”

“Why are we standing around talking about this? We should be storming the settlement and rescuing Carnationspeckle!”

“We don’t know where she is. We can’t run through the human settlement without a plan or the humans may take us. I won’t lose anymore warriors. Is that understood, Lavendertwist?”

The Clan’s frantic ideas all melted together in Mosspounce’s head as he stood just outside camp. Downstar didn’t trust that Oilstripe returned to camp unfollowed and wanted someone on guard while the rest of the Clan discussed what happened. Mosspounce had already been on guard duty when Oilstripe ran panting past him, so he was asked to stay there. Probably for the best. His guilt would have been painted across his fur. 

If he had known Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle were going to the human settlement, he would have stopped them, even if it meant revealing his connection to Lemmy. It was Madeline, Oilstripe’s description matched her perfectly. She really could speak to the crows. The crows really spoke to the dead. It wasn’t that Mosspounce didn’t believe Lemmy, but it was so different from what he knew. But it was true. Oilstripe’s abilities would make her seem worse than clerics in the eyes of the Witch Hunters. So what would they do with the mate of such a blasphemous cat? 

Maybe Carnationspeckle was already dead and her spirit was hurrying home to let her mate know. Carnationspeckle was the last cat to deserve that. She nursed Mosspounce and his littermates, even though they were born because she spurned their father. Mosspounce’s heart ached like he had thrown Carnationspeckle to the Witch Hunters himself. He should have told the Clan about Madeline moons ago. It was his fault.

The wind carried a familiar scent to Mosspounce, but not the familiar scent Mosspounce wanted to smell. Lemmy? Mosspounce glanced into camp. Everyone had gathered around the Shiprock, debating with Oilstripe and Downstar. Mosspounce snuck away from his spot and looped around the rocky, bramble-lined walls of camp. Sure enough, when he turned the corner, just as he had last season in the human settlement, he saw Lemmy, sniffing at the rocks. 

“Lemmy!” Mosspounce gasped, hurrying to his friend. Lemmy bristled at the sound, but her fur relaxed when she saw Mosspounce.

“Mosspounce, there’s a ginger molly, Oilstripe,” Lemmy huffed. “Did she make it home?”

“Yes, she’s talking to the Clan right now,” Mosspounce stammered. “How did you find our camp? Did you follow Oilstripe’s scent?”

“She was smart enough to mask her scent in the river,” Lemmy explained, shaking her head. “The Witch Hunters won’t be able to track her.”

“So how did you get here?” Mosspounce asked again. Lemmy rubbed a paw into the sand speckled dirt. Her expression sunk inward, her usual icy confidence chipped.

“Hey!” Mosspounce and Lemmy jumped. Wildclaw stood behind Mosspounce, back arched and lips curled. Bandages covered her left shoulder, protecting the large dog bite that nearly took out a chunk of her flesh. Despite the injury, she still showed her claws and readied herself for a fight.

“Wait!” Mosspounce yelped. He stood between Lemmy and Wildclaw like he was trying to hide the tortoiseshell. Lemmy didn’t need his protection, he knew that; she was already showing her claws and bracing herself for Wildclaw to strike. “Wildclaw, hold on, she isn’t here to hurt anyone.”

“Mosspounce, I need an explanation before I start biting,” Wildclaw growled. 

“Do you want to know what’s happening to Carnationspeckle?” Lemmy pushed past Mosspounce, deep blue eyes locked onto Wildclaw’s burning amber stare. “Because I know what the Witch Hunters will do to her, and I have an idea how to get her back. But if you want to try and kill me, go ahead.” Mosspounce puffed himself up behind Lemmy. Wildclaw stayed tense, glaring at Mosspounce with a look of hurt that felt like an old memory.

“Rattlepelt!” Wildclaw called. “We have a guest.” She flicked her tail sharply. Mosspounce followed Wildclaw back to the camp entrance, with Lemmy trailing behind. Rattlepelt waited at the entrance. Her eyes widened when she saw Lemmy. She hurried back into camp and Mosspounce braced himself for a very long day.

“That’s one of the Witch Hunters!” Tempestshade yowled as soon as Lemmy entered camp. All of RippleClan rioted. Rabbitjoy looped around Rattlepelt and shoved her toward Spikecrash and Paleseed, who quickly backed up. Downstar jumped off the Shiprock, with Weedfoot immediately slipping to her side. James had to grab Parsley by the scruff to stop her from attacking Lemmy. Even the kits copied their elders in untrained battle stances, despite Clammask and Scrubmask’s efforts to get them into the nursery.

“Wait, please!” Mosspounce yowled. “She’s my friend! She’s not here to hurt us!”

“Um, Mossy, she literally tried to kill you,” Tempestshade huffed. Scalepaw crept beside them, puffing up his long fur to the point that he looked like a moss ball. Lavendertwist protected his little brother, sneering at Lemmy.

“Why are you friends with someone who's been haunting our borders for moons?” Wildclaw hissed, muzzle a mouse-length from Mosspounce.

“Lemmy’s not like the others,” Mosspounce insisted. “She listens and she really wants to do the right thing. She came here to help us.” Mosspounce stepped so close to Lemmy, their pelts were almost touching.

“Where is Carnationspeckle?” Oilstripe hissed. She shoved past her Clanmates, Troutpool in tow. Lemmy cooly eyed the Clan. Mosspounce couldn’t understand how she kept her fur smooth when everyone looked ready to slice her throat open.

“That, I don’t know yet,” Lemmy said. “Madeline, my leader, is keeping her location contained to herself, Achilles, the Witch Finders, and a few older enforcers. I haven’t been let in.”

“Then what help could you be?” Oilstripe snapped. “What are they doing to my mate?”

