#halibutdusk

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 81

Sandhollow and Brightreed join their littermates in the warrior’s den.

[Image ID: Sandhollow and Brightreed are graduated adults. Under Sandhollow, it reads LEVEL UP! SANDPAW → SANDHOLLOW, LOYAL → AMBITIOUS, INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY → LORE KEEPER. Under Brightreed, it says LEVEL UP! BRIGHTPAW → BRIGHTREED, LONESOME → RIGHTEOUS, LOVER OF ART → STUDENT OF ART.]

Even though spring had officially arrived, snow still covered RippleClan camp as the Clan gathered under the Shiprock. It stood out like paint on gray stone in the dark of late dusk. It dampened the cheers that reverberated around the clearing, capturing the new names of the two toms standing beside Downstar.

"Brightreed! Sandhollow! Brightreed! Sandhollow!"

Sandhollow politely licked Downstar's shoulder and stood tall beside her while his family and friends cheered him on. Spikecrash preened beside her mother, her proud gaze warming Sandhollow's pelt. While Yellowburst was stuck in quarantine, Waspdawn and Stormjump still cheered Sandhollow on, tails high. Bandages still wrapped around Brightreed's shoulders, covering the hunting dog's vicious bite, but he was more than healthy enough to stand before the Clan and accept his name.

"Alright, Brightreed," Wolverineheart laughed, charging out of the crowd and nudging her brother. "Time for your vigil! We suffered, now you suffer!" Brightreed glanced back at Sandhollow while Wolverineheart led him to the camp entrance. Ha! Like Sandhollow would do anything to help him out. He was a mediator. He had no vigil to attend. Sandhollow stood even taller as the newly named warrior left camp.

"Enjoy the warrior's den, Sandhollow," Downstar declared with a deep nod. She slunk into the crowd, which now faded out to finish the day and prepare the Clan to nest. Cats touched noses with Sandhollow, passing along their personal congratulations as they returned to their business. Waspdawn and Stormjump squirmed through the crowd.

"We built your nest next to Yellowburst and I," Stormjump chirped, rubbing against her brother. "I think Spikecrash and Slushtrail worked on your gift. Let's see what they made!"

"Tomorrow, we'll do something fun together," Waspdawn promised, touching his son's forehead. "Whatever you'd like. Consider it a father and son day."

"Alright, Dad," Sandhollow purred. "I love you!" Sandhollow waved his tail goodbye and headed for the warrior's den, Stormjump stuck to his side.

"We're stuck against the rock wall," Stormjump explained as Sandhollow peered inside. It still felt like he was doing something forbidden as his paws found empty spaces between the thick, well-loved nests. His memories found him back in the apprentice's den, setting up his new nest surrounded by the other apprentices, trying not to let his kithood crush on Thundergale show. Speaking of Thundergale, she and Clammask tidied an untouched nest further back along the rock wall. Brightreed's nest, no doubt.

Stormjump tilted her brother's head toward his new nest. Duck down peeked from the curling moss. A small clay rattle sat like an egg in a bird's nest. Sandhollow purred and picked the rattle up. Sand shifted inside. It sounded like the ocean. He chuckled and placed the rattle at the edge of his nest. He settled into the down and moss and gently batted the rattle between his paws.

"I have to fix the clerics' oven," Stormjump said, drooping as she glanced outside. "One of the stones cracked, and Oilstripe assigned me to find a solution before I go to sleep. Sorry we can't lounge around for a while, Sandhollow! Enjoy the new nest, though. I'm glad you're with us." Sandhollow bid his sister farewell with a soft flick of his tail. The rolling sand inside the rattle soothed the joy smashing through his blood. He purred and scooted deeper into the nest.

As Thundergale and Clammask finished with Brightreed's nest and left the den, Sandhollow found himself almost entirely alone. For a moment, the den didn't seem like the warrior's den. It felt more like the apprentice's den had over the last moon, with Brightreed in the medicine den and Cobaltpaw and Lightningpaw busy with patrols. Luckily, he was almost alone, not entirely. Yarrowclaw laid in her nest near the far back of the den, facing the wall.

