#brightpaw

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 75

Yellowpaw, Sandpaw, and Stormpaw are apprenticed to Asterblaze, Spikecrash, and Clammask.

[Image ID: Yellowpaw, Sandpaw, and Stormpaw are apprentices. Sandpaw says, "Do you think Thunderpaw is impressed?" Under Yellowpaw, it says LEVEL UP! YELLOWKIT → YELLOWPAW, NOISY → COLD. Under Sandpaw, it says LEVEL UP! SANDKIT → SANDPAW, SELF-CONSCIOUS → LOYAL. Under Stormpaw, it says LEVEL UP! STORMKIT → STORMPAW, KNOW-IT-ALL → CHARISMATIC.]

(Yellowpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, cold, quick to make peace)

(Sandpaw: 6, male, mediator apprentice, loyal, interested in Clan history)

(Stormpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, charismatic, loves to eat)

Honeybuzz helps the three star-blessed apprentices.

[Image ID: Honeybuzz, Weevilpaw, Wolfpaw, and Anchovypaw watch Estherfern talk with a Dark Forest spirit. Under Honeybuzz, it says + NEW SKILL: GOOD TEACHER.]

---

Honeybuzz cupped his paw around one of the many plucked mushrooms that formed the unholy circle. He sniffed at the herbal mixture that sealed the pickings together. A few strands of black and red fur clung to the wet earth that lined the edges of the muddy den. The constant rain of the last four days made the ground slick and sent water dripping from the root-lined ceiling. Anchovypaw, Wolfpaw, and Weevilpaw stood outside the den, heads close together as they peered inside. The rain glued their pelts to their skin.

“And you’ve known about this for how long, Anchovypaw?” Honeybuzz asked. He absently batted at his wooden necklace, the freshly plucked cicada wing glistening with raindrops. He pointedly sat outside of the circle, mud sinking into his thin fur.

“Only a few days,” Anchovypaw admitted. “I didn’t want to say anything until I could come back here, but there’s even more ichor here than there was when I first found the den.”

“You should have told us sooner,” Weevilpaw huffed with a glare so sharp that, had she had her sister’s ability, Anchovypaw would have frozen stiff.

“I wasn’t going to scare anyone if I didn’t have to!” Anchovypaw huffed. A sharp flick of his tail sent a stream of water flying over Weevilpaw and Wolfpaw’s backs. “It could have just been where the beast that killed Weedfoot went to die. I only waited a few days! It took me that long to get away from Halibutdusk!”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Honeybuzz promised. He squeezed around the apprentices, squinting as the rain splashed his eyes.

“Now we know someone else has been here,” Wolfpaw pointed out. 

“What is it, Honeybuzz?” Weevilpaw asked. She moved further into the den, eyes locked on the circle.

“You remember my lessons on channeling StarClan?” Honeybuzz said, shivering. “It exhausts power StarClan wasn’t planning to use, but the immediate and physical communication can justify an absence of subtle signs and assistance.”

“But we don’t use mushrooms,” Weevilpaw said. She poked at a mushroom, making it roll out of its spot. “We form a circle of cats, not plants.”

“But do you remember when you met Terracottafoot?” Honeybuzz sighed. “I asked them to tell you about last Harvest Moon, and some of their knowledge of the Dark Forest. Newtstream, their mentor, taught them about channeling Dark Forest spirits using a circle of mushrooms.”

“Someone’s summoning Spirits of Shadow,” Wolfpaw gulped.

“Who would be that mouse-brained?” Anchovypaw growled. His claws left gouges in the mud. “We all remember the Shardling. Who would want to bring something like that back?” Anchovypaw looked like he was going to be sick. Wolfpaw rubbed against Anchovypaw’s side. “You were right, Weevilpaw. I should have destroyed this den as soon as I found it.”

“Then they would have made another one,” Honeybuzz pointed out. “No, we need to find a trusted warrior to watch this den. They can wait until the culprit visits again. Waspdawn or Puddlewhisper would do well. I trust them.” Weevilpaw’s soaked fur prickled. Her eyes widened, locked on something Honeybuzz couldn’t see. Her mouth dropped slightly, breath catching. 

“Out, out!” Weevilpaw hissed, lunging past Wolfpaw. She scrambled into a thick bush, still bursting with summer life. Wolfpaw and Anchovypaw were instantly at her side, following her into the shadows. Honeybuzz stumbled in after them, sharp branches poking his ribs.