“Oilstripe,” Downstar huffed. Oilstripe glanced back at her leader. Troutpool nuzzled under her chin. She gently guided her mother back. Downstar and Weedfoot approached Lemmy. “Lemmy, is it? What exactly can you tell us about the Witch Hunters?” RippleClan seemed to settle down slightly. Spikecrash joined Oilstripe and Troutpool, offering comforting whispers to them both. Wildclaw stood behind her mother, glaring at Lemmy and Mosspounce. 

“The Witch Hunters see the Clans as a threat to the safety of the Other Side, our afterlife,” Lemmy explained. “They’ll pry what information they can out of your friend and use it to kill you all. They may even turn her against you.”

“That’s not happening,” Oilstripe said. 

“Your leader is a mouse-brain if she thinks she can take on all five Clans,” Elmsprout scoffed from her spot by Darkkick. “I may not have been in AshClan since my father became leader, but he’s not leading a Clan of kits. They alone could wipe out a lot of Witch Hunters.”

“You didn’t see how many cats follow them,” Mosspounce said. “It was a Gathering’s worth!”

“And you know this how, Mosspounce?” Downstar asked.

“I…” Mosspounce gulped, “may have visited the human settlement a few moons ago looking for Lemmy. I saw their meeting. They were celebrating how they murdered Bubblemoon.”

“They’re the rogues who killed Bubblemoon?” Troutpool gasped. A new wave of righteous shock flooded over RippleClan. The Clans had heard about Bubblemoon’s death at a Gathering two moons back. They had all known it was a strange rogue attack, Mosspounce knew some cats theorized it was the Witch Hunters, but they had no proof, and it wasn’t their Clan. Mosspounce found himself grateful that Fennelspot was sick in the quarantine den; he didn’t have to see his grief. Should Mosspounce have said something back then? Would that have stopped Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle from visiting the human settlement?

“Madeline isn’t stupid, despite what you may think,” Lemmy huffed. “The Witch Hunters may have strong numbers, but they won’t launch a full-on assault on anyone without information. That isn’t how we operate. We study witches and we pick off the guilty. And now that they know RippleClan has a molly who can speak with the dead whenever she wants, they’ll focus their efforts on taking your colony out first.” Lemmy glared at Oilstripe like a misbehaving apprentice.

“So they’re interrogating Carnationspeckle to find our weaknesses,” Halibutdusk muttered. Trumpetspore pressed into them, the fear in her eyes as clear as sunshine on the water.

“What can we do?” Downstar asked. “How can you help us?”

“More like why do you want to help us?” Wildclaw snapped. “Why did you befriend someone you tried to kill?” 

Troutpool’s fur stood on edge. Oilstripe’s gaze broke off Lemmy and onto an empty spot behind her. Her eyes slowly drifted back toward Lemmy, but rather than looking at the tortoiseshell visitor, Oilstripe stared at her paws. Mosspounce knew that look. Back in the nursery, Carnationspeckle would call that her “haunted” look. There was a spirit in camp, sitting right in front of Lemmy, Mosspounce was sure of it. Could Troutpool see them too? She seemed unnerved, but looked around like she expected a surprise attack. Lemmy, meanwhile, sat and let tension ripple from her neck down through her tail.

“There is an afterlife where the dead must be respected and crows guard the boundary,” Lemmy sighed. “But I have learned that there is also an afterlife where the dead work tirelessly to guide the living. Your afterlife. I believe that over the course of the last year, I have been visited by a resident of your afterlife in my dreams, asking me to stop my community from hurting yours. This visitor, this little black kitten, has encouraged me to befriend Mosspounce, lie to my fellow Witch Hunters, and find out where they are holding Carnationspeckle so I can bring her back to you.”

“Duskkit,” Oilstripe gasped. “Duskkit is visiting you.” Troutpool enthusiastically nodded. Downstar squirmed at the mention of her daughter.

“You’ve been talking to my aunt?” Mosspounce gasped, staring at Lemmy.

“Why would Duskkit be visiting a Witch Hunter?” Rattlepelt asked.

“Maybe StarClan sees something in Lemmy no one else has before,” Troutpool muttered. RippleClan glanced at one another. Mosspounce sat with Lemmy. His tail slowly shifted towards hers. When the tip of his tail touched Lemmy, she did not flinch. 

“If I can win over Madeline’s trust,” Lemmy explained, “I may be allowed to see Carnationspeckle. When I find her, we can free her. Until then, I’ll keep an ear out for plans against the Clans and warn you when I can. Make sure there are cats by the river around sunhigh each day, that’s when I would share news if I have any.” Lemmy’s tail wrapped itself over Mosspounce’s tail. If they were alone, Mosspounce would have melted into purrs. “The Clans have their own afterlife. There’s no reason for Madeline and the Witch Hunters to interfere with you.”

“And we can trust you?” Downstar asked, carefully studying Lemmy’s face. Mosspounce stepped forward.

“If you trust me,” he declared, “then you can trust her.”

(Rabbitjoy: 92, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Oilstripe: 59, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Lavendertwist: 21, male, warrior, playful, good singer, good storyteller)

(Downstar: 114, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Mosspounce: 16, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Lemmy: 31, female, Witch Hunter enforcer, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Wildclaw: 47, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Rattlepelt: 38, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Tempestshade: 16, nonbinary (they/them), childish, incredible cook)

(Elmsprout: 22, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

(Troutpool: 16, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Halibutdusk: 47, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Duskkit: 4, female, kit, troublesome, quick witted)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 56, Part 2

Mosspounce takes Scalepaw battle training while Lavendertwist recovers.

[Image ID: Mosspounce says to Scalepaw, “Half of glory is believing you deserve it.”]

“Get back up!” Mosspounce yowled, wiggling his flank as Scalepaw shook sand out of his long fur. “You can do this, keep going!” Mosspounce dug his paws deeper into the wet sand lining the shore. Scalepaw’s panting mixed with the gentle waves. 