"Yarrowclaw," Sandhollow called. "You missed my ceremony! I'm Sandhollow now."

"Good for you," Yarrowclaw yawned, rolling over. Her dead eye stared blankly at Sandhollow, her good eye pressed into the moss.

"I'm not very tired yet," Sandhollow admitted, giving his gift another playful smack. "Want to share tongues for a bit?" Yarrowclaw purred. A flick of her ear invited Sandhollow closer. The newly named mediator crept around his Clanmates' nests. He had to sit in Anchovystrike's nest in order to groom Yarrowclaw. Yarrowclaw sat up with a soft groan and moved closer to Sandhollow. Sandhollow raked his tongue along Yarrowclaw's coarse pelt. Sandhollow's tongue caught tangle after tangle, easing them straight with a few focused licks.

"Too busy to clean yourself lately?" Sandhollow hummed as Yarrowclaw bit an itch on her leg.

"I guess so," Yarrowclaw huffed. "I went on a lot of patrols."

"Avoiding Currentsmoke?" Sandhollow guessed. Yarrowclaw's brother hadn't left the medicine den since Yarrowclaw brought Currentsmoke into camp a few days prior, face crunched and bleeding. Yarrowclaw groomed Sandhollow's shoulder rather than answer. "We have four clerics looking after him. If there's any chance he might survive, he'll survive."

"Truthfully, Sandhollow?" Yarrowclaw grunted as she groomed. "That entire day is a blur. Lately, I've gone on so many patrols, the days started blending into one another."

"No wonder you're so tired," Sandhollow chuckled. "You're probably exhausted. You're not the only warrior in the Clan, though."

"I know that," Yarrowclaw huffed, pulling back. "It's just hard to sit still lately. I wake up, and there's so much I need to do."

"If you need time to rest," Sandhollow reminded her, puffing his chest out a bit, "I am a mediator now. I can tell Downstar and Oilstripe to let you off patrols for a couple of days. Considering how much you've done lately, I don't think they'll mind."

"I think I need that," Yarrowclaw admitted, laying back down. "StarClan, for a while there, it felt like I could do anything. I think Anchovystrike was right. I am too much of an overachiever."

"I'm the same way," Sandhollow promised, touching noses with Yarrowclaw. "Tomorrow, you should join me in the nursery! Splashtuft and I are telling this grand story about Clan history to Shrewkit, help him decide what he wants to train as. You're welcome to sit and listen."

"If I fall asleep, don't blame me," Yarrowclaw scoffed.

"Considering Shrewkit's attention span?" Sandhollow laughed. "I don't think you'll be alone in that."

(Sandhollow: 12, male, mediator, ambitious, lore keeper)

(Brightreed: 13, male, warrior, righteous, student of art)

(Downstar: 140, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Wolverineheart: 13, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

(Stormjump: 12, female, caretaker, charismatic, incredible cook)

(Yarrowclaw: 16, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

RippleClan, WheatClan, AshClan, and LynxClan discuss SlugClan.

[Image ID: Downstar meets with Ospreystar, Gentlestar, and Eelstar.]

---

WheatClan agreed to escort Downstar and her entourage through WheatClan territory rather than along the border with SlugClan. It simply wasn't safe, especially with a group their size. Downstar picked Wolverineheart, Thundergale, Lemmy, Splashtuft, and Lavendertwist to accompany her to her meeting at the Leader's Stone. With SlugClan's recent behavior, a patrol that size could have been considered a war party.

Downstar's patrol met with Gentlestar and her warriors at the border. The two groups melded together, with both leaders at the front. Spring frost melted under their paws as they crossed through WheatClan's more open land. Sunhigh slowed their progress as everyone ached for their nests, but a tiring time like that was perfect for such a secretive meeting. The warriors muttered amongst themselves, sharing recent news about SlugClan.

"Weevilsight's tail looks awful. How could they do that to a cleric?"

"Who knows what's going through Gorgestar's mind lately."

"He's so apologetic after attacking Honeybuzz and Venturedapple, but doesn't even bother to show up to the Gathering after Weevilsight's attack? I thought Gorgestar was supposed to be a kind leader."