“Who did you see?” Anchovypaw whispered just as the shrubbery on the other side of the dark den shifted. Bicolored eyes glimmered through the mid-morning haze.

“Estherfern?” Honeybuzz gasped as the older cleric stepped into full view. Estherfern carried a ball of fur in her jaws, the same red and black colors Honeybuzz found in the strange den. Her fur on her cheeks drooped like heavy leaves. She strolled into the shadows, ignorant to her spies.

“The Shardling almost killed her kits,” Anchovypaw growled, his rage making the leaves shake. “Why would she deal with the Dark Forest?”

“Keep listening,” Wolfpaw whispered. “We might find out.” Estherfern placed the furballs in the center of the circle. Her cool gaze settled on Weevilpaw’s disturbed mushroom. Honeybuzz grit his teeth. Estherfern carefully nudged the mushroom back into its original position. She sat in the den’s entrance, back to Honeybuzz and the apprentices.

Estherfern declared, “I call upon the spirit of Hawthornstealer, banished from StarClan for murder in the name of his kits. Despite your sins, your assistance is required. Return to the Clans, if only for a moment. Speak to us.”

“Do you see that?” Anchovypaw whispered, pressing into Weevilpaw. “Do you see that?” Honeybuzz squinted. The circle was still. Suddenly, Weevilpaw gasped. She bit into her paw to muffle her shock. Honeybuzz braced his heart for whatever the star-blessed apprentices saw.

It began as a shift in the mud, like water in a pot at the first stages of boiling. The ground around the fur offering darkened. Black sludge bubbled out of the mud and lapped up the fur balls like medicine. The sound of its formation reminded Honeybuzz of paws trapped in thick gunk, pulling out of the mess with a sucking slurp. It leaked from under the mushrooms and collected in the circle’s center. The ichor pulled itself upward like drops of water falling from the ceiling, perverting the pull of the earth. A subtle red glow illuminated the den.

“It’s finally working,” Estherfern gasped as the ichor took shape. It lifted itself high like a cat arching their back. It clung to the ground at four points that slowly took on the details of paws. A claw-like tail sprouted from its back. The ichor bubbled and bulged into a muzzle. Two glowing red eyes erupted from the spirit’s face. StarClan help them all.

“So you are Estherfern,” the spirit said. Its voice was as sticky as the mud from which it was born, dissolving into the sound of the tumbling rain.

“Hawthornstealer?” Estherfern asked. The spirit blinked slowly, its eyelids like a mudslide. 

“Why do you call?” the spirit groaned.

“Oilstripe and Lavendertwist told me your story,” Estherfern explained. She inched closer, back still stuck in the rain. “You killed an elder to ensure more food for your kits in a famine. You would have done anything for them. StarClan doesn’t seem to have the power I need. I’m hoping you can help.”

“Explain.”

“My kits are sick, and RippleClan can do nothing to help them. One of my daughters is going deaf, the other is half-blind. And now my only son has issues of the head, issues the mediators are simply bandaging, not fixing.” Was she talking about Brightpaw? Spikecrash had asked Honeybuzz and Troutpool about any relaxing herbs the young tom could take before the Gathering, something to ease the panic that overtook him when too many cats surrounded him. It was manageable. There was no need to resort to such extremes.

“You are searching for a cure.”

“I can’t let them struggle like this. How can I fix them?” The spirit stared at Estherfern silently, the rainfall burning into the background of Honeybuzz’s mind. The only sign of un-life in the spirit rested in its long, slow blinking. Even Estherfern, collected as she was, twitched under the spirit’s unending, blank stare.

“I…,” Anchovypaw whispered, “I don’t think that’s the ghost of Hawthornstealer.”

“Why not?” Wolfpaw whimpered.

“It’s too empty,” Anchovypaw groaned, struggling to find the right word. “Weedfoot’s stories said Dark Forest ghosts looked like themselves. Even the Shardling looked a little like Autumnstar, isn’t that what Downstar told us? This thing doesn’t look like anyone. It looks like a shadow."

“We may have the power,” the spirit finally coughed through its thick ichor. “We need help.”

“That’s what I expected,” Estherfern sighed. “What sort of ritual do I need to perform? Is there another spirit I should talk to?”

“Your children were destined to develop these afflictions,” the spirit gurgled. “Their destinies must be replaced. Replaced with another’s.”

“Elaborate.” 