Since Lavendertwist could barely talk with the stitches in his neck, let alone train his apprentice, Mosspounce volunteered to take Scalepaw battle training. It had taken a generation or two to give the grass-touched northern beach a name, but now every mentor and apprentice practiced their battle moves on Battle Beach. Sure, Mosspounce wasn’t a proper mentor yet (and he doubted he would get to train Clammask’s kits, since a lot of the Clan was still upset with him about Lemmy), but training Scalepaw made him forget that for a while. They were training with the sunrise, working up an appetite for the sunhigh meal Tempestshade was spending the whole morning on. Scalepaw’s white spots, which took over more and more of his fur every day, looked like stars against his gold fur.

“Charge me!” Mosspounce cheered. “Don’t give up until I’m running away or I can’t stand up!” Scalepaw grit his teeth. Sand exploded behind him. Mosspounce was going to shove the apprentice away, but he was bigger than Mosspounce expected. Scalepaw’s sheer weight knocked him down. He knocked the air out of Mosspounce. Sand filled his nose. He squirmed and tried to push Scalepaw off, but he couldn’t move the heavy tom. It seemed Scalepaw took Mosspounce’s orders literally. He was a great fighter!

Yet despite that, Scalepaw shivered violently and scrambled off Mosspounce. Mosspounce coughed up sand. He shook out his pelt and stared at Scalepaw. The round tom squirmed. His paws danced over the sand like he was walking on fire. He groaned and itched at his neck.

“Why’d you jump off?” Mosspounce asked. “You had me. I wasn’t going anywhere.” Scalepaw groaned again. His mouth opened and closed, trying to form an explanation. He squeezed his eyes tight. He bolted toward the trees, tail low. With the lack of foliage, Mosspounce could see Scalepaw’s thick cream fur far into the scrub. “Scalepaw, where are you going?” 

This was just like his first Gathering; Tempestshade managed to bring him back eventually, so perhaps Mosspounce could do the same? Perhaps solving Scalepaw’s crisis would Downstar that Mosspounce was mentor material; if not with Clammask’s litter, then the next. As dreams of grandeur filled Mosspounce’s mind, he jogged up to the tree line. It wouldn’t be hard to track Scalepaw down. Even if he wasn’t easy to see, even a kit would be able to track his thick scent. Maybe Downstar would agree to let Mosspounce finish Scalepaw’s training, even though they were of different roles? 

Mosspounce stopped and batted at his own ear. No, what was he thinking? Scalepaw wasn’t a stepping stone to being a mentor or deputy. He was an apprentice who was obviously struggling with something. Mosspounce needed to treat him like a tom, not a tool. Now if he could just remember what Tempestshade did for the young apprentice…

Scalepaw stopped beside the base of a pine and curled into a ball. Mosspounce slowed to a stalk. Scalepaw glanced at Mosspounce before burying his face under his paws with a groan.

“Should I fetch Spikecrash?” Mosspounce asked. Spikecrash often accompanied Lavendertwist and Scalepaw out to train, helping Scalepaw through his unique sensitivities. Perhaps this was a job for a mediator.

“I’m too embarrassed,” Scalepaw mumbled. Mosspounce hid his surprise. Usually when Scalepaw got upset, no one could get a word out of him for ages. Was he improving? Perhaps it was all a part of growing up.

“Why?” Mosspounce scoffed, scooting closer. “You were great! You’ll be an amazing warrior some day.”

“I can’t touch you,” Scalepaw said. He risked a glance under his paws. “I can’t touch anyone. I hate it. It feels like too much. Fur makes me cry. I can’t be a warrior.” Scalepaw shivered and hid his face again.

“Not with that attitude,” Mosspounce chuckled. Scalepaw sat up slowly. His deep blue eyes glared at Mosspounce, a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “I mean it! You have a great instinct. My sister was telling me about the patrol. You fought with just as much skill as every other warrior out there. If touching others is as bad as you make it seem, you didn’t show it to those Witch Hunters.” Scalepaw bristled and stared at his paws. “Here, I’m going to put my paw on your tail, try to stand it for a minute.” Mosspounce sat next to Scalepaw. The apprentice didn’t move away, so Mosspounce made his move. He set a paw on Scalepaw’s fluffy tail. Scalepaw shivered and his tail flinched, but he stayed still.

“I think you’re going to be the sort of warrior who learns every advanced combat move the Clans have ever made,” Mosspounce said. “You just have to be proud enough to step up and work through your issues. Half of glory is believing you deserve it. And trust me, kit, you deserve it.” For a few minutes, Mosspounce wasn’t sure if Scalepaw really heard him. Then, slowly but surely, Scalepaw turned his head and touched his nose to Mosspounce’s shoulder. Mosspounce purred and gave Scalepaw a friendly nuzzle.

“Stop touching me now please,” Scalepaw said. Mosspounce quickly stepped back. Scalepaw shook out his pelt, but he stood tall. 

“Ready to get back to training?” Mosspounce asked, cocking his head back toward the beach.

“I want to learn moves where I don’t have to touch someone for long,” Scalepaw said, stretching his neck to try and seem taller. “New claw strikes. Special kicks. What do you know?” Mosspounce cocked his tail and purred.

“Let’s go have some fun,” he laughed. He jogged back toward the beach. Scalepaw ran past him like a beam of light, a newfound eagerness leading his young paws to a fresh start.

(Mosspounce: 17, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Scalepaw: 9, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, avid play-fighter)

Fennelspot heads out alone to collect juniper. Oilstripe, Weedfoot, Downstar, and Scrubmask come across him just as he plummets from the tree.

[Image ID: Downstar, Oilstripe, Weedfoot, and Scrubmask watch something offscreen that gives off a loud CRACK. Downstar yowls “Fennel!” Under her, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

---

Oilstripe needed to be out and about. Downstar may not have wanted her near the border for fear of the Witch Hunters, but she still had a vast territory to patrol. She needed to keep her mind busy. She couldn’t obsess over what the Witch Hunters were doing to Carnationspeckle. She had to work.

