#Mosspounce

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 89, Part 1

Potterypool went missing for a few days. Her body is eventually found in the territory.

[Image ID: Moontide runs toward something offscreen, with Shrewflame, Thundergale, and Yarrowclaw behind her. Shrewflame yowls, "Moontide, don't touch her!" Under Thundergale it reads LEVEL UP! GOOD HUNTER → GREAT HUNTER. Under Yarrowclaw, it reads LEVEL UP! TALENTED FIRE-STARTER → FIRE MASTER.]

Shrewflame was a sprinter, but when he couldn't smell the ocean, the forest provided him security over the open southern reaches, despite the many obstacles in his way. In some ways, the obstacles were better. They were a challenge, allowing Shrewflame to launch himself from rock to rock, tree to tree, flying through the land with the speed of a peregrine falcon. Limp leaves flew out behind him, spooking the occasional squirrel. Shrewflame laughed as a cold wind stunned his cheeks.

Yarrowclaw, Thundergale, and Moontide sat around a particularly scratched-up grouping of pines. The caretakers loved to climb the low-hanging branches, as it was easy to collect bark and wood for the clerics and artisans. It was also a go-to spot to rake your claws down the trunks, leaving permanent gouges in the bark. Thundergale scratched at the tree while Moontide and Yarrowclaw chatted, nested in the fallen needles. Shrewflame burst into the scene, skidding through the leaves with another hearty laugh.

"Sorry if I'm late!" Shrewflame chirped. "I was helping Whitekit settle on training for later this moon. He wants to be a historian."

"Good for him," Thundergale said a bit too loud. Her words were muffled as though talking with her mouth full. Shrewflame bit down the slight disappointment that bubbled with his mentor's words. The spoken word no longer sounded as clear to Thundergale, it seemed. How long would it be until Thundergale could never hear Shrewflame's laugh or the hum of bird song again? She would be alright, she would still be happy, she wouldn't even lose her stride in the growth of her new role (so many cats asked for lessons that Lettucestar asked for one of the teachers to stay in SlugClan for a time and share their new ways). Still, a loss like that could still be mourned. Shrewflame stopped himself from making a mouse-brained comment about Thundergale's voice and instead settled beside Moontide.

"We were just chatting with Yarrowclaw," Moontide explained. Shrewflame's enthusiasm sombered even more with Moontide's monotone. It was clear what was on her mind. Potterypool had left camp a couple days prior, but had not returned that night. Should Shrewflame comfort Moontide? Despite her switch to the teacher position, Shrewflame didn't know her well. He may have learned the basics of mediation from Spikecrash and Paleseed, but he was far from sweet-tongued.

"I'll tell you what I told these two," Yarrowclaw sighed, flicking her ears at the mollies. Shrewflame quickly took up translating for Thundergale on instinct. "If all we talk about is day-night cycling, I'm going back to camp."

"That's only part of what we could learn from you," Thundergale signed, with Shrewflame translating back for Yarrowclaw. Thundergale hopped away from the tree and stood beside Moontide. "Yes, as one of the few cats in recent Clan history with this condition, we want to learn about it so if others have questions, they don't have to interrogate you. But you're a great fighter, and I've never seen anyone sneak up on you. Every member of the Clan has a lot they can teach future generations. If we're going to learn from any of our Clanmates first, you're the one I want to hear from."

"So you want me to talk about myself?" Yarrowclaw asked. Thundergale nodded eagerly. Yarrowclaw sighed and sat up, stretching her flank high. "If that's how I'm spending my afternoon, we aren't going to just sit here. I want to check on the river near the SlugClan border. Come with me and I'll answer your questions."

"But—" Shrewflame huffed, not able to finish translating Yarrowclaw's answer. Yet Thundergale put her tail on Shrewflame's shoulder.

"You can tell me what I miss later," Thundergale said, shaking her head. Shrewflame tensed, but he nodded anyway. Yarrowclaw led the three teachers north, one ear turned back to them.

The sun shone behind a thick layer of light gray clouds, a reflection of Shrewflame's suddenly smothered mood. He pretended otherwise, however, constantly running ahead of Yarrowclaw before "remembering" what he was supposed to do and jogging back. Even the mice seemed to force their mood, skittering in the distant leaves rather than hide from the four fierce hunters. With Thundergale unable to keep up with the conversation and Moontide as quiet as the moon itself, it felt like Shrewflame was talking to himself. He bounced against Thundergale's initial interests and groomed his questions toward Yarrowclaw's supposed specialities.

Usually, Shrewflame would love to hear how Yarrowclaw learned to hunt without a sense of depth, how she honed her senses, how the mediators taught her to harness her day cycles in a healthy way. Yet it didn't feel right. Thundergale couldn't participate, Moontide wasn't engaged, and Shrewflame found himself missing his little brother. Whitekit was hilarious! It helped that he looked at Shrewflame like the sun, but maybe Whitekit could have made Yarrowclaw laugh or loosened her mouth with his unique, cautious charm. At this point, Shrewflame should have just joined a border patrol.

"I'll tell you what I told Wolverineheart as a kit," Yarrowclaw sighed as the Great Northern River came into view. "I have my nose. I have my ears. I can feel the wind on my whiskers and pawsteps through the ground. I can get by with one bad eye."

"Good to know," Shrewflame said, glancing between Moontide and Thundergale. "Well, um, we're at the river! Do we want to rest by the water for a bit?"

"Dog," Thundergale suddenly gulped, gaze locked on the other side of the river. Moontide, Yarrowclaw, and Shrewflame stiffened. They gazed over the gray river, whose white foam caught what light leaked through the clouds. The tanning grass rippled in the wind, which carried the dangerous scent to the patrol. Heavy paws scrambled through the fading undergrowth. The dog's golden brown pelt melted against the dying leaves as it burst into view. One of its floppy ears was stuck inside-out and its tongue dangled out of its loose lips. The brown-eyed beast turned back toward the trees, wagging its tail wildly. Shrewflame couldn't see its human yet, but he heard them cracking leaves underfoot.

Shrewflame had never seen a dog so close before, but the sight still made his back arch. He grew up with his mothers' stories; Wildclaw and her various confrontations with overeager pups, Rattlepelt and her near-death experience with the darkhound that took Mousesong, the aunt Shrewflame never knew. All of Shrewflame's lessons and the scars sported by his Clanmates taught him never to underestimate a dog, especially one that hunted alongside a human.

"The dog seems well-taught," Moontide noted softly, signing quickly. "I don't think it will cross the river unless its human does, and Venturedapple says humans hate wading through water."

"I'll keep my eye on it," Yarrowclaw promised, dead eye facing the three teachers as Yarrowclaw glared across the border.

The dog sniffed at the grass lining the river, uninterested in the cats beyond. Its nose led it between a pine and a fir, where recently disturbed dirt protruded in a mound. The dog lunged at the mound like a kit pouncing on a leaf. Its thick paws dug rapidly. Dirt flew into the river and floated toward the sea. The smell of decay brushed Shrewflame's nose. The human emerged from the trees with a swift bark. The dog bounced back, thoughtless eyes gazing joyfully up at its master. Though the human's misshapen paw rubbed the dog's head, their attention lingered on the mound. Whatever the human saw, Shrewflame couldn't make it out from his position.

"That smell," Moontide gulped, eyes as big as her namesake. Shrewflame didn't know what she meant as the human crouched by the mound. They brushed aside loose dirt and continued some of their dog's work. They purred low, a purr of pain rather than contentment. Their leather-lined paws reached into the mound and slowly lifted up what laid beneath.

A dark red cat laid in the human's grasp. Blank gray eyes stared at RippleClan territory. Blood smeared her marbled pelt.

So that's where Potterypool had gone.

"Drop her!" Moontide suddenly shrieked, charging to the riverbank. "Drop her right now! Don't take her!" The golden dog barked at Moontide's yowls. Even the human turned their head, noticing the Clan cats for the first time. Shrewflame, Yarrowclaw, and Thundergale all stood beside Moontide, the river licking their paws as they hissed at the human. The human glanced down at the body in their grasp, cradled close to their chest. Their attention drifted between Potterypool and the living cats. Their paw absent-mindedly stroked Potterypool's still pelt.

"There are good humans, right?" Shrewflame yowled like there was some chance of the human understanding him. "Maybe you're one of them! Just put her body down! She's our friend!" The human held Potterypool tighter. Their eyes shimmered. The human slowly sat beside the unearthed mound. The dog came close, sniffing Potterypool's body, but the human hissed at it, shielding the dead cat. The human carefully laid Potterypool beside the disturbed earth. They arranged her legs gently underneath her. They made it look as though Potterypool was curled up, deep in a peaceful dream. The human stroked Potterypool's head, whining. Blood covered their paws. They even rested their muzzle against Potterypool's forehead, as though participating in vigil. Could humans truly care about cats so deeply, even cats they never met?

The human stood and made a sharp bird-like song to their dog. The dog walked alongside the human, eyeing Potterypool and the living cats. Yet it stayed tame as the human led it back through the trees. As soon as the pair slipped through the undergrowth, Moontide dove into the river.

"Moontide, don't touch her!" Shrewflame yowled. Moontide swam with the river pushing against her side. She crawled onto the opposite bank as Shrewflame raced for the stepping stones. The cold water numbed his paws. He slipped onto the grass beyond the border. Moontide reached her paw to Potterypool's curled body just as Shrewflame snatched the white molly's scruff and tugged her back.

"Shrewflame, get off of me!" Moontide cried, paws smacking at Shrewflame.

"Look at her, Moontide!" Shrewflame hissed, letting go and shoving the frantic molly back. "She's covered in blood. She was buried beyond the border. A dog or fox wouldn't have done that. Think!" Yarrowclaw and Thundergale joined the pair on their side of the river. "We need codekeepers. That's the right way to do this. They should get a look at her body before anyone else disturbs her."

"She's been here all this time," Moontide whined, shaking. "I patrolled by here yesterday. I didn't see her!"

"Thundergale and I will go back to camp," Yarrowclaw promised. "We'll find some codekeepers." The air hung stiff around them, aching for some sort of comforting phrase before the two mollies left, but Yarrowclaw and Thundergale were silent. They slowly crept away from Potterypool's body and back to the river. Moontide moaned as Yarrowclaw and Thundergale hurried back to RippleClan territory.

Moontide sunk low, one paw stretching out toward her sister. Her instincts fought against her common sense, desperate to touch Potterypool's matted, dirty fur, shake life back into her lungs. But Shrewflame kept a paw on Moontide's leg, refusing to look away from Potterypool's body. When he looked past the slight decay, past the scent of death and dirt and the river's mist, Shrewflame could make out distinct trails of blood staining Potterypool's already dark red fur. Shrewflame didn't need a codekeeper's training to see this was the work of a cat. But who?

(Shrewflame: 13, male, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)

(Thundergale: 21, female, teacher, adventurous, great hunter, good speaker)

(Moontide: 24, female, teacher, playful, excellent teacher)

(Yarrowclaw: 24, female, warrior, cold, fire master)

(Potterypool: 24, female, caretaker, sneaky, great singer)

Stormjump and Honeybuzz proudly announce their commitment to one another as mates before the Clan. Meanwhile, Waspdawn battles an infection in his tail stump.

[Image ID: Stormjump and Honeybuzz preen together while Cobaltchaser and Lightningrunner sit with Waspdawn in the back. Under Waspdawn, it reads + INFECTION. Under Stormjump, it reads + MATE: HONEYBUZZ. Under Honeybuzz, it reads + MATE: STORMJUMP.]

---

"It was an intentional burial," Waspdawn muttered as Troutpool rubbed an infection-fighting balm into the amputated stump of his half-tail. "Someone didn't want her body to be found. Why?"