“The eyes of the clear sighted.” The spirit’s red eyes shone like a flickering fire. “The ears of the cautious listener.” Its pointed ears flicked, their first movement since the spirit’s arrival. “The tongue of the charmed.” Its black teeth peered out from muddy lips. “Three sacrifices. Three kits.” Estherfern stilled. Honeybuzz’s heart sank. Despite her standoffishness, despite her argumentativeness, Estherfern was part of the Clan, her kits were part of the Clan. How could she throw that away to fix what didn’t, what couldn’t be fixed?

“We’ll stop her before she begins,” Anchovypaw growled, inching a paw out of hiding. StarClan asked for Estherfern. Why would they send for her if she could be swayed like this?

“Offer the dead—”

“No.” All four hidden cats perked their ears high. Estherfern stood, tail rippling slowly as she stared the spirit down. The spirit, to Honeybuzz’s continued shock, flinched.

“No?” the spirit spat.

“What do you take me for?” Estherfern scoffed. “You think I’m so blindly devoted to a cure that you can turn me into a murderer? A sadist for the sake of my children?”

“You want them cured,” the spirit growled. Its paw lingered at the edge of the circle. “This is how you cure them.”

“And what happens when I do?” Estherfern asked, tilting one ear in a shocking taunt. “I know how your land works, the rules of your afterlife. They will go to StarClan some day and learn what I did for them, if they do not find out in life. They will despise me for what I have done.”

“But they will be cured.”

“Furthermore, I know the creatures that inhabit your Dark Forest.” Estherfern walked around the circle like a hunter. The spirit never turned its head, face stuck in a sneer. “It is the home of murderers and scoundrels. I would surely arrive there after my own death were I to kill three innocents for you. You would condemn me to eternity without my children.”

“You’ve already been damned, Estherfern. You brought forth the Skin N’ Bones that slew your deputy. You are the cause of your Clan’s suffering. Do you believe StarClan will forgive you for that?” A Skin N’ Bones. Of course. Nothing else would have injured Downstar like that. Nothing else would have devoured Weedfoot alive. Estherfern stopped. The calculated and callous look that always hung in her eyes cracked. Honeybuzz could almost see Estherfern’s soul drop. “Why give up now? You’re too far gone. Your children are not. Why summon us if you were not willing to do whatever it took to fix your kits?”

“I will not have them hate me!” Estherfern rounded on the spirit, lips curled tight. “I will not have them curse my name!” She shook her head low. “I will find a different cure for them. I will find another way. I send you back, spirit, back to your dark wanderings, where StarClan’s light does not reach.” Estherfern reached for one of the mushrooms. Her paw breached the circle.

“No!” The spirit dug its fangs into Estherfern’s paw. Ichor dripped into her fresh wound. She pulled back, ripping more of her skin in the process. 

“I respect what you did for your kits, Hawthornstealer,” Estherfern hissed, licking her paw. “I realize now, however, that where you could put aside your kits’ emotions for their futures, I cannot.”

“We,” the spirit growled, voice dissolving, “are not Hawthornstealer.” 

The spirit’s legs melted like snow. Its form dissolved and splashed about in a massive sticky pool. One by one, the mushrooms rolled into the ichor and vanished under the writhing mass as though falling into a great black hole. The ichor bubbled and squirmed as though in a death rattle. It leaked from the confines of the circle and coated the den floor. Estherfern backed up, back paws slipping on the soaked grass.

Weevilpaw raced out of the bush before Honeybuzz could react. She threw her full weight into Estherfern’s side. The two clerics tumbled into the shrubs. In that moment, the ichor exploded. It sprayed the walls of the dirt den and shot into the rain in an endless cascade. More ichor escaped the den than could have possibly made up the spirit in the circle. As it flew into the forest, large clumps tumbled to the side like wayward drops from a massive wave. The glops tumbled and sloshed against the wet ground before launching through the trees and out of sight. More and more of these glops scrambled away until finally, finally, the spray slowed. A long black trail led out of the den, which was now nothing but ichor and goop. 

Honeybuzz, Anchovypaw, and Wolfpaw crept out of hiding as Weevilpaw got off Estherfern. Mud coated half of her brown pelt. The ichor stunk like rotting flesh and mushrooms.

“How long have you been there?” Estherfern asked, slow to her paws.

“Wolfpaw, you might have to freeze me,” Anchovypaw growled, claws out. “I’m a whisker’s length from killing her.”