Weedfoot, Downstar, and Scrubmask agreed to join her on a hunt. Oilstripe was a bit surprised Downstar agreed to it, especially when she let Oilstripe take the lead on the patrol. She supposed the old hostility that used to plague her interactions with the leader had faded over the moons. She lingered with Scrubmask in the back while Weedfoot walked alongside Oilstripe. A late winter snowfall blanketed the territory. It was a thin snow, the sort that Oilstripe’s paws sunk into and left a layer of ice underneath. Oilstripe had to unseathe her claws a few times to keep from slipping. 

“I’ll be glad when we see the end of this,” Weedfoot sighed, her tail flicking the snow. “The hunting has been so poor this winter.” Oilstripe bit her tongue. She had planned to catch some prey with Carnationspeckle when they were finished in the human settlement; the squirrels and mice were likely sheltering in the warm human dens. The Witch Hunters likely weren’t feeding Carnationspeckle; how much was she suffering? Was she warm? Was she bleeding?

The death cry of a mouse snapped Oilstripe out of her thoughts. Scrubmask carried a mouse in her jaws; small, but good to add to soup at dusk. Oilstripe made a silent promise to share a bowl with Rattlepelt and Troutpool; her daughters were suffering just as much as she was. Oilstripe dug a small hole for Scrubmask’s catch. She licked her numb paws as Scrubmask buried the mouse for later.

“Should you go back early?” Scrubmask asked, nodding at Oilstripe’s paws.

“I just need to warm up,” Oilstripe said, breath fogging around her. As she groomed warmth back into her legs, she picked up a familiar scent in the approaching wind. “Huh. I thought Fennelspot was still in camp. I can smell him a ways ahead of us.”

“He snuck out while you were making dirt,” Downstar explained. “I believe he wanted to collect some juniper.”

“Let’s go see if he needs any help,” Oilstripe suggested. “Maybe he’s seen some squirrels.”

“Lead the way,” Weedfoot purred. With feeling restored to her feet, Oilstripe marched on through the snow. She rubbed against Weedfoot, who gave her a comforting lick on the ear. Things felt at least close to being alright when Oilstripe was on patrol with her mentor. The wind continued to blow Fennelspot’s scent into Oilstripe’s face. Thank StarClan he was better; Oilstripe needed her old friend.

There were a few tall junipers that grew in the southwest portion of the territory. Oilstripe had helped Fennelspot collect juniper berries and leaves many a time before, so she knew just where to go. She even spotted a squirrel digging at one of Fennelspot’s pawprints halfway there (Weedfoot beat her to the catch, sparking some playful teasing that further eased her heart). Oilstripe even pranced within Fennelspot’s pawprints, making Weedfoot laugh. For once, Downstar said nothing of the mischief.

The junipers grew in a few bundles overlooking a thick patch of maples, ashes, and rowans. While some juniper trees were only a few fox-lengths tall, a few glared down at the patrol, fluffing up like thick manes against the cold. Snow sat on ice-covered branches. Oilstripe squinted through the leaves of each tree, but didn’t see Fennelspot.

A sharp, sudden yowl drew Oilstripe’s attention. Fennelspot’s bright orange body tumbled from the branches of the tallest juniper. Oilstripe gasped, back arching. Fennelspot landed with all four paws flat on the ground, the perfect example of a cat’s natural agility. The snow splashed around him. He froze with his back curved and tail puffed and held high. He panted, shivering slightly. Oilstripe couldn’t help but laugh. Did Fennelspot just fall out of a tree? Oh she was sure to make fun of him for that. 

Oilstripe was going to tease him. She was going to make sure he was alright, that he didn’t fall too far. She was going to playfully find wherever he set his basket and offer to carry it home for him. She was going to cherish the moment, right up until a massive crack echoed across the territory and a huge, ice-covered branch tumbled off the juniper and slammed into Fennelspot’s head at high speed. 

Blood sprayed across the trunk of the juniper. Fennelspot crumbled like a newborn kit. His eyes froze in the half-shocked, half-embarrassed glimmer they held before everything went wrong. The snow turned red. The dried petals that covered Fennelspot’s back slipped out of his fur.

“Fennel!” Downstar shrieked. She shoved past Oilstripe and Weedfoot. She skidded across the snow and ice to crouch at Fennelspot’s side. She looped around Fennelspot. Downstar whimpered as she caught sight of the back of his head. She looked sick. 

Scrubmask trailed slowly up to her dear friend. She placed a paw on Fennelspot’s shoulder. A shiver ran down her fur. A mournful mew broke out of Scrubmask’s chest. 

“Not like this,” Weedfoot moaned softly. Downstar wailed with the fury of the crashing sea. Birds scattered from the trees. Weedfoot hurried to her leader’s side. Her eyes shook at the sight of Fennelspot’s wound. Oilstripe could not bring herself to look at it. She couldn’t move at all. Her paws were once again numb, but not from the cold. Had that really just happened? Just like that, a careless branch….

Fennelspot’s pelt began to sparkle. Little lights danced within his rosette markings. A glow outlined his body. Reality broke apart in Oilstripe’s eyes as Fennelspot blinked with open eyes. Another muzzle shifted from his face. New legs pushed a new body up from the snow. A second Fennelspot, translucent and shimmering, stood on top of his own body, paws going through the white vested pelt.

“Owww…” Fennelspot groaned, squeezing his eyes tight. “That is an awful headache.” When Fennelspot opened his eyes, he saw the three mollies gathered around his body, wailing and crying, prodding his fur. He looked down at his own dead body. He yelped and jumped away, dancing over the snow without a single paw print. That was when he met Oilstripe’s eyes and recognized that her gaze did not pass through him.

“That’s it?” Fennelspot said, looking back at his body. “I… died? That can’t be it. I need to help Rustshade with his yellowcough. Lavendertwist needs help. Oilstripe? What do I do now?” Oilstripe tried to find the words, but her mouth was as numb as the rest of her. 