"Waspdawn, maybe you should just rest," Cobaltchaser suggested, grooming her older brother's head. "Overthinking this isn't going to help your fever."

"But he's right, Cobaltchaser," Lightningrunner huffed. "This is bad. It's like the story with Scrubmask. This could be another war with the Witch Hunters!"

"Take it from someone who was actually there for Scrubmask's death," Troutpool sighed, finishing the last of Waspdawn's balm. "Whoever left her body there didn't care who found it. Potterypool's situation is different."

The four cats sat together in the medicine den, noses plugged with the smell of infection and herbs. Waspdawn sat with his tail stretched out of his nest. His furless tail-tip blistered red, some unknown infection creeping into the scars of his amputation. Cobaltchaser and Lightningrunner kept him company as sunhigh glared down on the noisy camp clearing. Despite the overwhelming scent of the medicine den, the smell of dried fish still managed to soak through the den walls from the meal outside.

Most of the Clan surrounded Honeybuzz and Stormjump, congratulating the pair on their official declaration of matehood. Waspdawn's daughter beamed under all the attention. Stormjump purred and laughed as cats like Wildclaw and Rabbitjoy offered their advice and jokes. Honeybuzz's brothers shoved against him, laughing at the top of their lungs. Honeybuzz's eyes carried a softness that had been absent in recent days. From the look of the crowd, it would have been hard to believe that one of their own had been found murdered the day before. Yet the signs were there in what was absent; Halibutdusk could not been seen. They were likely hiding out with Downstar in her den. Moontide and Vervaincough were also distant, moving away from the crowd as soon as they congratulated their older brother.

"At least they sound happy out there." From the other side of the medicine den, Mosspounce laid with his legs at awkward angles, shifting constantly. Clean bandages wrapped around his head, smothering any light before it reached his tattered eyes. If the cougar's claws were as vicious as the stories from last moon claimed, it was impressive Mosspounce still had a face to show off.

"If you're lonely, Mosspounce," Troutpool sighed, "I can have someone guide you through camp."

"Lemmy will be back soon," Mosspounce said with a dismissive flick of his ear. "I can congratulate the happy couple later. I want to keep listening to your theories, Waspdawn. Lemmy's been tight-jawed about the investigation."

"She hasn't been involved," Waspdawn muttered. "We're keeping the investigation to myself, Puddlewhisper, and Cobaltchaser here."

"My brother trusts me," Cobaltchaser purred, squirming with prideful satisfaction.

"More like knows you couldn't have done it," Troutpool awkwardly pointed out, cleaning the balm from her paws. "You were stuck in the dirtplace the day Potterypool vanished." Mosspounce snickered as Cobaltchaser stiffened.

"So we're really considering that someone in our Clan killed Potterypool?" Lightningrunner gulped.

"There are other suspects," Waspdawn assured her. Troutpool shuffled through her herbs as Waspdawn explained. "A Witch Hunter could have killed Potterypool and hidden the body to maintain peace between them and us. Puddlewhisper and Paleseed are going to the human settlement tomorrow to interview Pearl."

"Cobaltchaser, can you fetch a clean bowl?" Troutpool sighed, plucking a jar from her stores. "Your brother needs something to drink his red osier decoction from. It should ease his fever." Cobaltchaser quickly jogged out of the den, set on her new mission.

"Can we even punish someone if they aren't in our Clan?" Lightningrunner asked. "Would Downstar go to war over the killer if their Clan or colony didn't give them up?"

"I know I would," Mosspounce huffed. "Take it from someone who had a paw in the Clan's first war with the Witch Hunters. When our cultures are so different, you can't avoid a fight if you hope to change things. They deserved a battle for kidnapping Carnationspeckle. What sort of justice is it when a killer goes free?" Lightningrunner hung on Mosspounce's words. Waspdawn's heart spasmed, an ache traveling through his blood. The dread of murder fueled his fever and forced his head down.

"You're staying in here for a while, Waspdawn," Troutpool sighed, grooming Waspdawn's neck. "No investigations for you."

"Downstar gave me responsibility…" Waspdawn muttered. He sat up, his head swimming.

"You can share that responsibility with Puddlewhisper," Troutpool said. "Please, lay down. You need to rest."

Regardless of what Waspdawn wanted, he didn't have the energy to do anything but tumble into his nest. The hope beaming from the clearing soothed his palpatations. Lightningrunner settled between Waspdawn and Mosspounce, still eager to continue her conversation with the latter. If she wanted time with her older brother, that would have to come later. As Waspdawn let Troutpool's balm do its work, his sleepy thoughts formed images of disturbed soil behind his eyes. Shifting visions of red fur slashed about, acting as a focal point through the fog of fever.

It was Waspdawn's duty to bring the truth to light.

(Waspdawn: 55, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Cobaltchaser: 19, female, codekeeper, righteous, good cook, prey cleaner)

(Lightningrunner: 19, female, historian, nervous, explorer, helpful insight)

(Troutpool: 50, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sight)

(Honeybuzz: 37, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Stormjump: 20, female, caretaker, charismatic, incredible cook)

(Mosspounce: 50, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

[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 88

Mitespark gets flustered when Wolverineheart compliments her woodworking skill.

[Image ID: Ravenweaver and Mitespark watch Wolverineheart go. Ravenweaver says, "You would be cute together!"]

(Ravenweaver: 23, female, artisan, nervous, den builder, very clever)

(Mitespark: 30, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)

(Wolverineheart: 20, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

Despite an awkward assessment, Shrewpaw recovers from his bruises and is named Shrewflame for his fierce confidence. Thundergale considers herself lucky to have mentored such a great cat.

[Image ID: Shrewflame is now an adult! Under him, it reads LEVEL UP! SHREWPAW → SHREWFLAME, COMPETITIVE → LOYAL, NEVER SITS STILL → FAST AS THE WIND. Thundergale watches proudly in the back.]

(Shrewflame: 12, male, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)

(Thundergale: 20, female, teacher, adventurous, good hunter, good speaker)

Halibutdusk is worried about the storm overhead, but continues on their date with Clammask anyway. As they walk along the river, a flash flood overcomes them. Halibutdusk clings to the stepping stones, but Clammask is washed to sea.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Clammask wander under a cloudy sky, where the ghosts of Twinekit, Locustseeker, Burdockcreek, and Rustshade watch and wait.]

(Halibutdusk: 80, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Clammask: 82, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

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

(Burdockcreek: 40, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Locustseeker: 12, nonbinary (they/them), historian apprentice, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)

(Twinekit: 2, female, kit, noisy, quick to help)

Wildclaw and Honeybuzz grieve. Honeybuzz wonders how Stormjump is doing.

[Image ID: Wildclaw talks to her littermate, with + CONDITION: GRIEVING under her. On the other side, Stormjump speaks with Downstar and Carnationspeckle. Honeybuzz watches them both, + CONDITION: GRIEVING written under him.]

---

Stars damn it all.

Honeybuzz knew it was natural for a kit to sit vigil for their parents as the latter grew old and their fur turned gray, but Honeybuzz still felt too young to lose Clammask too. And this time, there was no clear culprit he could blame. Halibutdusk wasn't like Rapidleaf, they didn't shove Clammask into the water, and they didn't run from whatever role they played in Clammask's death either. They even offered their freedom up to Venturedapple and Cobaltchaser, willing to sit through a trial and sort out the details of the incident. Not that the outcome wasn't clear, though; this was no living cat's fault. Perhaps Clammask's littermates decided to call her home. Perhaps the All-Seeing prevented any warnings from reaching the clerics' ears so their grand plan could unfold.

Whoever decided Clammask would die that day, stars damn them.

At least the Clan had a body to sit vigil for. While on patrol, hoping that Clammask found her way back to shore, Rapidleaf, Asterblaze, and Tallowheart found Clammask's body drifting along the edge of the beach. Troutpool and Oilstripe mournfully reported Clammask's spirit escorting the body to camp before departing with Twinekit, Locustseeker, and Burdockcreek. Weevilsight and Carnationspeckle dried her body and made sure she looked her best. The last child of RippleClan's first litter, departed for the stars.

Honeybuzz muttered along to Troutpool and Estherfern's ritual as he, Splashtuft, Leathermask, and Drumtooth pressed their noses into their mother's pelt one last time. To the side, Wildclaw and Halibutdusk leaned into each other, each bearing the other's grief on their backs. A long pelt covered Halibutdusk, fighting off the chill of the autumn water. Yet Honeybuzz was the one who couldn't stop shivering. Stormjump, Carnationspeckle, and Downstar built a large fire to the side of the vigil—a dash of warmth to send Clammask up to Silverpelt. It did not calm Honeybuzz's body.

Vervaincough, Potterypool, and Moontide curled up along Clammask's back. Vervaincough's breath itched at Honeybuzz's neck. Neither Clammask's sons nor her daughters wanted to be the first to leave their mother behind and embrace the night that had slowly enveloped them over the course of the vigil. Yet when Honeybuzz dared look up from Clammask's still-damp fur, he could see Oilstripe, Mosspounce, and Slushtrail patiently waiting for their turn to mourn. Honeybuzz kneaded his mother's still belly. Could he really leave her behind? Would he see her the next time he visited StarClan's Shrine? Whatever the case, Honeybuzz couldn't stay with his siblings forever. Clammask wasn't just important to them.

Honeybuzz pried himself away from Clammask's body with a pitiful moan. His cicada wing necklace left an imprint in her fur. His paws mindlessly carried him away, leaving room for Oilstripe to mourn her little sister.

"Honeybuzz, wait," Leathermask whined, lifting his head from the vigil.

"Let him go, Leather," Splashtuft sighed. "I… I think I need to leave, too." Splashtuft shoved himself up and hurried to the warrior's den. Billowhaze and Tallowheart, who quietly shared tongues outside the den, followed their fellow historian in, ready to offer whatever comfort they could manage.

"I'm not leaving," Drumtooth promised, pressing closer to Leathermask as Mosspounce found his opening to mourn.

Honeybuzz wandered toward Stormjump and the growing fire. He had no real agenda, no idea what he needed, but in the bottom of his heart, he knew Stormjump could provide it. Stormjump, to her credit, was the first to notice Honeybuzz's approach. She set a piece of kindling to the side of the flames and turned to see who joined her, Carnationspeckle, and Downstar in their work.

"Honeybuzz," Stormjump cooed. "Come warm up. You look wet." Stormjump moved aside so Honeybuzz could creep closer to the fire. His shivering eased as Carnationspeckle gently groomed his fur the wrong way.

"What do you need, Honeybuzz?" Downstar asked.

"You tell me," Honeybuzz scoffed, resting his head on the warm sand.

"It's late, but we could prepare a simple stew," Carnationspeckle suggested. "Something with heart-healing herbs to warm our bones."

"The Clan already had their evening meal," Honeybuzz sighed. "Don't waste food for the sunhigh meal."

"Take it from an older cat, Honeybuzz," Downstar sighed, eyes trailing to Clammask's body. "A loss like this is going to hurt, and you won't be the same cat you were this morning. But eventually the good memories will pad around that loss, dampen the sound of the grief. It'll be there, and it will still hurt. But you'll have more and more joy to draw strength from, if you allow yourself to hold onto it." Carnationspeckle licked her former mentor's shoulder and rested her chin on her back. Honeybuzz just closed his eyes. That little speech seemed more for Downstar than for him.

He never told her. Honeybuzz never told Clammask the truth about Scrubmask and Rapidleaf. She knew now, finally reunited with her first mate. She knew about Honeybuzz's silence. Did she understand his intentions? Did she see the chaos the truth would bring? Or did she only see her son, the liar, the secret keeper, the cat who let a killer share the same den as his brothers and sisters without so much as a meow of protest?