“Anchovypaw, no!” Weevilpaw stood in front of Estherfern, paws skidding. “She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She was trying to help her kits. We can’t blame her for that!”

“But the Dark Forest…” Wolfpaw gulped. With the puff in her fur dissolved in the rain, she seemed half her size.

“It is full of dead cats, not unlike StarClan,” Estherfern huffed. She stepped around Weevilpaw and faced down the furious crowd. “All I wanted was a way to cure my kits, something you’ve shown you cannot do.”

“Estherfern, you weren’t talking to a dead warrior,” Honeybuzz groaned, almost stepping on the ichor trail. “That was a Herald. Their entire purpose is to trick the living into allowing Spirits of Shadow into the territories.” His gaze lingered on the forest. He could almost hear the half-formed monsters slurping across the grass, taking their true, cursed forms.

“You heard her!” Weevilpaw huffed. “She wasn’t going to listen to the spirit. She was going to destroy the circle.”

“She didn’t commit murder,” Anchovypaw scoffed. “You did well, Estherfern. You did the bare minimum.”

“Is it your fault?” Wolfpaw muttered, voice almost lost in the rain. “Did you get Weedfoot killed?” Estherfern stared into the ichor-soaked den. 

“I didn’t know,” she said softly. 

“She didn’t know, Anchovypaw,” Weevilpaw snapped. “She’s a good cat!”

“She didn’t care about killing anyone, she cared about what her kits would think,” Anchovypaw growled. “How can we trust a cleric who doesn’t care if you live or die?”

“I trust her,” Weevilpaw huffed, pressing into Estherfern. “Even though she’s strange.”

“Weevilpaw,” Honeybuzz sighed, jumping over the ichor, “take Anchovypaw and Wolfpaw and go back to camp. Just go to the medicine den and wait for us.” 

“What are we going to do with her?” Anchovypaw asked.

“Leave that to me,” Honeybuzz said, shaking his head. “Now go. Stick together, and hurry. We’ll follow you soon.” The apprentices hesitated, all glancing at one another. Weevilpaw was the first to break; she joined Wolfpaw and nudged her onward. The sisters ran toward the coast. Anchovypaw followed, his burning eyes digging into Estherfern as he vanished into the foggy trees.

“It seems I underestimated the vigor of the Dark Forest’s supernatural entities,” Estherfern hummed, cleaning the mud off her injured paw.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” Honeybuzz hissed softly.

“Of course I do,” Estherfern snapped, curling her lips. “You love to tell the story of the Rippling Ashes. They ventured into the Dark Forest, they had Newtstream’s advice. What made my own approach so wicked?”

“Because it’s dangerous!” Honeybuzz groaned. “Because channeling Dark Forest souls, even when they want to help, clears a path for Spirits of Shadow, and they don’t care about any of us. They’re born to hunt. This isn’t worth it.”

“If your kits were sick, wouldn’t you do what you could for them?” Estherfern growled with a large thrash of her tail. “You can’t fix them. I thought the Dark Forest could.”

“They don’t need to be fixed!” Honeybuzz yowled, throwing his whole height up to glare down at Estherfern (who, unlike Rapidleaf, would not cower). “They aren’t dying, Estherfern! They can adapt! I’m sorry I can’t cure Thunderkit or stop Brightpaw’s anxiety, but they’ll be fine!” As Honeybuzz yowled, the first crack appeared in the sky, striking through the gray clouds. Thunder echoed far overhead. Estherfern stared at the growing storm.

“What’s out there now, do you think?” Estherfern sighed.

“Dog-cats, forsaken prey, honeybites…” Honeybuzz muttered, spine itching. “There may even be monsters we rarely see, ones we don’t have names for. We don’t want to know everything that’s out there now.”

“This is something we can fix,” Estherfern huffed. She marched around Honeybuzz and stood on the roof of the wicked den. Jaw tight as her bit paw moved, Estherfern dug at the soaked grass. Her pelt was more mud than fur. Chunks of earth tumbled into the den. The sopping ground folded in on itself like a wave. Estherfern rolled away as the roof of the den fell and covered the sticky, stinking ichor. Grass stuck to Estherfern’s underside. Honeybuzz hurried to her, helping her away from the crumbled remains of her sins.

“We can,” Honeybuzz gulped. “We can fix this.”