“Fennelspot!” a young voice cried. Starlight glimmered in the corner of Oilstripe’s eyes. Twinekit stood in the snow, gazing joyfully at Fennelspot. Fennelspot’s tense eyes melted at the sight of the ticked tabby kit. He crouched to Twinekit’s level. Twinekit ran full speed at Fennelspot. She smacked into his face and rubbed against Fennelspot. 

“You came to fetch me, then?” Fennelspot sighed, placing a paw on Twinekit’s tiny back. 

“Actually, we all came this time!” Twinekit chirped. Oilstripe’s spine tingled. She looked behind her. She couldn’t breathe.

The spirits of old friends waited between the trees. Locustseeker and Burdockcreek laughed at their little sister’s antics. Duskkit and Shadowdrop lounged on top of one another while Mousesong sat beside them. Puddlespeckle and Ripplefern looked at Fennelspot with pride while Applepelt bounced about, purring. Even more cats stood behind them, cats Oilstripe couldn’t recognize. SlugClan warriors?

“Why are you all here?” Fennelspot gasped. Twinekit led him toward the horde of StarClan warriors. 

“Because we wanted to thank you,” Locustseeker laughed. “Thank you for all the hard work you’ve done for RippleClan. We wouldn’t be what we are without you.”

“You are RippleClan’s first cleric,” Burdockcreek reminded him. “We thought you deserved a more personal escort to StarClan. Everyone you’ve ever taken care of is here. We all want a chance to share tongues with you.”

“I don’t think I deserve that,” Fennelspot gulped, eyes bulging as he tried to get a good glimpse of all the dead souls in front of him.

“Of course you deserve it!” A white molly pushed her way through the crowd. 

“Moonpaw,” Oilstripe muttered softly. She bowed her head to the long-dead apprentice. “Fennelspot, this—”

“Moonpaw has visited me before,” Fennelspot said with a flick of his ear. Twinekit nuzzled his leg as Fennelspot bowed his head as well.

“You don’t need to do that,” Moonpaw insisted. She trotted up to Fennelspot and nosed his head back up. “I should bow to you! Fennelspot, you helped found an incredible Clan that will last for moons upon moons. Your name will be remembered across all five Clans!”

“I’m not the skilled cleric you think I am,” Fennelspot said. Moonpaw batted his ear. Fennelspot stared wide-eyed as the more youthful souls of StarClan laughed.

“Listen here, young tom,” Moonpaw huffed. “I’m allowed to call you that since I’m actually hundreds of moons old. But do you remember what you were like in SlugClan? You weren’t happy. You were always doubting yourself, and it certainly didn’t help when Gorgestar got hurt. But once you came to RippleClan? Wow, Fennelspot! You became a kind, understanding, and clever cleric that every cleric after you will spend their lives trying to emulate!” Fennelspot’s eyes rippled. He cleared the emotion from his throat. 

“We all love you, Fennelspot,” Twinekit purred. “We can’t wait to welcome you home.” Fennelspot licked Twinekit’s head. He glanced back at Downstar, Scrubmask, and Weedfoot. They were still huddled over his body, shaking.

“You can always come back and see them,” Oilstripe reminded him, moving closer to the ghost. “I expect you to visit me a lot, too.” StarClan surrounded Fennelspot. Locustseeker bunted against the cleric. Duskkit joined Twinekit and leaned against Fennelspot’s leg. Moonpaw touched Fennelspot’s nose. The glow of a hundred warriors blinded Oilstripe. It was all she could do to shield her eyes.

“I promise,” Fennelspot purred. 

When Oilstripe’s vision returned, Fennelspot and the spirits of StarClan were gone.

(Oilstripe: 60, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Weedfoot: 105, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Scrubmask: 73, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Downstar: 115, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Fennelspot: 113, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Twinekit: 2, female, kit, noisy, quick to help)

(Locustseeker: 12, nonbinary (they/them), historian apprentice, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)

(Burdockcreek: 40, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Duskkit: 4, female, kit, troublesome, quick witted)

(Shadowdrop: 34, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Mousesong: 25, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

(Puddlespeckle: 156, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

(Ripplefern: 18, female, historian, charismatic, talented swimmer, good fighter)

(Applepelt: 31, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Moonpaw: 10, female, mediator apprentice, childish, good hunter)

[rippleclan]

With the first half of Moon 39 out I can post these guys! Troutkit, Tempestkit, Mosskit, and Trumpetkit.

[rippleclan]

We actually do see Valleybrook in Moon 20! His only living appearance, but he is there!

Cinderella gets a design because we saw her sprite. If we ever get designs for others like, Sunspike, Valleybrook, or Rebeca then I’ll add them. Same with mates, if they have kits adopted or not they will be added!

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 70, Part 2

Mitespark drugs Rattlepelt’s meal so she falls into a deep sleep.

[Image ID: Mitesparks speaks with Weevilkit, Anchovykit, Wolfkit, and Downstar.]

Anchovykit and his friends stayed in the quarantine den with Downstar and Honeybuzz the rest of the day while Waspdawn kept prying ears away from their conversation. There was something so adult about it all that even with Weevilkit’s terrifying description of what Rattlepelt could have done, Anchovykit still stood tall and tried to talk to his leader like a noble warrior. To his shock, Downstar and Honeybuzz didn’t talk down to him. They actually seemed to respect the kits! Maybe it was how close they were to apprenticeship, or maybe it was their powers. Whatever it was, Anchovykit liked it.

He did wish he could play a bigger role in the upcoming fight, though.

As dusk slipped away and night covered the camp, the kits pressed their ears against the walls of the shipwreck, listening to the conversations in the medicine den through layers of wood. They couldn’t hear much, but Anchovykit had a sharp picture in his mind; Rattlepelt, sitting in a nest with her bite wounds bandaged, Troutpool and Estherfern minding their business as the kits’ spy entered the den.