"It's alright to cry, Honeybuzz," Stormjump sighed, nuzzling Honeybuzz's neck. Honeybuzz didn't realize his breath had begun to hitch. "Maybe you should get some sleep. Want me to walk you to the medicine den?" Honeybuzz swallowed hard and nodded. He forced himself up, but this time, Stormjump was there, leaning against Honeybuzz, catching his weight. The pair sank into the sand. Honeybuzz didn't care to wipe it off his paws when he entered his den.

He tumbled into his nest with a pitiful mew. Stormjump gently grabbed the leather cord of his cicada wing necklace and lifted it off his neck. She placed the necklace beside his nest.

"I'll make sure I'm in charge of the sunhigh meal tomorrow," Stormjump promised. "I'll make Clammask's favorite meal. Herb-pelted bird fillets. Sleep well, Honeybuzz. I'm sorry about today." Stormjump's tail waved gently as she turned out of the den.

Honeybuzz couldn't stop himself from falling asleep, a weight settling over his back. Yet as he did so, he could have sworn he heard one last thing as Stormjump left.

"I love you."

(Honeybuzz: 36, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Wildclaw: 80, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Halibutdusk: 80, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Leathermask: 36, male, warrior, nervous, good fighter, eloquent speaker)

(Splashtuft: 36, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Drumtooth: 36, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Stormjump: 19, female, caretaker, charismatic, incredible cook)

(Downstar: 147, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Carnationspeckle: 90, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

While participating in a battle training holiday with other warriors and caretakers in LynxClan territory, Mosspounce, Yarrowclaw, and Brightreed come across a cougar’s den; the same cougar that once decimated LynxClan. The trio lead the celebrating warriors to kill the cougar once and for all, with Mosspounce delivering a deadly blow, but his eyes are clawed up as a result.

[Image ID: Mosspounce, Brightreed, and Yarrowclaw follow bloody pawprints. Under Mosspounce, it says + CONDITION: DAMAGED EYES.]

(Mosspounce: 49, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Brightreed: 20, male, warrior, righteous, student of art)

(Yarrowclaw: 23, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 77

While Mosspounce’s bruises heal, the broken bone takes one of Downstar’s lives.

[Image ID: Mosspounce and Downstar are healed. Under Mosspounce, it says - CONDITION: BRUISES. Under Downstar, it says - CONDITION: BROKEN BONE, LIVES LEFT: 2.]

(Mosspounce: 38, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Downstar: 136, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

A rogue asks the Clan to care for their son, Shrew, now that he is weaned.

[Image ID: Oilstripe, Carnationspeckle, and Waspdawn find a red kit. Under the three of them, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING. Under the kit, it says NEW PLAYER: SHREWKIT, 1, MALE, BOSSY, NEVER SITS STILL.]

---

There were no safe patrols anymore. In Oilstripe’s mind, she could see what Anchovypaw reported every time he returned from patrol; black ichor smearing the grass and trees, the spiritual residue of monsters that lurked in the corner of your eye. Everyone knew that was why Silverpaw never returned to camp. Perhaps it was also why Oilstripe never saw the young molly’s spirit. Troutpool’s dreams simply told her Silverpaw had made it to the stars… eventually. That was why no apprentice could leave camp alone. That was why even the senior warriors asked for a few extra eyes to accompany them, even when not on patrol.

Today, Oilstripe had Carnationspeckle and Waspdawn to watch her back as they marked their borders. Haunted or not, RippleClan couldn’t give Gentlestar or Eelstar any ideas about expanding their territory in RippleClan’s time of crisis. They patrolled along AshClan's border first, spreading their scent wherever it smelled weak.

"Do you think anyone over there mourned for Weedfoot?" Carnationspeckle asked as Waspdawn finished marking a tree that sat right on the border.

"I'm sure of it," Oilstripe huffed.

"She saved their flanks," Waspdawn muttered, rejoining the couple. "They should be honored my mother deigned to help them." Deep within AshClan territory, the spirit of one of their warriors strolled through the trees. Even though they ignored Oilstripe, she felt the need to dip her head to the StarClan warrior. They could have killed one of the Ashes in the Water, for all she knew, but it felt right. It felt like the sort of diplomacy a deputy should show the former members of a different Clan.

"Who's that?" Carnationspeckle asked, her gaze following Oilstripe's. The ginger molly startled. Did her mate see the spirit too? But then Waspdawn's focus settled on something within the trees. Oilstripe's shock faded when a tortoiseshell, a living tortoiseshell, walked through the StarClan ghost. She carried a bright red kit in her jaws. The kit had a sharp blaze of white on his forehead that reminded Oilstripe of a star, or a half-moon set against a sunset. Oilstripe didn't recognize the tortoiseshell, but she knew her escorts. Barkfur walked beside the tortoiseshell, with Heronflank and newly graduated warrior Fernwhisper behind them.

"Ah, Deputy Oilstripe," Barkfur sighed as he approached the border. "Good, good. It's better we don't wait around."

"Who's this little tom?" Carnationspeckle purred, sniffing the red kitten.

"I'm Shrew," the kitten declared, wiggling as much as he could with his scruff in his mother's mouth. "Mom, let me go!" Shrew's mother obliged, placing her son at her paws. Shrew immediately tried to race off, but his mother hooked a paw around him.

"You're not an AshClan cat," Waspdawn noted.

"I hail from the northwest," the queen explained. "I… I've heard stories that the Clans take in kits whose mothers can't care for them."

"We…" Carnationspeckle said, blinking rapidly as she processed what the queen wanted. "We do. My daughter was one of those kits."

"We found her wandering our territory," Barkfur said. "We explained to her that AshClan isn't taking in cats from outside the Clan, but that RippleClan may be more open to assisting her."

"And we will, if that's what you want," Waspdawn said, dipping his head to the queen. "But.. why can't you care for Shrew?"

"He's the last of his litter," the queen sighed as Shrew, oblivious to the adults around him, nipped at his mother's grasp. "They all fell ill, I'm worried it's in their blood. I thought Clan medicine could help my son."

"He seems healthy to me," Carnationspeckle hummed. Shrew finally broke away from his mother and tumbled across the border. He chomped onto Oilstripe's leg with sharp kitten teeth. Oilstripe yelped and batted the excitable kit off.

"Very healthy," Waspdawn chuckled.

"So did his siblings," the queen gulped.

"You don't have to give him away," Oilstripe explained as Shrew gawked at Waspdawn's half-tail. "You can join RippleClan as well. We've accepted a few mothers in your position."

"I can't," the queen whined, flinching. "I'm sorry, I can't. I'm destined for the Other Side. I don't belong here. I waited until he, he, he was weaned, but… this is better. He deserves better than me." The queen looked to Barkfur and sighed, "I'm ready to go now."

"RippleClan will treat your son well," Barkfur promised. "We'll escort you to the river." He nodded to Heronflank and Fernwhisper, ready to depart.

"That's it?" Oilstripe huffed as Shrew finally paid attention to his mother. "No, you… you should tell your son something."

"Tell me what?" Shrew cocked his head. The queen stared back, her posture stiff. She swallowed hard. She kept opening her mouth, ready to explain, but she lost her courage each time.

"I'll see you in a while, Shrew," she finally croaked. She spun around before she could falter. Heronflank and Fernwhisper led Barkfur and the queen through the thick blankets of golden needles, under the gray-speckled leaves that clung to the trees, refusing to acknowledge the coming winter.

"You didn't give us your name!" Carnationspeckle suddenly yowled. Yet the queen didn't turn back. Her escort led her farther and farther from her only remaining kit.

"I know her name," Shrew huffed. "It's Mom."

A short while later, Shrew sat in the nursery while Troutpool put her nose in his ear, checking for fever. Oilstripe, Carnationspeckle, and Downstar sat around her, waiting for a diagnosis. Shrew laughed when Troutpool pulled her nose out. He itched his ear and ogled the Clan's vast medicine stores.

"He needs a better diet," Troutpool sighed, "but he's a healthy young tom. I don't see any signs of disease."

"Could his mother have lied about his littermates?" Downstar asked Oilstripe. "Perhaps she just wanted an excuse to give her child away."

"Why don't you ask her?" Shrew shot back, a tiny paw reaching for a pot. "She said she's coming back." Troutpool gently shoved his paw away.

"He doesn't understand," Carnationspeckle whispered. "I think he's too young."

"We could have Paleseed explain things to him," Downstar suggested.

"Maybe we let him believe that until he's settled into RippleClan," Carnationspeckle said.

"Mom?" Rattlepelt and Wildclaw trotted to the medicine den, peering around the older mollies. Leaves clung to Rattlepelt's fox pelt, mixing with the carefully woven lavender. Wildclaw crouched and scanned under Downstar's legs.

"Hi, Rattlepelt," Carnationspeckle purred, absent-mindedly touching her daughter's nose before turning back to Shrew. "We're a little busy right now. Can we talk later?"

"Halibut told us about the kit," Wildclaw huffed. "Rattlepelt insisted we meet him."

"That's a bit of a bold word," Rattlepelt chuckled. "I just suggested we stop by the medicine den."

"What are you?" Shrew gaped at Rattlepelt with giant blue eyes. There was no fear in his stare, like when a new apprentice met Rattlepelt at a Gathering and Oilstripe had to hide their shock from her adopted daughter. His gaze was more like emerging from the darkest level of the ocean into the sun.

"I'm a cat," Rattlepelt laughed. She squeezed around Carnationspeckle and sat next to Shrew. "My name is Rattlepelt, and this is my mate, Wildclaw." Shrew put his paws on Rattlepelt's fox pelt and his eyes grew bigger. He shoved his face into the red fur, purring.

"You're so soft!" Shrew gasped.

"Why don't you play with it?" Rattlepelt suggested. "Just be very careful." Rattlepelt slipped off her fox pelt and laid it in front of Shrew.

"You can take your fur off?" Shrew squealed. While that idea would have disturbed Oilstripe at Shrew's age, the little kit simply dove into the leather pelt, rolling in the well-groomed fur. Wildclaw laughed, and even Downstar managed to chuckle.

"I heard your mother asked us to take care of you," Rattlepelt said, laying beside Shrew. "My mother did the same thing when I was a kit. It was a little scary, but I'm glad she gave me up. I got Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe as my new mothers, and I'm very happy in RippleClan."

"You can have more than one mom?" Shrew sat up, the fox's tail covering his face.

"You can," Rattlepelt purred. She gazed tenderly at Shrew as he sniffed the fox pelt's lavender accents. She turned to Wildclaw, beckoning her inside. Wildclaw sat by her mate, similarly entranced by the little red kitten.

"You know, Shrew," Wildclaw purred, "now that you're staying with us, you'll get to sleep in the nursery. We don't want you to be lonely in there. If you want, Rattlepelt and I can move in with you. You can share a nest with us."

"Can I sleep with this?" Shrew asked, his teeth digging into the fox pelt.

"You can," Rattlepelt laughed, voice catching. She turned to Wildclaw, whispering, "Are you sure you want this? I don't want to hurt him."

"When it's just you in there," Wildclaw chuckled, gently batting Rattlepelt's head, "you'd die before you hurt a kit. You'll be great." Wildclaw and Rattlepelt snuggled against each other.

"Congratulations," Troutpool chirped, bunting her older sister. "Oh, I get to be an aunt! I'll make sure there's a nest ready for you." She squirmed around the other mollies and hurried to the nursery, squealing like a kit.

"Welcome to grandmotherhood, you two," Downstar chuckled, playfully nudging Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle.

"My heart was not ready for this," Oilstripe laughed awkwardly, trying to breathe.