(Honeybuzz: 23, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Anchovypaw: 10, male, warrior apprentice, playful, curious about StarClan)

(Weevilpaw: 10, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)

(Wolfpaw: 10, female, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

(Estherfern: 109, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

Sandpaw and Spikecrash arrange time for Estherfern to see the kits she worked so hard to “fix”.

[Image ID: Estherfern faces Thunderpaw, Wolverinepaw, and Brightpaw.]

---

Estherfern didn’t belong at such a lively celebration. The sumptuous food, the well-rehearsed performances… Harvest Moon was as grand as RippleClan claimed it to be. Every Clan gathered as the sunrise poked through the trees, preparing their stews and games and performances. But it was a holiday to drive off Spirits of Shadow. What good would it do to have their herald nestled in the safety of the firelight?

“Spirits of Shadow hate charms,” Troutpool explained as she tucked a cat’s wood-carved face into the boughs of a low-hanging pine. “AshClan spends a lot of time carving these trinkets, and all that care under StarClan’s protections makes them especially useful in warding off danger.” All the clerics roamed the edge’s of the great clearing with baskets of charms and other concoctions to protect the five Clans. Estherfern carried RippleClan’s heavy basket as Honeybuzz, Troutpool, and Weevilpaw prepared the defenses to Troutpool’s instruction.

“How many do we have to place?” Weevilpaw asked, shoving a charm as far into a bush as she could reach.

“We’re covering this entire corner,” Troutpool explained. “We don’t want to leave any openings for spirits.” Estherfern nearly broke the charm in her jaws with how tightly she grit her teeth. She quickly passed it to Honeybuzz.

“Estherfern!” Two figures slipped through the massive crowd. Spikecrash and Sandpaw walked side by side, mentor and apprentice in sync. Sandpaw’s gaze wandered throughout the clearing, taking in the sights of all five Clans for the first time.

“You want to speak to me?” Estherfern asked. While her tone made her question sound casual, the brown priestess hid her surprise deep. She didn’t talk to many cats outside of the medicine den. Why would two of the Clan’s mediators want her? Did they know the real reason why Honeybuzz reported a surge of spirits in the Clan? The reason it was too dangerous to leave camp alone? Why all five Clans, not just RippleClan, now had a newfound fear for their lives? Had Honeybuzz not lied for her, Estherfern would have told the truth and accepted the consequences, yet why he kept it secret, Estherfern didn’t know She glanced at Honeybuzz, but the young gold and white cleric focused on his charms.

“I’m hoping we can borrow you,” Spikecrash explained. “Troutpool, do you still need Estherfern’s help?”

“We’re just placing our wards at the moment,” Troutpool explained, reaching into Estherfern’s basket. “We could finish without her if you really need her.” Estherfern carefully slipped the basket off her neck.

“Thank you, Troutpool,” Spikecrash sighed. She flicked her tail for Estherfern to follow. It seemed no one cared if Estherfern actually wanted to speak with Spikecrash, but who was she to refuse? She trailed after Spikecrash and Sandpaw, heading over to the ovens. Clammask and Stormpaw worked with Drumtooth and Thunderpaw, laughing over an unheard joke as they tended the fire under a massive pot of stew.

“I hope this isn’t too much of an invasion of privacy,” Spikecrash began, her scarred flank lifted high in a long stretch. “Honeybuzz and Weevilpaw spoke with me a few days ago and said you were having some difficulties with your kits.” Estherfern narrowed her eyes.

“If we’re going to discuss my kits,” she sighed, “maybe you could tell me why no one told me about Brightpaw’s meetings with you?”

“So you do know about that,” Spikecrash sighed. “Brightpaw is an apprentice now, Estherfern. We aren’t pressured to tell you anything he didn’t want you to know.” 

“If he’s sick, I want to help him,” Estherfern huffed.

“Why do you think he didn’t want you to know?” Sandpaw scoffed. “Look how you acted with Wolverinepaw and Thunderpaw.” Oh if only he knew just what Estherfern had done for them. What the Dark Forest wanted her to do.

“I’ve only ever tried to help them overcome their own limitations,” Estherfern said, her sharp stare ricocheting off Sandpaw and muting his confident words.

“That’s why we wanted to show you a few things,” Spikecrash explained. She waved a paw toward the oven where Thunderpaw and the other RippleClan cats gathered.

“The only goal of tonight is to have a better stew than WheatClan,” Drumtooth explained, shooting a friendly sneer at WheatClan’s oven and their large pot. He licked the surface of the stew and smacked his jaws. “It’s good, but it’s missing something.” Thunderpaw copied her mentor. Her face squirmed, thinking hard. She then made a strange motion with her paws; balancing on her back legs, she brought her paws close to her mouth and wiggled them as they moved away.