“Rattlepelt,” Mitespark called, voice clear through the shipwreck. “Asterblaze and I made dinner tonight. It’s just a simple soup, but I added a little salt to your bowl, since you’re hurt.”

“Hmm,” Rattlepelt huffed. “Thank you.” There was a long pause (most likely, Mitespark was setting down the bowl of soup for Rattlepelt). Eventually, Rattlepelt asked, “Did Waspdawn find out why those kits tried to kill me?”

“I think he’s still interviewing them,” Mitespark gulped. “Whatever reason they had, they’re still kits. I’m sure you can talk it through.”

“What I should do is treat them the same!” Rattlepelt suddenly yowled. 

“Rattlepelt!” Troutpool snapped, suddenly reminding Anchovykit of her presence.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t say that,” Rattlepelt growled.

“Just get some rest,” Mitespark sighed. The medicine den grew quiet. Weevilkit was the first to turn around and greet Mitespark when she looped around the shipwreck. Downstar and Honeybuzz had been waiting to the side of the den, sharing tongues. They quickly stood at the young artisan’s approach.

“Did you drug the soup?” Weevilkit asked, hurrying up to Mitespark.

“I put the medicine in, like Honeybuzz asked,” Mitespark gulped, fur prickling. “Downstar, this doesn’t feel right. Why did we need to sedate Rattlepelt?”

“Because her recent behavior hasn’t been her own,” Downstar sighed with a sorry shake of her head. “You’ve done well, Mitespark. We just need to wait for Rattlepelt to fall asleep now.”

“Do you think my parents will still be mad at me after this?” Wolfkit asked, still listening through the shipwreck.

“Once we explain the situation,” Honeybuzz promised, “Mosspounce and Lemmy will understand. You were just defending the other kits.” Wolfkit nodded, although Honeybuzz’s assurances did not ease the tension tightening through her shoulders.

“How long will it take Rattlepelt to sleep?” Weevilkit groaned. “What if she acts out again?”

“I’ll go back to the medicine den and fetch you when she’s dreaming,” Honeybuzz said. He trotted out of the quarantine den, leaving the kits to wait. Weevilkit paced around Anchovykit and Wolfkit. Her soft glow, invisible to all but Anchovykit, reminded him of the moon, shifting positions around the sky, providing a gentle but stunning light. 

“Wolfkit?” Weevilkit asked, still pacing. “Anchovykit? Do you two know what you want to train as?”

“We’re talking about this now?” Wolfkit gulped. She sat in a tight loaf. The stress building under her pelt made Anchovykit hurt just looking at her. He sat down beside Wolfkit, cocking his head to Weevilkit.

“Answer the question,” Weevilkit huffed, sitting with a dramatic thump.

“I’ll be a warrior,” Anchovykit declared. “I’ve known that forever! What else would I be?”

“Your sight would make you a good cleric,” Downstar pointed out from where she continued to lounge.

“That’s funny,” Anchovykit laughed.

“I was really impressed with Waspdawn today,” Wolfkit said, finding her voice through her fear, “even though he scared me. I would love to train with him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Wolfkit,” Downstar promised. “Weevilkit, are you asking because you aren’t sure?”

“The opposite,” Weevilkit huffed. She stopped pacing and gave her chest a lick. “I want to be a cleric.” Really? Weevilkit; wild, commanding Weevilkit, as a humble cleric?

Before Anchovykit could pry into his friend’s odd decision, Honeybuzz hurried back to the den, panting, “She’s asleep. Let’s do this quickly.”

“To your paws, kits,” Downstar huffed as Honeybuzz scurried back to the medicine den. Downstar trotted after her youngest cleric, with the three kits on her tail. Waspdawn joined them, leaving his guard post.

The soft fire under the cleric’s personal oven illuminated part of the medicine den. The clerics’ ointments and concoctions cast soft, but disorienting shadows onto one another. Troutpool and Estherfern watched in sheer confusion as the gaggle of cats stormed inside. Rattlepelt slept in a nest tucked to the side. She seemed to drown in the black ichor that forever oozed off her legs. Anchovykit knew there was a bandage wrapped around her shoulder, but the ichor smothered it. He ground his paws into the sand. Possessed or not, how dare she even think of attacking Waspdawn’s kits?

“Honeybuzz, what’s going on?” Troutpool asked as Estherfern carefully glared at the group.

“I think you should explain this to them outside the den,” Downstar muttered. Her dark gaze revealed her true intentions. Honeybuzz flicked his ears and looped around his fellow clerics. He herded them outside like a monster pushed a horse onwards.

“Whatever this is,” Estherfern said, eyes locking on Anchovykit, “good luck.” Did she know what was happening? Whatever the case, Anchovykit quickly looked away from the brown cleric. No time to worry about creepy clerics. It was time to save Rattlepelt.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Waspdawn asked as Anchovykit crept toward Rattlepelt.

“I should,” Anchovykit gulped. He mimicked the hunter’s crouch so often demonstrated in camp. Even now, in such tense of circumstances, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if his form was right, if the adults were impressed.

The black ichor covering Rattlepelt sloshed in Anchovykit’s presence. With how close he now was, he swore the spiritual ooze had a scent; something like mushrooms, or faded autumn leaves. Anchovykit braced his poor tongue for the awful taste ahead. He carefully bit into the ichor, Ripplefern’s guidance echoing in the background. Peel it off like a lid.

“I see something!” Wolfkit gasped as Anchovykit pulled. The taste made Anchovykit want to vomit, but he pushed on. He dug his paws in, straining his neck. The ooze stuck to Rattlepelt, slimy tendrils hooking around her as Anchovykit pulled more and more of it off. Even though he only grabbed the one leg, the ichor draining from the others seemed pulled to Anchovykit’s grasp like rain falling from the sky. Fat, sticky drops flew off Rattlepelt and onto the growing mass in Anchovykit’s jaws. It was getting too big for his mouth. How much ichor was on Rattlepelt?