"Shrew, from now on, you can call me Grandma," Carnationspeckle declared, diving to Shrew's level.

"I will!" Shrew chirped, utterly unaware of the implications. Carnationspeckle squealed and pressed against Rattlepelt with a deep purr. Oilstripe joined the family gathering, her heart expanding to make way for her bright, enthusiastic grandson.

(Oilstripe: 81, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Carnationspeckle: 79, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Waspdawn: 43, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Shrewkit: 1, male, kit, bossy, never sits still)

(Troutpool: 38, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Downstar: 136, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Rattlepelt: 60, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Wildclaw: 69, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

Moontide, Vervaincough, Anchovystrike, and Billowhaze graduate from their apprenticeships together.

[Image ID: Moontide, Vervaincough, Anchovystrike, and Billowhaze are all grown up! Under Moontide, it says LEVEL UP! MOONPAW → MOONTIDE, QUICK TO HELP → EXCELLENT TEACHER. Under Vervaincough, it says LEVEL UP! VERVAINPAW → VERVAINCOUGH, BLOODTHIRSTY → INSECURE, LOVES NATURE → UNDERSTANDS NATURE, QUICK TO MAKE PEACE → GOOD MEDIATOR. Under Anchovystrike, it says LEVEL UP! ANCHOVYPAW → ANCHOVYSTRIKE, CURIOUS ABOUT STARCLAN → DEEP STARCLAN BOND. Under Billowhaze, it says LEVEL UP! BILLOWPAW → BILLOWHAZE, THOUGHTFUL → LOYAL, ACTIVE IMAGINATION → GOOD KITSITTER.]

(Moontide: 12, female, warrior, playful, excellent teacher)

(Vervaincough: 12, female, codekeeper, insecure, understands nature, good mediator)

(Anchovystrike: 12, male, warrior, playful, deep StarClan bond)

(Billowhaze: 12, male, historian, loyal, good kitsitter)

During their assessments, Currentpaw and Yarrowpaw find a former kittypet/Witch Hunter interested in joining the Clan. He takes on the name Venturedapple and becomes a codekeeper.

[Image ID: Currentpaw and Yarrowpaw stare at a long-furred brown and white tom. Under the tom, it says NEW PLAYER: VENTUREDAPPLE, 65, MALE, COLD, ELOQUENT SPEAKER.]

(Currentpaw: 12, male, caretaker, loving, constantly climbing, has lots of ideas)

(Yarrowpaw: 12, female, warrior apprentice, thoughtful, stares at fire)

(Venturedapple: 65, male, codekeeper, cold, eloquent speaker)

[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 84

Elmsprout and Lavendertwist welcome two kits into the world.

[Image ID: Elmsprout and Lavendertwist face two newborn kits; a ginger and white kit, and a pale silver kit with a few white markings. Under Elmsprout, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. Under the ginger kit, it says NEW PLAYER: GINGERKIT, 0, MALE, CHARMING. Under the silver kit, it says NEW PLAYER: FROSTKIT, 0, FEMALE, QUIET.]

(Elmsprout: 51, female, caretaker, charismatic, trusted advisor)

(Lavendertwist: 50, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Gingerkit: 0, male, kit, charming)

(Frostkit: 0, female, kit, quiet)

Currentsmoke expresses his concern about Yarrowclaw's recent behavior.

[Image ID: Mosspounce, Wolfgaze, Sandhollow, Weevilsight, and Anchovystrike run in a patrol, with Mosspounce calling "Yarrowclaw, get off the horse-path." Under Weevilsight, it says - INFECTION.]

---

Anchovystrike couldn't really share tongues with his brother, not like he wished he could. After all, Currentsmoke couldn't groom him back. It didn't help that the thick wound across Currentsmoke's face was still infected, covered in oozing concoctions. Weevilsight said the infections came and went, but to Anchovystrike, it all seemed like one big, continous disease. Yet that didn't matter. Injured or not, Currentsmoke was going to enjoy the anniversary celebration with the rest of RippleClan, basking in the sunhigh glow.

Most of the Clan was busy around Elmsprout and Lavendertwist. They had just given their litter of two, Frostkit and Gingerkit, their names, and everyone wanted to show the two tiny kittens what the warm sand and cool sea felt like. Meanwhile, the artisans and caretakers used some of RippleClan's precious salt to season enough prey for everyone. Anchovystrike and Weevilsight shared a woodpecker while Weevilsight helped Currentsmoke drink some salty, herb-soaked broth. The three cats basked in the summer sunshine, content with their meals.

"You know, Currentsmoke," Weevilsight sighed, nestling into the sand, "if you end up with a big scar from this, you won't be alone. Most of my tail has healed, but fighting that infection left a lot of the skin raw." Weevilsight showed off her tail, which no longer sported any bandages, as it had over the last few moons. Yet the skin was still pink and raw, irritated from exposure to other cats' diseases. The scarring ran across her ginger and black fur like new tortoiseshell markings. Had Weevilsight been a warrior, it would have been a mark of beauty.

"I duhn't care ah-out scars," Currentsmoke grumbled. "I just 'anna li'eh."

"You're not dying on us," Anchovystrike huffed, shoving Currentsmoke's shoulder. "You've got four clerics looking after you, and you've got me, Billowhaze, and Yarrowclaw keeping you busy. You're the best of us, Current. You're not going anywhere anytime soon." Currentsmoke purred and gently bunted heads with his brother, making sure not to touch his wounds. The supernatural glimmer in Weevilsight's pelt glowed brighter at the sight, and Anchovystrike purred just a bit harder. Yet as Anchovystrike dug into his share of the woodpecker, Currentsmoke tensed. Anchovystrike could feel Currentsmoke's tired muscles harden as he rested against him.

"More pain, Currentsmoke?" Weevilsight asked. She sniffed at Currentsmoke's jaw.

"Nuh," Currentsmoke mumbled. He scanned the happy crowd trapsing through the sand and salt water. Anchovystrike followed his gaze, unsure what he was looking for. "Souh'ing's wruhng 'ith Yarr'acla'ah."

"Yarrowclaw?" Anchovystrike clarified.

"She has been a little strange the last few moons," Weevilsight admitted. "Did you hear about her hunting patrol last moon?"

"She's been overworking herself, I know," Anchovystrike huffed. "But she realizes it eventually. She just gets into these moods lately."

"It's muhre than that," Currentsmoke insisted. The injured tom groaned and slowly pushed himself to his paws. His legs shook, his body's battle with his injuries draining too much strength from him to stay up for long. "She's nuh't here. Souh'ing's wruhng." Weevilsight pushed against Currentsmoke, making sure he didn't collapse. Currentsmoke tried to shake Weevilsight off, but hissed as the bandages restraining his jaw rubbed the wrong way.

Anchovystrike gave the anniversary celebration another look over. Was Yarrowclaw with Billowhaze? No, Billowhaze was joking with Wolfgaze and Ravenweaver over their own share of salty meat. Maybe she was spending time with her former mentor. No, that wasn't right either, Rapidleaf was talking through something with Estherfern, probably bonding over recent messages from StarClan or something of the sort. Yarrowclaw was close with Estherfern's litter, she was probably splashing through the water with them! And yet, no. Brightreed, Wolverineheart, Boughfur, and Thundergale were each busy with their own fun. Currentsmoke was right. Yarrowclaw wasn't at the anniversary celebration.

"Why do you think something is wrong?" Weevilsight asked, easing Currentsmoke back down.

"I heard her," Currentsmoke groaned. "She f'isited 'e. She didn't 'ake sense. She said she was going to cah'lete a rituh'al to cuh're 'e."

"To cure you?" Weevilsight muttered. "But we've said all the prayers we can think of. Estherfern even helped Honeybuzz commune with the Celestial of Broken Bones herself for extra advice and blessings. What could Yarrowclaw do?"

"She's in dang'ah!" Currentsmoke snapped. He tried to stand again, but his rising nerves worked in tamdem with his weakness and send him back into the sand.

"Rabbitjoy mentioned something about a ritual last moon," Anchovystrike realized. "That was why Yarrowclaw caught all that prey." Anchovystrike stood, shaking sand out of his fur. "You're right, Currentsmoke. I don't like this. I… I think I misunderstood what Yarrowclaw's been going through. We need to find her."

"I'm with you, Anchovy," Weevilsight promised, stretching. "I'm going to fetch Honeybuzz so he can look after Currentsmoke. Think you can put together a patrol?"

"Easily," Anchovystrike purred, nodding. He rubbed against Currentsmoke and said, "Don't worry, Current. We'll make sure Yarrowclaw is alright." Weevilsight and Anchovystrike crossed by each other, each focused on their goals. Anchovystrike wormed around his Clanmates, focused on Billowhaze, Wolfgaze, and Ravenweaver.

"Wolfgaze," Anchovystrike called as his friends and brother tried to fight off their giggles. "Can you join me for a bit? I need your help with something."

"What do you have to do that can't wait until after our celebration?" Ravenweaver asked, coughing to clear her laughter.

"Just…" Anchovystrike gulped, glancing at Billowhaze. "Call it a favor for a friend."

"You know I'd be happy to help," Wolfgaze said, getting to her paws. "Enjoy the rest of the meal for me, Billowhaze!"

"With pleasure," Billowhaze hummed, taking a huge bite out of the salted squirrel. Wolfgaze tucked her head and followed Anchovystrike.

"So you know," Anchovystrike chuckled, "we're going to talk about your interest in my brother later." Wolfgaze groaned softly, batting at her own red ears. "Right now though, I'm more interested in my sister. Can you go grab your dad and join me? I think Mosspounce could help a lot."

"Is something wrong with Yarrowclaw?" Wolfgaze asked, romantic embarassment fading.

"Just get your dad," Anchovystrike asked. Wolfgaze nodded and surged into the partying cats, calling for Mosspounce. Anchovystrike, meanwhile, headed for Sandhollow. The cream-tinted tom splashed through the water with Slushtrail and Tallowheart, the three of them squealing like kits. If Currentsmoke hadn't sounded so serious, Anchovystrike would have joined them in their fun.

"Sandhollow," Anchovystrike called. Sandhollow paused n his frolicking, just as Tallowheart's tail sent a wave of salt water into his face. Slushtrail and Tallowheart laughed as Sandhollow rubbed his eyes, trying to get the salt out.

"You two are so ridiculous," Sandhollow chuckled, stumbling out of the water. He shook out his pelt, spraying Anchovystrike. His fur stuck out like thorns. "Hi, Anchovystrike."

"Sandhollow, you've grown close to my sister since you graduated, haven't you?" Anchovystrike asked. "I've seen you spend time with her." Sandhollow's face darkened.

"Something's happened to her, hasn't it?" Sandhollow said.

"I don't know," Anchovystrike admitted as Slushtrail and Tallowheart waded onto the beach, the fun of the moment dead. "I want to make sure nothing does. We need to find her. Can you come with me?"

"Of course," Sandhollow huffed, giving himself a few quick licks to smooth his pelt.

"I should come too," Slushtrail said, sliding up to her fellow mediator.

"I think our little patrol is getting crowded, Slushtrail," Anchovystrike chuckled awkwardly.

"I can handle it, Slush," Sandhollow promised, side-eyeing Slushtrail.

"Is Yarrowclaw in danger or something?" Tallowheart asked.

"Or something, Tallowheart!" Anchovystrike snapped, making the young historian jump. "We just need to go, alright?" Tallowheart stepped back, nodding quickly and avoiding eye contact. Anchovystrike sighed, taking a deep breath. He would have time to apologize later. "Over here, Sandhollow." Sandhollow was at Anchovystrike's side with just a flick of the latter's tail. Slushtrail and Tallowheart watched on as the two toms jogged over to Weevilsight, Wolfgaze, and Mosspounce.