“I know this one,” Stormpaw chirped, completely focused on Thunderpaw. “If the wiggles are the sea… seaweed! That’s seaweed!”

“Yes!” Thunderpaw squealed. The two young apprentices cheered and giggled at their success, bunting one another

“AshClan borrowed our basket of seaweed,” Clammask explained, nudging Thunderpaw. “Grab some for us.”

“Grab seaweed,” Thunderpaw laughed. She quickly swiped the air like she was dragging a mouse out of hiding, then made the ‘seaweed’ motion again. Stormpaw mimicked the dragging motion as Thunderpaw hurried to AshClan’s oven.

“Why is Stormpaw learning Clan-sign?” Estherfern asked her mediator companions.

“Because Thunderpaw’s teaching her,” Sandpaw chirped. “Whenever Thunderpaw gets back from her sign lessons with Mummichogleap, she practices with us apprentices. Most of us are learning a few words so Thunderpaw isn’t left out.”

“And you want to learn?” 

“Thunderpaw makes it fun!”

“You can’t expect the whole Clan to learn this second language.”

“No one does.” Spikecrash touched her tail to Estherfern’s shoulder.. “But there are cats who want to make the effort. They can translate for those who don’t know. It puts pressure off Thunderpaw. She can miss what someone said, but she’ll have friends and family who can let her know.” Thunderpaw trotted back to the oven with a few long strips of seaweed. Clammask tore the seaweed into stew-sized chunks, showing the apprentices how to curl their paws just right. Thunderpaw seemed… happy.

“Now if you’ll follow us over here…” Sandpaw purred, strolling around the Leader’s Stone. Estherfern followed, tail a bit higher than before.

Brightpaw, Ravenpaw, and Vervainpaw sat with a gaggle of apprentices from the other Clans. They lounged about, chatting and laughing. Brightpaw nodded along to an apprentice’s story, his flank stretched out like frog legs. Ravenpaw relaxed on top of him, oohing and awing over the tale.

“I don’t know what your birth place thought of disorders of the mind,” Spikecrash whispered, brushing against Estherfern once more, “but like most disabilities, you can learn to live with them. There was a great gathering of warriors and codekeepers here at the new moon, do you remember? Brightpaw managed to befriend these apprentices during the visit. They invited their friends and littermates to chat today, and Brightpaw is happy to spend time with them. His mind is likely lying to him right now, but he knows ways to manage that. He could overcome his anxiety naturally some day, but that’s a minor part of who he is.”

“I know that,” Estherfern huffed. “He loves to play with Rabbitjoy’s paint supplies. He’s sensitive, and loves his sisters with all his heart. I’ve only ever wanted to help those traits shine.”

“That’s not how Brightpaw sees it,” Sandpaw scoffed under his breath. The comment hollowed out Estherfern’s chest. Before she could respond, two brown blurs shot past the Leader’s Stone with a horde of apprentices and young warriors at their tails. Wolverinepaw and Yarrowpaw led the crowd to an open spot within the festivities. They studied their followers like leader and deputy, the sunrise framing their profiles.

“We’ve got until after sunhigh to prepare!” Wolverinepaw cheered. 

“Are we going to let some dusty old bones beat us?” Yarrowpaw cried.

“No!” the young crowd yowled joyfully, already shoving and jumping over each other.

“Let’s show them what the new generation can do!” Wolverinepaw called. Her followers cheered, yowling to the high branches. They scattered throughout the clearing and split into sparring groups. They steadied their stances and wiggled their flanks. With sheathed paws, the youth of the Clans launched into training, trading blows and careful bites. Slushpaw lingered near the edge of the training grounds, cheering the others on.

“Slushpaw!” Sandpaw yowled to the older mediator apprentice. “What are they doing?”

“Well,” Slushpaw laughed, trotting up to Sandpaw, Spikecrash, and Estherfern, “Yarrowpaw and Wolverinepaw were arguing with Darkkick and another old warrior about what was a better trait in a fight; youth or experience. Suddenly all these other cats started joining in, and now the senior warriors are going to have a big mock-battle with the apprentices, plus some warriors who haven’t attended a Harvest Moon before.”