With a loud, decisive groan, Anchovykit wrenched his head back and pulled the last tendrils of ichor off Rattlepelt’s body. He threw the huge, squirming mass away, bile stinging his throat. The bubbling, oozing ichor (which, from the horror in the eyes around him, everyone could now see) flew across the medicine den. It splattered at Downstar’s paws with a violent squish.

“That’s a Shardling?” Waspdawn muttered as Wolfkit sneered at the pile of ichor. Weevilkit hissed as a bubble formed on the surface of the ichor and popped.

“What do we do with it?” Wolfkit asked. Downstar had no time to answer; Weevilkit suddenly jumped with a loud yowl, making everyone’s fur spike. She stared at the ichor, seeing something that Anchovykit could not… not for a few seconds, at least.

“Get out!” Weevilkit screeched, running for the exit. “Get out right now!” Anchovykit and Wolfkit immediately raced out of the medicine den, looping around the ichor. Waspdawn and Downstar scrambled back just in time. The second Downstar moved, the ichor lunged at where she had been standing, impossibly sharp fangs suddenly launching from the mess like a great beast of the sea breaching the waves.

“Stay behind me!” Downstar yelped. She skidded across the sand and shoved the kits to her back. The ichor lunged and stumbled like a drowned frog, flopping out of the medicine den. The clerics stood to the side of the den and gawked at the sight. Elmsprout, who had been dutifully on guard duty outside, rushed back into camp.

“What is that?” she yowled as the ichor bubbled and gurgled. A solid form crawled out of the ichor like a cat crawled over a cliff’s edge to save themselves from a long fall. Each feature was sharp, pointed like fangs but thick like shadows over mud. Yellow eyes, the same eyes Anchovykit had seen for the last season in Rattlepelt’s glare, burst to life along the Shardling’s angular face. It mimicked long fur with slick tendrils of ichor and darkness. Its bile stained the sand with fat, sloppy drops. Anchovykit tried to stop his tail from slinking between his legs, from cowering behind Downstar, but he could not stop himself. The Shardling’s wicked stare settled on the nursery.

“Weeeeeeeeeeeeedfoooooooooooooot!” the Shardling screeched. Its cry was claws against bark, crumbling stones and screeching bats. Before anyone could stop it, the Shardling raced into the nursery.

[Image ID: Weevilkit asks Anchovykit and Wolfkit, “Does this make us… heroes?”]

Yowling instantly enveloped the nursery. Ravenkit and Silverkit scrambled out of the den with their mother at their heels. Waspdawn, Elmsprout, and Downstar charged into the chaos. There was no choice in the matter; Anchovykit, Weevilkit, and Wolfkit followed, despite how hard their hearts pounded. 

The nursery was a thunderstorm over a raging sea. Anchovykit’s friends and littermates scrambled over each other as the Shardling ran and tripped through the nursery. The queens scrambled from their sleep, still trying to grasp what stood before them. The Shardling sneered at Weedfoot, who sat in the far back of the den. Her two tiny kits, one red, one black, mewed loudly, disturbed but unaware of the danger that lurked nearby.

“You can do it, Harvest!” Weevilkit yowled. A few seconds later, Anchovykit’s mother fulfilled Weevilkit’s prophecy. She pounced on the Shardling, screeching louder than anything Anchovykit had heard before.

“Everyone, out!” Downstar ordered. She ushered Clammask and her kits around the fight, navigating through what little room remained in the den.

“I’ll help, Mom!” someone in the horde of kits yowled. As Yarrowkit, Billowkit, and Currentkit watched as their mother spun around the den, claws locked into the monster, Robinkit charged into the fight.

“Get back!” Waspdawn roared. He shoved into the nursery, but tripped over Boughkit and Brightkit, laying curled and terrified near the exit. His large body blocked most of the scene.

“Robinkit, run!” Harvest cried. The Shardling slammed her jaw into the rock wall. Still, even with a splatter of blood staining the wall, Harvest launched back into the fight. Anchovykit could hear his brother somewhere in the mix, but had no idea what was happening to him.

“We’re smaller,” Weevilkit said, batting at Downstar’s shoulder to catch her eye. “We can get through this! We can grab the other kits!”

“You’re not apprentices yet!” Downstar snapped. At that moment, Anchovykit decided he’d take a hundred punishments from Downstar if it meant no one else got hurt.

Anchovykit dove under Waspdawn’s legs and snatched Brightkit by the leg. No time to be gentle, his denmate had to leave. He dragged Brightkit out of the den and into Weevilkit. Wolfkit lunged through the gap formed in the kit’s absence and slipped into the den.

Waspdawn grabbed Boughkit and set her beside her brother. As he moved, Anchovykit raced inside. Waspdawn ran for his kits, who screamed in their nest. Wolfkit ran face-first into Thunderkit; Foamkit and Wolverinekit ran about wildly, searching for a way around the battle rolling through the den.

“Follow me!” Wolfkit yowled. She spun back and ran out the way she came. Thunderkit, Foamkit, and Wolverinekit scrambled after their savior. Weevilkit lunged in just as Wolverinekit ran out to her littermates.

“Leave, mousebrains!” Weevilkit yowled at Anchovykit’s siblings. Billowkit and Yarrowkit hissed and shook, unable to look away the Shardling that tore its claws through Harvest’s pelt. But where was Currentkit? Anchovykit could hear his sappy little brother crying somewhere on the other side of the fight.

But it was only when Harvest kicked the Shardling aside that Anchovykit realized he no longer heard Robinkit.

Currentkit wailed over Robinkit’s body. His red face was redder than ever before, dyed with his own blood. A frozen, panicked gaze clung sightlessly to Anchovykit. Ichor dripped from Robinkit’s claws. Currentkit shook Robinkit, choking on his own cries. Anchovykit nearly vomited from the overwhelming stench of rot and mushrooms in the den.