"What exactly is the problem here?" Mosspounce huffed as Anchovystrike and Sandhollow joined the patrol.

"We don't know all the details," Weevilsight sighed, her focused, glowing gaze resting on each Clanmate. "I think we've all noticed Yarrowclaw has had… a lot of busy days, lately. We're worried it's more than that. Currentsmoke thinks she's in danger, and I'm inclined to believe him."

"I'm not trying to undermine your worry, really," Mosspounce said, awkwardness twitching through his whiskers, "but as the oldest cat here, and I really hate that that's true, I should point out the obvious. Yarrowclaw's an adult. She's allowed to leave the party. Are you sure we need to track her down?"

"Currentsmoke knows cats," Anchovystrike huffed. "He's one of the most caring cats I know. He knows when something's wrong. He saw Yarrowclaw wasn't here and panicked. If he thinks we need to find her, we should find her."

"Wanted to make sure you were serious," Mosspounce assured him. "Now the other question… do we have any idea where she might be?"

"Let's check camp first," Wolfgaze suggested, jogging across the sand. "It might be that simple!" The patrol ran after Wolfgaze, sand sticking to their half-wet paws. They left behind the music and laughter of their Clan and ran toward their shipwreck home.

Carnationspeckle lounged at the entrance of camp, absent-minded in her guard duty, dozing off in the warm, almost blistering sun. She snapped to attention as the patrol hurried up to her, however.

"Are you all alright?" Carnationspeckle asked. "You look so serious. Did something happen?"

"We're alright, Carnationspeckle," Sandhollow promised, panting, "but is Yarrowclaw in camp? Did you see her?"

"She's not in camp," Carnationspeckle said, shaking her head, "but I did see her! She headed south a short time ago. Is she alright?"

"Keep your ears perked for us, would you Carnationspeckle?" Anchovystrike asked, paws carrying him to the shoreline. Weevilsight and Wolfgaze scrambled behind him.

"Anchovystrike, wait!" Carnationspeckle yowled, but Anchovystrike's focus was elsewhere.

Anchovystrike breathed deep as the lips of a heavy wave stretched to meet his paws. The salt stung his nose and blinded him to even the smell of Weevilsight beside him. Anchovystrike's chest tightened. Call it instinct, call it brotherly intuition, call it the power of the All-Seeing for all he cared, Anchovystrike's whole body screamed at him to find Yarrowclaw, right now.

"I smell her!" Wolfgaze cried, tail shooting up. She sniffed the sand, whiskers pooling Yarrowclaw's scent together and into a narrative in Wolfgaze's mind. The patrol gathered around her. The heat molded into Anchovystrike's anxiety, making his fur burn. "Carnationspeckle is right, she went south!"

"That's my kit," Mosspounce cheered, sniffing. "I got the scent too. We'll find her together. This way, you three!" Wolfgaze and Mosspounce ran along the sand and grass, hopping from scent bubble to scent bubble. Anchovystike, Weevilsight, and Sandhollow matched their pace.

Yarrowclaw's trail drifted from the cool shoreline into the speckled hills. There was no banter in this patrol, no breaks. Every cat stayed focused on the task ahead. They pushed through the mental haze of sunhigh and kept moving. They would find her. She hadn't gotten far. They just had to keep going. She'd be fine. She'd be fine.

"Anchovystrike." Sandhollow ran alongside Anchovystrike, who suddenly found his chest too tight and the air barely breaching his lungs. "Breathe. Don't pass out on us." Breathe. Yes, breathe. Anchovystrike forced the air into him like a drowning cat.

They heard Yarrowclaw before they saw her.

"I can hear them! I can hear the horses, Robin, thundering down and down and down the path, down the path to save him! Thundering hooves strike the ground, it's lightning, lightning in the sky, or is that my heart? Is my heart in their hooves? Smashed under their hooves? Robinkit, they're coming! They're coming! Strike me! Hit me! His pain to my pain, my pain to his, StarClan's will be done, but not with this, no no, not with Current! You can't take him, Robinkit! Not yet! And you're never taking me! Never!"

Yarrowclaw paced in the center of the horse-path. Her tail thrashed wildly, as though she was in the middle of a battle. She kicked up dust like a kit playing in the sand. She screeched down the path, good eye shifting in and out of focus. Anchovystrike could not hear any horses.

"Yarrowclaw, get off the horse-path," Mosspounce barked, charging toward the border. Anchovystrike, Weevilsight, Wolfgaze, and

"I'll be fine!" Yarrowclaw shrieked. Anchovystrike never heard such laughter in his sister's voice before. "It's for Current! It's for Current! It's my destiny, it's my purpose! They're almost here! Here, here, I hear them, they're deafening, they're here to hear me, they're here for me!" Yarrowclaw's laughter suffocated Anchovystrike. Yarrowclaw coughed, choking on her escasty. Her laughter dissolved into a death wail, the same frenzied expression stuck on her face. "Stop it! Stop the noise! Trample me already! Break it! Break my jaw! Don't take him! Don't take him!" Yarrowclaw stumbled, jaw smacking into the dry path.

"Freeze her!" Weevilsight wailed with a heartbreak Anchovystrike hadn't heard since that fateful day in the nursery. "Wolfgaze!"

At the same time, Yarrowclaw cried, pushing herself up, "I can't keep waiting! I have to take it from him!" Yarrowclaw wrenched her head back.

Suddenly, the world stood still. Yarrowclaw's guttural cries stopped with the blink of an eye. The wind stirred her dusty fur. Her sightless eye stared at Anchovystrike as the patrol finally reached the horse-path. Wolfgaze, too, was frozen, but her eyes, focused and terrified, stayed stuck on Yarrowclaw.

"Don't break my line of sight," Wolfgaze gulped as Anchovystrike and Sandhollow approached Yarrowclaw's supernaturally frozen form. "We've never moved someone when they're frozen, I don't know if we can."

"Just stop her," Weevilsight begged, hiding her face in her father's shoulder. "I hate this vision. Don't let it happen." Anchovystrike knew better than to pry into Weevilsight's darkest visions. He carefully walked behind Yarrowclaw and tucked himself under her head. With his head right up to Yarrowclaw's pelt, Anchovystrike could truly see Wolfgaze's power in action. There was a faint shimmering line surrounding Yarrowclaw's body. Anchovystrike could only see it if he focused, but the lines rippled like water and pressed against Yarrowclaw.

"We'll unfreeze her and get her off the horse-path," Sandhollow said, jaws close to Yarrowclaw's scruff. "Mosspounce, be ready to help us. I don't think she's going to go quietly." Wolfgaze swallowed hard.

As soon as Wolfgaze blinked, Yarrowclaw came to life. She swung her head down hard, but rather than hitting the hoof-hardened horse-path, her muzzle smacked into Anchovystrike's shoulder.

"No!" Yarrowclaw cried as Sandhollow grabbed her scruff. "No no no! He'll die! I'm the only one, I'm the only one that can save him, I'm the only one! I won't be hurt! I can't be hurt! No!" Sandhollow and Anchovystrike dragged Yarrowclaw off the horse-path. Yarrowclaw swung her claws at Anchovystrike's muzzle. She caught her brother's lip, sending a stream of blood trickling into Anchovystrike's mouth. Anchovystrike hissed and shoved Yarrowclaw onto the grass lining the horse-path. Mosspounce left his terrified daughter's side and stood on Yarrowclaw's shoulders. Anchovystrike stood on her flank.

"Yarrowclaw, can you hear me?" Sandhollow asked softly, crouching at the trapped molly's level. "Shh, you're safe, I promise."

"No, I have to go," Yarrowclaw cried, face as torn as the day she saw Robinkit and Harvest's bodies cooling in the nursery. "There's too much to do, I can't stay here, I have to go."

"There's nothing you need to do except breathe," Sandhollow assured her. "Weevilsight is going to find some herbs to calm your mind. It seems like there's a lot going on in there, am I right?"

"Currentsmoke's going to die unless I transfer his wounds to me," Yarrowclaw wailed. Her pinned claws dug up tufts of grass.

"Yarrowclaw, that kind of ritual doesn't exist," Mosspounce snapped. Yarrowclaw's chest heaved, ragged breaths morphing into sobs. "You have to snap out of it."

"Mosspounce, with all due respect," Sandhollow hissed quietly, suddenly at the caretaker's ear, "stop talking. Let the tom with mediator training use his training, alright?"

"How do we calm her down?" Mosspounce asked. Yarrowclaw kicked at Anchovystrike, but Anchovystrike laid on her hind legs. All Yarrowclaw could do was flex her claws helplessly.

"There's a patch of tall lettuce that loves to sprout near here," Weevilsight stammered. "That should help. I, I'll be right back!" Weevilsight scurried over the hills and through the trees, unable to stop her pelt from bristling.

Wolfgaze silently took over for Anchovystrike as Sandhollow whispered to Yarrowclaw, rubbing on the edges of her delusions. Anchovystrike laid beside Yarrowclaw rather than on top of her. Yet as he rested his head, something glimmered in the top of his vision.

Anchovystrike hadn't seen this strange sight since that moment in Downstar's den, coping with the sudden loss of his mother and brother. Soft streams of light flowed around Yarrowclaw and her captors like the glistening pawsteps of StarClan. Even against the shine of the midday sun, the light couldn't blind Anchovystrike. It pulled the weight out of his chest. Yarrowclaw sobbed deep, her whole body tensing. Then, she relaxed, deflating into her own unknowable misery.

"If that's you, Robinkit," Anchovystrike whispered, just quiet enough for him to hear, "thank you. And I'm sorry."

The ethereal light slithered around Yarrowclaw and dove sharply. It weaved into the back of the brown molly's head like a snake sliding into its hole. As it entered Yarrowclaw's body, the warrior sheathed her claws. Blades of grass stuck up between her toes. Sandhollow groomed Yarrowclaw's cheeks as Yarrowclaw sobbed and muttered a string of nonsense.

Anchovystrike wouldn't claim to understand what was wrong, or what needed to be done. But what he could do was groom his sister's fur and murmur gentle assurances.

(Anchovystrike: 19, male, warrior, playful, deep StarClan bond)

(Weevilsight: 19, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)

(Currentsmoke: 19, male, caretaker, loving, good climber, skilled toolsmith)

(Ravenweaver: 19, female, artisan, nervous, den builder, very clever)

(Wolfgaze: 19, female, codekeeper, thoughful, connection to StarClan, great speaker)

(Billowhaze: 19, male, historian, loyal, good kit-sitter)

(Sandhollow: 15, male, mediator, ambitious, lore keeper)

(Slushtrail: 20, female, mediator, wise, clever, talented weaver)

(Tallowheart: 20, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)

(Mosspounce: 45, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Carnationspeckle: 86, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Yarrowclaw: 19, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

[Image ID: Anchovystrike says to Sandhollow and Spikecrash "I’ve dealt with a lot for a cat my age. This is nothing in comparison. Yarrowclaw’s still the cocky, rough-as-salt molly I know. She’s still the cat I have fun with. She’s just got a few extra traits now." Yarrowclaw sits in the back. Under her, it reads + PERMANENT CONDITION: DAY-NIGHT CYCLING.]

---

"So Yarrowclaw's crazy now?" Cobaltchaser gulped, settling deeper into her nest.

"Cobaltchaser!" Lightningrunner whined, sneering. "You can't call your Clanmates crazy!"

"That's what she sounds like," Cobaltchaser pointed out. "I'm not insulting her. Some cats are crazy. They can't control it."

"Maybe we don't call anyone crazy," Anchovystrike sighed, cheek on the edge of his nest.