“And Wolverinepaw’s participating in this?” Estherfern huffed. She searched for her daughter in the crowd. She found Wolverinepaw rolling about with Yarrowpaw in the middle of the mess. Yarrowpaw shoved Wolverinepaw’s head into the dirt. Wolverinepaw snapped her jaw around Yarrowpaw’s leg and pulled her onto her shoulder. Yarrowpaw laughed as Wolverinepaw took her place on top of the older apprentice.

"She's as capable as any apprentice her age," Spikecrash assured Estherfern.

"She seemed so insecure during her ceremony…" Estherfern muttered.

"Wolverinepaw?" Spikecrash chuckled. "I don't think so. From what I've heard, she thinks she's strong enough to take on an actual wolverine."

"She didn't choose a role in time, though," Estherfern pointed out.

"Because she wanted to do everything!" Slushpaw laughed. "I talked with her right up to her ceremony. She had a new role in mind every day!" Oh. Had Wolverinepaw's sight not come up at all? Surely her decaying vision would make it hard for her to fight. Yet she kept up with Yarrowpaw, tumbling across the clearing with abandon. Had Estherfern's kits always been so sure of themselves? Surely they wanted cures. How else could they survive in a world that showed no mercy to the weak? In the cat-minded human's den, if you couldn't match up to the others, you wouldn't eat. Three of Estherfern's brilliant kits would have died in that awful place. Except…they weren't there anymore, were they?

"Can I guess what's been going on?" Spikecrash asked. "You've been so focused on a cure in their future, you've ignored how they are in the present. When's the last time you talked to them about something, anything but their health? Have you talked to Foampaw or Boughpaw at all?" Estherfern glanced from one kit to another. Their faces glowed with holiday glee. Did they ever glow around Estherfern anymore? When was the last time she shared a meal with them?

"Spikecrash," Estherfern muttered, her pride burning her words, "I need you to teach me something."

A short time later, Estherfern approached Thunderpaw and the RippleClan stew. The bounties of the ocean danced in the broth, specially prepared for that oh so exciting celebration. Thunderpaw stared eagerly into the stew while Stormpaw and their mentors talked with other caretakers. She spotted her mother and her eyes grew big and calm, mimicking Estherfern's eternally serene expression. Estherfern's heart did not carry that serenity as she approached her bold daughter.

"Do you need…" Estherfern said hesitantly. She awkwardly sat on her hind legs. She held out one paw, pads down, and angled the other on top of it, claws out. Thunderpaw's eyes sparkled at the sign.

"Help," she whispered as Estherfern quickly returned to a natural position. Thunderpaw made the sign with ease, quickly hopping from her hind legs and back. She ogled Estherfern, her thoughts not caught up to reality.

"I want to spend time with you," Estherfern explained. It felt like someone carved her pelt off, leaving her exposed. "I want to share your stew with you and your littermates." Thunderpaw blinked slowly. It took her so long to reply, Estherfern was about to repeat herself, just in case her pounding heart muffled her words.

"Do you want to learn the sign for littermates while the stew finishes cooking?" Thunderpaw gulped. The tip of her tail twitched wildly as her earlier joy bloomed across her face once more.

"If it means time with you," Estherfern sighed.

(Estherfern: 109, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Troutpool: 36, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Weevilpaw: 10, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)

(Honeybuzz: 23, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Spikecrash: 50, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Sandpaw: 6, male, mediator apprentice, loyal, interested in Clan history)

(Drumtooth: 23, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Thunderpaw: 7, female, caretaker apprentice,

(Stormpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, charismatic, loves to eat)

(Clammask: 69, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Brightpaw: 7, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, lover of art)

(Wolverinepaw: 7, female, warrior apprentice, compassionate, always asking questions)

(Yarrowpaw: 10, female, warrior apprentice, thoughtful, stares at fire)

(Slushpaw: 11, female, mediator apprentice, wise, quick witted, bats at string)

[splashtqil]

luv her

[warriors-rewrite-redesign]

Did they just… replace Bright with Swift..?

Edit: please stop commenting, I appreciate it but I’ve went from barely any comments to half of my notifs being them😅

[sirpamkun]

She pack pack on my kill kill til’ I BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK

Reference :3

[maeybatwarriorsdesigns]

[selenetic]

Was that the bite of '04?

[night-patrol]

[cry4nne]

Let's talk about Dogs

[nettleclanstale]

Moon 78

!!