Harvest and the Shardling rolled back, concealing Anchovykit’s dead brother once more. Anchovykit instinctively pressed closer to Yarrowkit and Billowkit, the shock of the scene before him yet to pierce into his heart as reality. Wolfkit and Weevilkit had found their way to Weedfoot, still weak from her kitting only a quarter moon ago. Weevilkit helped Weedfoot to her paws as the Shardling gorged massive lines down Harvest’s shoulder. Anchovykit yowled as his mother cried out.

“Wolfkit, the stare!” Weevilkit screamed, throwing herself over Lightningkit and Cobaltkit. “Do the stare!”

“There’s too much happening!” Wolfkit whined.

“Just do it!” Weevilkit yowled. Wolfkit dug her paws in. She squeezed her eyes tight, panting hard. Waspdawn pulled Harvest aside and ducked as Downstar flew into the nursery. The tortoiseshell leader slammed the Shardling down. Waspdawn pinned its flank, but even the might of two strong cats would not hold it for long. The Shardling bubbled and squirmed, as slippery as a fish, threatening to lift the pair off the ground.

“Wolfkit!” Weevilkit cried. Wolfkit opened her eyes. The fear that had plagued the kit all day was gone. Instead, when Anchovykit looked in Wolfkit’s eyes, he saw burning grass, a raging wildfire focused entirely on the Shardling.

The Shardling stopped moving. It froze with one paw twisted toward Downstar, ready to claw her eyes out. Its squirming, sticky pelt stilled. The hate in its yellow eyes no longer burned, but stabbed; consistent, unmoving, but still powerful. Downstar and Waspdawn panted hard, catching their breath, shaking. Harvest’s surviving kits could not look away from the monster that killed their brother. That was, not until Downstar chomped down on the Shardling’s neck.

The Shardling’s form shivered with the impact of Downstar’s fangs. Waspdawn dug into its slimy torso. Wolfkit broke her stare, squirming at the sight. Not that it mattered anymore. As Downstar tightened her grip, the Shardling began to dissolve. Its form sunk underneath Downstar and Waspdawn. The ichor oozed into the leather and sand lining the nursery. Soon, nothing remained of the horror but sticky, reeking piles of gunk. A huge crowd stood outside, yowling and trying to figure out what was unfolding inside.

“Mom,” Yarrowkit gasped. 

Anchovykit, Billowkit, Currentkit, and Yarrowkit scrambled across the den. Their paws stuck to the stained leather. Harvest laid in Waspdawn’s nest, blood oozing from her mouth. Her jaw laid broken, claw wounds staining her white markings. She breathed hard, but her green eyes remained clear, wide and shaking.

“Mom,” Currentkit sobbed as Waspdawn helped Weedfoot, Weevilkit, and Wolfkit carry the newborns outside. “Mom, Robin’s…”

“I’m sorry,” Anchovykit gulped. He pressed his paws into the large wound on Harvest’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mom. We were getting the Shardling out of Rattlepelt, I don’t know why it wanted Weedfoot.”

“What are you talking about?” Billowkit cried, sneering at his brother.

“Troutpool!” Weevilkit yowled outside. “Honeybuzz!” Harvest groaned, broken jaw twitching. Anchovykit leaned close. It was hard to understand what his mother said, but each word stunned regardless.

“You were brave,” Harvest said. “Keep being brave for me.” 

“Mom—” Anchovykit whined. Suddenly, Honeybuzz’s white paw pulled him back. He and Troutpool nudged the kits back, surrounding Harvest with baskets of medicine. Honeybuzz put his ear to Harvest’s mouth. When he didn’t stand up, Anchovykit knew his mother was gone.

Anchovykit ran outside, shoving through his Clan. Downstar herded Weevilkit and Wolfkit into her den. Anchovykit ran blind after them, cats shoving against him. Downstar looped her tail around Anchovykit as soon as he entered her den, gently nudging him toward her nest in the large, old, wooden box.

“The three of you, take a moment,” Downstar huffed. “I’m going to stand outside and answer everyone’s questions. You tell me when you want to see anyone. I promise, you all did well, you aren’t in trouble. I’ll explain everything to the Clan. Everything will be alright.” Downstar crept backward out of the den as RippleClan called her name, trying to figure out how exactly two of their Clanmates ended up dead, what just stormed through the nursery.

“Does this make us…” Weevilkit muttered, “heroes?”

“Anchovy,” Wolfkit whined, bunting Anchovykit’s side, “I’m so sorry. I should have frozen the Shardling sooner.” 

Downstar’s den glowed. As the heavy weight of loss sank deeper and deeper in Anchovykit’s lungs, soft light danced around the walls of the den. It was so much like the glow that covered Weevilkit and Wolfkit, but purer. Brighter. Calmer. It enveloped the leader’s den, spreading like a wave. Anchovykit’s weight stuck in his throat at the sight. Weevilkit didn’t see it, he was sure of that; the darkness of the night’s events still clouded her gaze. But it was like all of Silverpelt came down to say, “We know tonight was hard. We’re sorry we took them.” No, that wasn’t what they said. “We’re sorry we left.”

But with how Anchovykit saw the world, they never really would leave, would they?

(Anchovykit: 5, male, kit, charming, curious about StarClan)

(Mitespark: 12, female, artisan, charismatic, good mediator) 

(Rattlepelt: 53, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

(Troutpool: 31, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Weevilkit: 5, female, kit, bullying, curious about StarClan)

(Downstar: 129, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Wolfkit: 5, female, kit, polite, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

(Honeybuzz: 18, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Estherfern: 104, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Waspdawn: 36, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Elmsprout: 37, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

(Harvest: 58, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Robinkit: 5, male, kit, unruly, avid play-fighter)

(Currentkit: 5, male, kit, polite, constantly climbing, has lots of ideas)

(Yarrowkit: 5, female, kit, noisy, stares at fire)

(Billowkit: 5, male, kit, bossy, active imagination)