By the time Anchovystrike and his patrol came back to camp with Yarrowclaw, nearly half the Clan had left the celebration at the beach, wondering just what they were up to. Weevilsight's tall lettuce helped soothe Yarrowclaw, so she didn't enter camp yowling and crying, but everyone could tell she was in a fragile state. Paleseed and Spikecrash kept the Clan back until Sandhollow and Weevilsight settled Yarrowclaw in the medicine den. Anchovystrike had Mosspounce and Lemmy to thank afterward; the whole Clan was about to pry Anchovystrike for an explanation, but the moment Mosspounce spoke with his mate, Lemmy pushed everyone away, reminding them the value of a cat's privacy. That didn't mean cats like Cobaltchaser and Lightningrunner didn't try to ask later, as the entire camp relaxed after the party and settled down within the warm summer night.

"He's her brother, mouse-brain," Lightningrunner huffed. "He doesn't have to tell us the whole story. Yarrowclaw's going through a hard enough time without us getting in her business."

"At least one of you gets it," Anchovystrike said, getting up. "I think storytime is over, anyway." Anchovystrike crept through the maze of nests that made up the warrior's den. Most cats were already in their nests, getting ready to sleep. Anchovystrike tried not to look at Yarrowclaw's empty nest. He failed.

Outside the den, only a few cats remained out. Downstar and Oilstripe spoke with Spikecrash by the Shiprock while Billowhaze sat with Currentsmoke and Estherfern outside the medicine den. Wolfgaze and Mosspounce shared tongues outside the warrior's den and perked up when Anchovystrike stepped out.

"How are you feeling?" Wolfgaze asked softly.

"Like my sister just tried to kill herself," Anchovystrike chuckled wetly. Mosspounce set his head against Anchovystrike's shoulder, pouring his sympathy into him. "The nap helped, at least. I'll have to thank Lemmy for giving me some room to breathe."

"If it helps," Wolfgaze sighed, licking Anchovystrike's ear, "I don't think she realized she could have died."

"Is Billowhaze mad I didn't bring him with us?" Anchovystrike asked.

"It's bad enough you had to see that," Mosspounce huffed. "If that was Trumpetspore on the horse-path, I wouldn't have been able to do anything. Billowhaze should be grateful he wasn't there."

"He understood after I talked to him," Wolfgaze said. "Just be with your brothers, Anchovystrike. I can move my nest closer to you tonight, if you want."

"That would help," Anchovystrike sighed, touching noses with Wolfgaze. "I can't thank you enough for your help."

"Yarrowclaw's our friend too," Mosspounce purred, setting his tail on Anchovystrike's back. "We would have helped regardless. Good luck tonight." With that, Mosspounce and Wolfgaze entered the warrior's den, leaving Anchovystrike to face his family head-on.

Currentsmoke spotted Anchovystrike first. He raised his head from his curled position and batted Billowhaze's leg.

"I don't like that I had to hear about Yarrowclaw from someone else, Anchovystrike," Billowhaze huffed. Anchovystrike approached with his head low.

"He sa'ed her," Currentsmoke sighed as Estherfern put her nose in his ear. "Sat's enough."

"All this stress brought Currentsmoke's fever back," Estherfern muttered, shaking her head.

"Oh, so now you're interested in medicine?" Anchovystrike hummed, daring to raise his head.

"I've put my pride aside," Estherfern scoffed. "That's not what you should be focusing on tonight." Billowhaze sighed and cleared space for Anchovystrike to sit between him and Currentsmoke.

"Sandhollow told us that since Yarrowclaw isn't fully of sound mind," Billowhaze sighed, "he's going to keep us informed on Yarrowclaw and what she needs going forward." Anchovystrike nodded softly. He glanced into the medicine den. He could just hear Sandhollow inside, speaking softly with Yarrowclaw. When Sandhollow's blue eyes turned toward him, Anchovystrike quickly looked away. Moments later, Sandhollow stepped outside.

"Spikecrash?" he called softly. Spikecrash turned from her conversation with Downstar and Oilstripe. She bade the leader and deputy farewell and joined her former apprentice beside the three brothers.

"Estherfern," Spikecrash cooed, "we can watch over Currentsmoke if you'd like to nest for the night."

"Here's to a quiet night," Estherfern hummed, nodding to the mediators. She nodded to each of the three toms beside her before she slipped around Sandhollow and into the medicine den. Sandhollow and Spikecrash sat with their backs to the medicine den, as though shielding Anchovystrike and his brothers from what laid within.

"First things first," Sandhollow explained, "Yarrowclaw's safe and resting. She probably won't sleep tonight with her mania, but she'll at least stay in the medicine den. Even if she doesn't plan on staying, Spikecrash has asked for a caretaker to watch her through the night." Spikecrash nodded along with her apprentice's assessment.

"Mania, what is that?" Anchovystrike asked.

"You could consider it the opposite of depression," Spikecrash sighed. "Rather than feeling low, your emotions are elevated. Everything is more vibrant, more stimulating, your joy and rage and panic are stronger than ever before. We believe these periods of activity Yarrowclaw's had over the last few moons have been manic episodes. When a cat goes through these periods of mania, their emotions crash afterward into depression. We call it day-night cycling. Mania is like the day, bright and burning, while the depression afterward is like the night, gloomy and dark."

"Yarrowclaw is depressed too?" Billowhaze moaned.

"It's not the same for everyone," Sandhollow assured him, shifting a paw closer. "From what we've been able to gather about Yarrowclaw's behavior, she may focus more on the 'day' side of this cycling than the 'night' side."

"What should we know?" Anchovystrike asked. "To keep her safe, I mean."

"For now?" Sandhollow sighed. "Just show her support. We can talk through the specifics another time. This is a lot to process. It's been a long day. You should all rest."

"Honestly, Sandhollow?" Anchovystrike chuckled, focusing on the glow of the medicine den. "I’ve dealt with a lot for a cat my age. This is nothing in comparison. Yarrowclaw’s still the cocky, rough-as-salt molly I know. She’s still the cat I have fun with. She’s just got a few extra traits now. Right?"

"Exactly," Spikecrash purred.

"We still want to see her though," Billowhaze said. "You said she's awake."

"She isn't utterly delusional anymore," Sandhollow groaned, ears tilting back, "but she isn't recovered."

"Currentsmoke's sleeping in the medicine den, he'll get to see her," Billowhaze pointed out, his paw almost smacking Currentsmoke. "Just let us in for a little bit."

"It's best not to fight them on this, Sandhollow," Spikecrash cautioned, rubbing her tail along Sandhollow's back. "You three can see her, but be quiet and don't take long. The clerics are trying to sleep, and Wolverineheart has an ear infection they're monitoring." Billowhaze helped Currentsmoke to his paws. Anchovystrike touched noses with the mediators, but his mind was already in the medicine den. He led his brothers into the shadows of the ancient wood.

Potterypool sat guard beside Yarrowclaw as Wolverineheart and the clerics settled down to nest. Although Yarrowclaw's eyes drooped, she stayed alert, scratching at the moss in her nest. Someone groomed the dust and snarls out of her pelt and lined her nest with lavender. Billowhaze escorted Currentsmoke into his nest beside Yarrowclaw. Currentsmoke's paw hooked the edge of Yarrowclaw's nest as he stared at his sister. Anchovystrike loafed in front of Yarrowclaw, with Billowhaze sitting beside him.

"Potterypool won't let me leave," Yarrowclaw muttered, glaring at her guard.

"Do you want me to disobey Sandhollow?" Potterypool sighed, giving her charge nary a side-eye. "I'm not going on trial for letting something happen to you."

"You really scared me, Yarrowclaw," Anchovystrike whispered, paws itching underneath him.

"I was going to cure Currentsmoke… I think," Yarrowclaw sighed. She rubbed her face, groaning, "I don't really remember all of it. There were horses… or maybe that was my heart. I feel like I'm the middle of a battlefield."

"You were trying to break your jaw," Anchovystrike muttered. Some of the day's panic crawled back up his throat. "You were talking to Robinkit."

"I didn't actually see him," Yarrowclaw mumbled, putting her head on the nest's edge. "I was so sure he was there, though. Ugh, I just want to hunt! I feel like I'm on fire. I don't like talking this much, I'm not saying anything. But I can't move, so I have to, I have to keep talking so I don't burn away, everything's going too fast. I feel like I'm dying. I don't think I can die."

"You can die, Yarrowclaw," Billowhaze huffed. "You don't have powers, you're not a cleric, you can't perform any rituals. You're just you."

"I want it to stop," Yarrowclaw gulped. "I want to rest, but I'm on fire. I want to bite my pelt off, get it out, but Potterypool stops me."

"And she should, you know," Anchovystrike said. He scooted closer to Yarrowclaw.

"I do," Yarrowclaw whined. "I do know, somewhere. I'm dying. I want it to stop. I want to fix something, anything. Sandhollow wants me to sleep, and I want to sleep so badly, but I can't. Everyone's dying, and I can't stop it." Yarrowclaw's unsheathed claws hooked around her muzzle. Billowhaze moved them off. Currentsmoke stretched until his paw rested on top of Yarrowclaw's.

"I'll 'e here for yuh," Currentsmoke said, trying to purr. "I'll fight with yuh."

"We all will," Anchovystrike promised. He set his nose on Yarrowclaw's head and prayed to Robinkit, to Harvest, to any StarClan soul who wandered around him, that his sister realized that.

(Cobaltchaser: 14, female, codekeeper, righteous, good cook, prey cleaner)

(Lightningrunner: 14, female, historian, nervous, explorer, helpful insight)

(Anchovystrike: 19, male, warrior, playful, deep StarClan bond)

(Wolfgaze: 19, female, codekeeper, thoughful, connection to StarClan, great speaker)

(Mosspounce: 45, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Billowhaze: 19, male, historian, loyal, good kit-sitter)

(Currentsmoke: 19, male, caretaker, loving, good climber, skilled toolsmith)

(Estherfern: 118, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Sandhollow: 15, male, mediator, ambitious, lore keeper)

(Spikecrash: 59, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Potterypool: 19, female, caretaker, sneaky, great singer)

(Yarrowclaw: 19, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

Considering her great teaching skills, Moontide decides to join Thundergale and Shrewpaw as a teacher, further validating Thundergale's ambitious experiment.

[Image ID: Shrewpaw and Thundergale proudly watch Moontide.]

(Moontide: 19, female, teacher, playful, excellent teacher)

(Thundergale: 16, female, teacher, adventurous, good hunter, great speaker)

(Shrewpaw: 8, male, teacher apprentice, competitive, never sits still)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 76

A dog-cat makes its appearance in the territories, one of many spirits that have appeared thanks to Estherfern. With Wolfpaw there to freeze the Spirit of Shadow, the battle patrol takes it down, but Mosspounce is bruised and Downstar breaks her leg.

[Image ID: Wolfpaw, Downstar, Mosspounce, Waspdawn, Scaleripple, and Moonpaw head off to battle. Downstar yowls "Stay together!" Under Downstar, it says + CONDITION: BROKEN BONE. Under Mosspounce, it says + CONDITION: BRUISES. Under Moonpaw, it says LEVEL UP! FAITHFUL → PLAYFUL.]

(Wolfpaw: 11, female, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

(Downstar: 135, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Mosspounce: 37, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Waspdawn: 42, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Scaleripple: 29, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Moonpaw: 11, female, warrior apprentice, playful, quick to help)

Tallowheart and Slushtrail earn their names.

[Image ID: Tallowheart and Slushtrail are adults! Under Tallowheart, it says LEVEL UP! TALLOWPAW → TALLOWHEART, SPLASHES IN PUDDLES → GOOD SWIMMER. Under Slushtrail, it says LEVEL UP! SLUSHPAW → SLUSHTRAIL, QUICK WITTED → CLEVER, BATS AT STRING → TALENTED WEAVER.]