[adr-n-sketchy]

Hi hello. Vet school is destroying my sleep schedule but not my ability to hyperfixate on Giingersnaps’ new warriors au map. It’s absolutely gorgeous and I am so obsessed. So here’s my silly little contribution as compensation for being so late to the game on the hype of these AUs.

More of my obsessive gushing thoughts below the cut

The little scream I screampt when I saw Swiftpaw’s first run cycle as two halves was absolutely unmatched. Even in the storyboards, the movement is so fluid and incredible with the implied stretching of his ghost spine was just so good!! All the little remedies he tried to get Brightpaw to heal were so sweet!! Like curling up in their nests like normal days. And then him always having to be mindful of Brightpaw’s head just going thunk when he forgets to paw attention. And the way he saw Brightpaw dying at the end and he immediately goes up to Bluestar and then just as quickly turns away to transfer his new life to her is just… AAASHDJSKDK so good!!

New paragraph for how absolutely godtier the animation on Brightpaw's resurrection at the Moonstone was!! Like all of elmira's little details in how Brightpaw's legs and bushy tail moved were absolutely insane!! And then @fadedkat's lighting and expressions as Brightpaw goes from realizing shes alright to seeing Swiftpaw to going "okay go time" and charging back out of the cave. AAHHHHHDJSKSJDK

Watermark placement is a little different here than on insta bc still figuring out how to properly size my procreate canvases (bc I’m a dingus)

[bigiswarriorcatsdesigns]

Finished Brightheart design sheet.

This was difficult to draw. I spent a long time thinking her design and I tried to search the best way to portray her scars. It was hard to find accurate information in cats, so if anyone who reads this would like to offer some critique or advice I’d love to read it. 

More information:

o  Warning: this point contains details about her wounds and mental state, skip this point if you are 14 years old and younger or don’t feel okay reading this stuff, as it is graphic. Proceed with caution. Her right side scars were done while trying to climb a tree to get away from the dogs. Unfortunately though Swifpaw’s sacrifice gave Brightpaw time to react and try to escape, the dogs grabbed her hips from the left side. The rest of the scars were done because she curled on the floor leaving her left side exposed. That way she got heavy bite wounds on her face and torso. He face got the worse part. Both her left eye and ear is gone and some of her upper face was ripped off, thus her left eye socket is assimetrical. While on treatment her face got swollen and was in complete mental shock (Acute stress disorder if she was diagnosed in human standards). After taking her bandages off and a lot of work from Cinderpelt to stabilize her and avoid it from developing into a worse condition, she seemed to get to a better mental state... until she saw her reflection. Since then, both that incident and hearing Bluestar’s assigned name made her relapse and suffer mentally (Post-traumatic stress dissorder).  Later after treatment hair grew back, blending a bit her scars, but not fully. She still has nightmares and can’t bear the thought of dogs, but has learnt to accept her scars and self image and to stop blaming herself for Swiftpaw’s death. This was thanks to early intervention from Cinderpelt and Cloudtail’s emotional support. Firestar recognized her recovery and the pain that her assigned name brought her, and thus changed her name to Brightheart to honor her strength and kindness, as well as her strong will to live and never give up. I don’t have much experience in medical fields and while I did ressearch, I could have got it wrong. I’d appreciate input in that case so I can learn and change it. I take these topics seriously.

o As she got old her ginger patches started to become smaller as white hair grew on them. They also became slightly diluted and desaturated. Small spots from old age appeared on her face scars.

o Just because I’m not sure if it’s very telling, on her elder drawing she’s sleeping on Cloudtail’s back leg and tail. She likes to sleep like that because Cloudtail has a very soft and fluffy tail and gives her comfort.

[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)

[vuelode-irbis]

So much (for) stardust

We thought we had it all, thought we had it all.

ID: a digital drawing that features Swiftpaw and Brightpaw (Warrior Cats) during their battle with the dogs. In the center of the drawing, they're both falling down, where undetailed dogs await them with their mouths open. On the left side, there's a panel which shows Swiftpaw's face closer, in the moment he's killed by one dog; he looks scared, trying to reach his paw towards Brightpaw; his tears turn to red blood. On the left side there's a panel that features Brightpaw's face as well, also looking scared towards her friend, the right side of her face is pure red, meaning she has lost her eye and ear. The other images are details of the main drawing. End ID.

[warriorsdesignsnick]

brightheart

[jayadwal]

[oddfaun]

Cringetober Day 18: Fandom Au (Warrior Cats Zombie AU)