(Tallowheart: 12, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)

(Slushtrail: 12, female, mediator, wise, talented weaver, clever)

Lightningpaw feels Weedfoot beside her as she and Cobaltpaw are apprenticed to Tallowheart and Lemmy. Lemmy agrees to train two apprentices since there are no more codekeepers for Cobaltpaw. Vervainpaw is left unhappy with sharing a mentor.

[Image ID: Vervainpaw watches Lightningpaw and Cobaltpaw become apprentices. Under Lightningpaw, it says LEVEL UP! LIGHTNINGKIT → LIGHTNINGPAW, SELF-CONSCIOUS → INSECURE. Under Cobaltpaw, it says LEVEL UP! COBALTKIT → COBALTPAW, QUIET → LOYAL. Under Vervainpaw, it says LEVEL UP! AMBITIOUS → BLOODTHIRSTY.]

(Lightningpaw: 6, female, historian apprentice, insecure, always wandering)

(Cobaltpaw: 6, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, loves to eat)

(Vervainpaw: 11, female, codekeeper apprentice, bloodthirsty, loves nature, quick to make peace)

Having snuck away from Puddlewhisper, Silverpaw finds an abandoned human den she didn’t remember seeing before. It takes her too long to figure out the den is secretly a honeybite’s mouth. The Clan never finds her body.

[Image ID: Silverpaw approaches a red bush with white eyes inside.]

(Silverpaw: 11, female, codekeeper apprentice, strict, always asking questions, quick witted)

[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]

RippleClan: Moon 74

Rattlepelt starts weaving lavender through her fox pelt to mark her changed self since her possession. Splashtuft cuts his leg on ocean debris and develops a scar.

[Image ID: Rattlepelt now has a sprig of lavender by her ear. Under her, it reads + ACCESSORY: LAVENDER, - CONDITION: BITE WOUND. Splashtuft now has a small scar on his left hind leg.]

(Rattlepelt: 57, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Splashtuft: 22, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Moon 74, Part 2)

Estherfern’s kits become apprentices.

[Image ID: Estherfern’s five kits now have apprentice sprites. Under Thunderpaw, it says LEVEL UP! THUNDERKIT → THUNDERPAW, BULLYING → ADVENTUROUS. Under Boughpaw, it says LEVEL UP! BOUGHKIT → BOUGHPAW, QUIET → RIGHTEOUS. Under Brightpaw, it says LEVEL UP! BRIGHTKIT → BRIGHTPAW, SKY → LONESOME, + PERMANENT CONDITION: SOCIAL ANXIETY. Under Foampaw, it says LEVEL UP! FOAMKIT → FOAMPAW, UNRULY → TROUBLESOME. Under Wolverinepaw, it says LEVEL UP! WOLVERINEKIT → WOLVERINEPAW, SKITTISH → COMPASSIONATE.]

---

“Let me be the first to say that you five have a hard apprenticeship ahead of you,” Downstar declared over the camp as Estherfern sat behind her kits. All five sat as groomed as Estherfern could get them, trying to remember their mother’s lessons on decorum. Brightkit shook harder than anyone else, ears threatening to tilt down. Wolverinekit and Foamkit’s tails poked at the other, unable to keep their excitement hidden. Thunderkit sat just a bit closer to the Shiprock while Boughkit remained the only one still and politely attentive, as Estherfern taught her to be. The rest of RippleClan listened with similar captured attention to their leader.

“On top of some of the personal struggles you face,” Downstar continued, “I’m afraid you won’t have the same freedoms most of your Clanmates had at your age. We can’t risk you being caught unawares by the spirit that claimed our beloved deputy.” Estherfern would make sure of that. She had already performed a ritual over the apprentice’s den with Honeybuzz and Weevilpaw, guarding the incoming apprentices from harm.

“Despite that,” Downstar said, “RippleClan will ensure you are ready for the challenges ahead. The five of you have reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. Thunderkit, from this day forward until you receive your full name, you shall be known as Thunderpaw. You have expressed interest in the path of a caretaker, and I have chosen Drumtooth as your mentor.” The newly named Thunderpaw jumped up, scanning the crowd behind her mother for her new mentor. Drumtooth slipped around Estherfern and the other kits. Thunderpaw was almost Drumtooth’s size, making it easy for her to touch his nose. Her whole pelt shivered with excitement. 

“In order to give you the best pawhold on your future,” Downstar added as Drumtooth and Thunderpaw returned their gaze to her, “Troutpool and Paleseed have arranged for you to receive some lessons in Clan-sign from Mummichogleap, a deaf warrior of SlugClan. I’ve already informed Drumtooth of this arrangement and with his help, you shall become an excellent caretaker.”

“I’ll try, Downstar,” Drumtooth promised with a deep nod.

“Me too,” Thunderpaw chirped.

Clan-sign? Estherfern had never heard of any lesson plans. She was Thunderpaw’s mother, why hadn’t she been informed? She found Troutpool to the side of the crowd, seated with Tallowpaw and Slushpaw. Troutpool’s focus was on Thunderpaw as she and Drumtooth moved aside for the next kit of the litter to earn their name. Why would Troutpool agree to these lessons? How much time would this Clan-sign take away from Thunderpaw’s important lessons? Why did she have to learn such a trick when she should use that time to hone her survival skills? If they had to talk to someone outside the Clan for these lessons, obviously no one in RippleClan knew Clan-sign. What would be the point of learning something no one else understood?

Estherfern got so caught up in herself, she nearly missed when Boughkit stepped forward and Downstar delivered her new name.

“From this moment on,” Downstar declared, “until you receive your full name, you shall be known as Boughpaw. You have chosen a historian’s path, and I have chosen Oilstripe as your mentor.”

“You did?” Oilstripe muttered so quietly Estherfern barely heard her. She crept out of the crowd, focus shifting between Boughpaw and Downstar.

“Weedfoot taught you well, Oilstripe,” Downstar sighed with a slow nod. “I want you to continue following in her pawsteps by training a new apprentice.” Oilstripe held her breath at the mention of the former deputy. She sighed, bowing softly with a quiet purr. She softly touched noses with Boughpaw and escorted her to the side.

“Brightkit,” Downstar called. Brightkit didn’t move at first, eyes locked on Downstar, paws stuck in the sand. Foamkit head-butted him from behind, making him skitter forward. He fought to his paws, staring up in awe at his leader. “From this day forward until you receive your full name, you shall be known as Brightpaw. In order to craft you into the best warrior you can be, Trumpetspore shall be your mentor. Her wisdom and skill shall guide you down the path you’re destined to follow.” Estherfern hid her disappointment when Trumpetspore came up. The black molly was too awkward for Estherfern’s tastes. Brightpaw needed a mentor with strength and confidence to supply him with what he lacked. Estherfern bit her tongue as Trumpetspore and Brightpaw touched noses.

“Foamkit,” Downstar said, but the ticked molly was up and ready before her name was even called. “From this moment on, until you receive your full name, you shall be known as Foampaw. You have decided to be a caretaker like your sister, so I have chosen Mosspounce as your mentor. Don’t get into too much trouble, now.” A chuckle rose through the Clan as Mosspounce bounded to his new apprentice. The pair smacked into one another’s faces in their eagerness to touch noses. Now if only Foampaw was a warrior and Brightpaw was a caretaker. Their mentors would have been good influences then. 

“Now Wolverinekit,” Downstar sighed, focusing on the youngest and fluffiest of the litter. “You have yet to tell me what path your paws wish to follow. As such, I will place you as a warrior apprentice, and you may change this path if you feel called to do so at any time. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Downstar,” Wolverinekit said. Estherfern tensed. Why was her confident, curious daughter unsure what to train as? It was her vision, Estherfern was sure of it. She felt insecure in her skills, she had to. How could she not? There had to be a way to cure her vision, no matter what anyone else said. Estherfern would find that cure.

“Then from this moment on, until you receive your warrior name,” Downstar declared, “you shall be known as Wolverinepaw. Leathermask shall be your mentor.” The Clan began to cheer before Leathermask even got close to Wolverinepaw.

“Thunderpaw! Boughpaw! Brightpaw! Foampaw! Wolverinepaw!” What a long chant! It seemed undignified for a priestess to raise her voice like everyone else. Still, her children deserved the honor. Estherfern yowled along with her Clanmates as her five kits beamed in the praise. 

“Can we all train together?” Thunderpaw asked, gently pawing Drumtooth’s shoulder. “Can we go see Battle Beach?” Wolverinepaw and Foampaw’s eyes glinted at the idea. 

“Maybe we should get you all settled in the apprentice’s den first,” Oilstripe suggested. “It’s almost sunhigh. We might as well make sure you all have a place to sleep, considering how little room there is in there.”

“I’m making my nest next to Vervainpaw!” Foampaw yowled. She charged across camp, ignoring Estherfern entirely.

“I already said I’m sleeping next to her!” Wolverinepaw huffed, running after her sister. The other cats trailed after the excited mollies, accepting the congratulations of their Clanmates as they passed. However, only four apprentices headed for the apprentice’s den. Brightpaw whispered something in Trumpetspore’s ear. Trumpetspore listened intently and nodded. Brightpaw scurried off toward the warrior’s den. Now what was so important that Brightpaw would run away as soon as his ceremony was over?

Estherfern trailed through the dissipating crowds after her only son. Brightpaw paused at the edge of the den, looking in and out. Estherfern paused outside the artisan’s supply den, pretending to nibble an itch on her paw. Spikecrash padded to the warrior’s den with a big yawn. From the corner of her eye, Estherfern saw Brightpaw paw at Spikecrash before she could enter. She turned her ear to the conversation.

“That was horrible,” Brightpaw gulped. “I thought you said the ceremony wouldn’t be bad!”

“It wasn’t, I promise,” Spikecrash insisted, tail to Brightpaw’s shoulder. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“My heart makes me more scared than I need to be around others,” Brightpaw muttered, head sinking, “but I need to trust my heart too, don’t I?”

“Social anxiety can be a deceitful disorder of the mind, Brightpaw,” Spikecrash said. “When it comes to these moments, your heart wants to run away, but just remember, you don’t have to. Whatever you may think, it’s not what everyone else thinks. Try to remember that the next time you have to talk to a lot of cats.” 

Social anxiety? Now what was that? Estherfern had never heard of a disorder of the mind before. She knew mediators dealt with those sorts of issues, but she had dismissed them as simple emotional problems. Was Brightpaw sick? How long had he been talking to Spikecrash? Why had he not told Estherfern what was wrong? Another kit of hers, sick, set apart from the Clan, placed at disadvantage…

Estherfern would not stand for this.

(Downstar: 133, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Estherfern: 108, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Brightpaw: 6, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, lover of art)

(Wolverinepaw: 6, female, warrior apprentice, compassionate, always asking questions)

(Foampaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, troublesome, always wandering)

(Thunderpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, adventurous, moss-ball hunter)

(Boughpaw: 6, female, historian apprentice, righteous, constantly climbing)

(Drumtooth: 22, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Oilstripe: 78, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Trumpetspore: 35, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Mosspounce: 35, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Leathermask: 22, male, warrior, nervous, good fighter, eloquent speaker)

(Spikecrash: 49, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

Stormkit is worried about Lightningkit, who whimpers in her sleep.

[Image ID: Stormkit approaches Lightningkit, asking "Lightningkit?"]

---

The nursery was so different from the one Stormkit saw in her earliest memories. That nursery had been so packed with kits and queens, there was barely any room to move come nightfall! But now, with Estherfern’s litter in the now stuffed apprentice’s den, only two nests remained. Stormkit was getting too big to sleep with her father and littermates in the same nest, but she stayed close to the warmth of Waspdawn’s chest regardless, at peace with the weight of his chin on her back.

She wasn’t sure what woke her up at first. Her droopy eyes took a while to adjust to the dark and empty den. Sandkit and Yellowkit were thrown on top of each other, lost in their dreams. Waspdawn breathed slowly, his escaping breath tickling Stormkit’s fur. Their nest was a dark golden blur in the deep shadow. Puddlewhisper slept in the back of the den with Lightningkit and Cobaltkit. She, her siblings, and James took turns sleeping with Lightningkit and Cobaltkit in the nursery ever since Weedfoot left camp and returned as still and limp as Littlekit had once been. Whatever woke Stormkit, the noise came from the back of the den.

Stormkit pulled herself out from under Waspdawn’s chin. His head plunked into the nest. Stormkit froze, waiting for Waspdawn to wake up, but he remained asleep, breath now fiddling with the loose moss at the nest’s edge. Stormkit crawled out of the nest and peered deeper into the nursery. A tiny whimper caught her ear. 

“Lightningkit?” Stormkit whispered. Deep blue eyes burst to life at Puddlewhisper’s side. Really, did neither adult hear her denmate’s cries? 

“Huh?” Lightningkit gulped with a crack in her voice. “Stormkit?”

“Were you crying?” Stormkit asked. She snuck closer to the long-furred kit. Cobaltkit and Puddlewhisper were still deeply asleep, but Lightningkit, tucked by Puddlewhisper’s leg, blinked sleep from her eyes.

“Was I?” Lightningkit mumbled. “Sorry.” She rubbed her face in her nest.

“Are you alright?” Stormkit asked. She sat at the edge of the nest, studying her kin’s dark face.

“Maybe,” Lightningkit said. “I… think I was dreaming about my mom.” Her voice quivered and her whiskers shivered. “I thought Puddlewhisper was her for a moment. I really wish she was here.” Stormkit licked Lightningkit’s shoulder. She gently nuzzled the red molly.

“I wish I could bring her back for you,” Stormkit mumbled. 

“It’s too quiet in here,” Lightningkit gulped, no longer able to keep her sorrow from her words. She pressed into Stormkit with another whimper.

“Puddlewhisper and my dad won’t be too mad if we walk around camp,” Stormkit suggested, pulling her face out of the mess of Lightningkit’s long fur. “Let’s walk around.” She gently nipped Lightningkit’s paw, pulling her out of the nest. Lightningkit swallowed hard. She crawled away from Cobaltkit and Puddlewhisper. Stormkit leaned against Lightningkit, nudging her onwards. The two crept out of the dark nursery and into the camp clearing, dimly lit by a small fire.

It wouldn’t fill the nursery again, or the gaps in either molly’s lives, but it would help a bit. It was the best two kits could do for one another.

(Stormkit: 5, female, kit, know-it-all, loves to eat)

(Waspdawn: 40, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Lightningkit: 4, female, kit, self-conscious, always wandering)

Anchovypaw gets lost on patrol.

[Image ID: Anchovypaw is lost.]

---

Anchovypaw was not lost. He just wasn’t sure which part of the forest he was in. When you’re focused on the hunt, the trees all start to look the same! It wasn’t Anchovypaw’s fault. He was trying to feed his Clan! Still, the smell of autumn consumed his path from Halibutdusk and the rest of the hunting patrol. All he could smell were sharp orange leaves and the two dead mice in his jaws.

Anchovypaw set the mice at his paws and called, “Halibutdusk? Splashtuft? Billowpaw?” All he received in return was a flutter of leaves dancing overhead. One landed on top of his head. He chuckled and batted the leaf off. Alright then! If he couldn’t call out to his patrol, he would just go home. The camp was by the ocean; if Anchovypaw kept walking east, he would eventually hit the beach and would find his way back to camp in no time at all. Besides, being alone meant…

Anchovypaw pounced on a fat oak leaf. The crunch sent glee pounding through his pelt. He purred and wiggled his flank, no longer caring about the proper hunter’s crouch. He pounced on a pile of leaves blown into the crook of a thick trunk. He purred harder with each crack and crinkle. He rolled in the leaves, closing his eyes and enjoying the dappled light creating strange shadows on his eyelids.

Anchovypaw rested his head on the leaves and stared out at the mix of green, orange, and red that was the forest of RippleClan. Autumn was by far the best season to wash over the territories. Maybe he could convince Weevilpaw and Wolfpaw to sneak out and jump in the leaves. Except… no. It wasn’t safe to be out alone. No one else had been able to see the ichor covering Downstar as Rapidleaf carried her into camp, mixing with her blood. Not everyone understood what it meant for such danger to stain the walls of camp. Too many remembered the Shardling’s wild yellow eyes tearing into the nursery.

Anchovypaw hurried to his feet, the leaves scattering around him. Halibutdusk was likely getting nervous. No matter how much Anchovypaw wanted to enjoy the beautiful, cool day, he had to get home, for everyone’s sake. Yet as he reached for his mice, something black caught his eye. It had been hidden underneath the leaves at first, but now it absorbed the dappled light in the shape of a blurred paw print. The paw print was made of ichor.

Anchovypaw cleared away the leaves. He slapped and smacked them to the side, using his tail to clear as many as he could. He found three more ichor-stained paw prints under the leaves. They pointed toward the unseen ocean, but were thicker going the other way. The first paw print Anchovypaw found was the farthest along the stranger’s path, with only the slightest stain of ichor telling Anchovypaw what had happened. There was no way to know just where they were going, if they were heading for camp or somewhere else… but Anchovypaw could figure out where the paw prints came from. He had to. For his friends. For his siblings. For Robinkit and his mother.

Picking his mice back up, Anchovypaw traced the paw prints through the leaves and litter. He slowly followed the trail backwards, brushing aside leaves as he went. The trail looped around pines and firs, as though enjoying a humble stroll. But nothing that left paw prints like these could be considered humble.

The ichor pooled at the edge of a dark den dug under the weak roots of a thin tree. Anchovypaw took a deep breath, but could not smell anyone inside the den. All he smelled were herbs. Creeping around the thick paw prints, Anchovypaw peered inside the den.

A mushroom circle filled the interior of the den. Anchovypaw might have thought it natural at first glance, but each mushroom had been plucked, dried, and carefully placed within the den. A strange green poultice filled the holes in between the mushrooms. Anchovypaw couldn’t tell what herbs were used, but it reminded him of chats with Weevilpaw in the medicine den. The black ichor dripped out of the heart of the circle and into the dip near the den’s entrance. Someone made this strange circle, but who? Whoever left the ichor behind, Anchovypaw was the only one who could get rid of it. He would show the clerics, Weevilpaw, and Wolfpaw the den, but first, he had to handle the threat. This time, he’d be the one to defeat it. It was his gift to bring the things to life. It was his responsibility.

Anchovypaw set his mice aside and peered at the puddle of ichor. He could already taste it. It hadn’t been too long since the Shardling stampeded through the nursery, but in that moment, Anchovypaw felt both five moons and five hundred moons old, the tragedy both a day and a thousand days in the past. Anchovypaw dipped his muzzle into the ichor pool and grabbed hold. 

The ichor pulled from the pool like flesh ripped from prey. This time around, Anchovypaw could keep his feet firmly planted as the supernatural goop dragged itself out of the circle, collecting in Anchovypaw’s jaws. He braced himself as the Dark Forest energy manifested in his grasp. It was the size of an apprentice, only slightly smaller than himself. But the size didn’t matter. Anchovypaw would deal with it.

As the manifestation opened its red eyes, forming feline ears and a sharp, swishing tail, Anchovypaw threw it to the grass. The beast was only prey to him; dangerous prey that had to be snuffed out like a dying fire. Anchovypaw dug his teeth into the spirit’s throat. It screeched and gurgled like bubbling mud. Anchovypaw stood on its flank and pushed down, biting harder and harder. The creature clawed at Anchovypaw’s pelt, taking out chunks of brown and white fur. Anchovypaw dug his claws in in return. The ichor pooled between his pads. 

Anchovypaw didn’t let go until the creature dissolved into nothing but dripping goop, leaking like salt water from the apprentice’s bared jaws. All that remained was a small pile of ichor, sloshing like wet clay. Anchovypaw sat beside it, panting and gagging on the taste. StarClan, he hated that part. Whatever energy remained over the strange den, it was gone. 

But how did it get there in the first place?

(Anchovypaw: 9, male, warrior apprentice, playful, curious about StarClan)

Estherfern senses a presence on patrol.

[Image ID: Estherfern sees the ghost of Harvest. Under Estherfern, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: BEWARE (PROPHECY).]

---

Estherfern rarely got moments alone when she lived with the cat-minded human. That den had been so packed and chaotic, she considered anything that didn’t hurt to be a blessing. But when she did get time to herself, when she could quiet her mind, the realms of the spiritual opened to her. That’s what made her so good at connecting with the afterlife of the Clans, how she won the admiration of the other clerics despite her disdain for medicine, how she found security. She was good at it.

So why were her prayers unanswered now?

“This should fix it,” Estherfern grumbled as she rubbed the earthy poultice in the gaps of the mushroom circle. The poultice had dried up the last time Estherfern visited her private den; that was likely why she was met with silence on her last visit. Either that, or her offering had been unsuited for her guest. A little trial and error was to be expected; there was only so much she could ask Terracottafoot about these summoning rituals without raising the odd cleric’s suspicion. The rest of it was pieced together from Troutpool and Honeybuzz’s lessons on channeling StarClan spirits (a ritual Estherfern hoped to see in practice sooner rather than later).

Estherfern rubbed the last of the fresh poultice into the dirt and licked her paw clean. She stepped out of the den and grabbed her new offering; a tuft of Lightningkit’s fur, plucked from her nest while the kit played with her sister. Sure, Estherfern’s earlier attempts had been partial successes, but she had yet to have a full conversation. She had only managed to recreate a pool of that strange ichor that peeled off Rattlepelt’s skin moons ago, but that splashed and rolled deep into the forest before she could do anymore. Perhaps Estherfern shouldn’t have focused on stories of a long-dead cleric, but heeded one of Oilstripe’s stories; a tale of a father who would do anything for his kits. Perhaps this approach, with this offering and Estherfern’s earnesty, would prove successful.

“I call upon the spirit of Hawthornstealer,” Estherfern said as she placed the offering inside the circle, “banished from StarClan for his disastrous pursuit of his offspring’s legacy. Despite your sins, your assistance is required. Return to the Clans, if only for a moment. Speak to us.” Estherfern sat at the edge of the circle and closed her eyes. The summer sun beat onto her spiky pelt and lulled her mind. She kept her ears pricked, waiting for the sound of bubbling mud.

“Estherfern!” The brown cleric jumped, her head smacking into the ceiling of her makeshift den. She turned, slightly dazed. The sun crowned a brown and white figure outside the den. Glowing white eyes glared through Estherfern. Starlight sparkled and shifted across the figure’s pelt. Estherfern had not known her for long, but she couldn’t forget Harvest and the fury which she fought for her kits. A fury that was now turned to Estherfern.

“Beware, Estherfern!” Harvest yowled. Unfelt wind buffeted her pelt. Estherfern’s spine curled. “The spread of spores produces nothing but decay! They grow not in light, but darkness! A path without sight, without sound, heart pushing out of your chest, is a blessing compared to the fate that awaits the rot!”

And with that, she disappeared. The wind stirred Estherfern’s heart in the dead queen’s absence.

(Estherfern: 108, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Harvest: 58, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

[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]

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)