"He's the oldest leader now. Maybe age has changed him."

"My mother became a different cat after she became an elder. By the time she died, I barely recognized her."

"So what, he's old so now he's evil?"

"That's an oversimplification. Gorgestar could have a reason for changing his border policy."

"That doesn't excuse attacking two clerics."

"I know that! Don't act like RippleClan's the only one they've been aggressive towards. Try sharing a border with them. We've gotten into, what, three border skirmishes with them in the last two moons? That's not to mention all the encounters that didn't end with fangs flying."

"All of you, that's enough," Gentlestar called back to the two patrols. "We're working together, not against each other. I don't want to hear another word until we're at the Leader's Stone."

"Yes, Gentlestar," the WheatClan patrol muttered, bowing their heads.

"That applies to RippleClan as well," Downstar noted. Lavendertwist groaned. but Lemmy smacked the back of his head and shut him up.

The path to the Leader's Stone was easier in WheatClan territory. With fewer trees to navigate around and less threat of catching your paw in some muddy crevice, the two Clans arrived faster than Downstar had ever managed on a typical trip to the Leader's Stone. Even when she was in SlugClan, it took a Gathering patrol longer to reach the festivities.

The Leader's Stone seemed harsh and dull in the light bursting through the thin, hazy clouds. Without the usual light of a fire or the joyful chatter of celebrating warriors, the entire clearing had an air of mourning to it. Unsurprisingly, LynxClan was already there when WheatClan and RippleClan arrived. Ospreystar paced around the Leader's Stone. Bandages wrapped around his front leg.

"Ospreystar," Downstar called. Ospreystar pulled himself from his thoughts. He and his entourage focused on the arriving patrol. Downstar and Gentlestar joined the youngest leader by the Leader's Stone. "What happened to your leg?"

"A bite from an eager SlugClan apprentice," Ospreystar sighed, showing off his wound. "Their mentor insisted they didn't know who they were attacking, but I don't think I believe them."

"This is getting ridiculous," Gentlestar huffed, shaking her head. "We have our conflicts, but border aggression typically makes sense. We see the reasons demonstrated at Gatherings. But we're getting conflicting reports from Gorgestar and his warriors."

"We'll figure out a solution," Downstar promised, climbing onto the Leader's Stone. "We've brought along some of our smartest historians and codekeepers. We should find the best way forward if we all discuss the situation."

"Speaking of historians and codekeepers," Ospreystar said, glancing back at Downstar's entourage, "those two are neither, if I recall." Wolverineheart and Thundergale sat with two LynxClan codekeepers, with Wolverineheart signing for her sister.

"I told you about Thundergale at the last Gathering, remember?" Downstar sighed. "Thundergale is experimenting with a new role devoted to teaching her Clanmates. I wanted her to come along and understand the advisory aspect of the historian role. Wolverineheart offered to accompany her and interpret our conversation, as Thundergale is partially deaf."

"Yes, the 'teacher' role, as you call it," Gentlestar hummed. "If you believe Thundergale could add something to our conversation, I'm happy to have her. I'm curious how this experiment will go."

"So am I," Ospreystar sighed, "but let's get back to the topic of the day."

"I hope you weren't planning to start without me!" Eelstar marched into the clearing, furless paws shining with melted frost. His patrol of codekeepers and historians followed behind, heads held high.

"Just getting our bearings, Eelstar," Downstar promised her gray-furred counterpart. "Did you have any trouble on your way here?"

"We followed the river around SlugClan and down along the LynxClan border," Eelstar explained. "Gorgestar shouldn't find out we passed through."

"Then let's begin," Downstar sighed. She flicked her tail high and called, "You all know why we're here. SlugClan's recent unchecked aggression along their borders has resulted in unfair attacks on all four of our Clans. SlugClan warriors have attacked two of my clerics, one of them on the night of the half moon meeting."

"SlugClan's not getting away with attacking my brother!" Splashtuft yowled. The codekeepers around him hissed, silencing his fervor.

"No, no they will not," Downstar declared. "SlugClan's recent behavior will not go unchecked, for the good of us all." Downstar jumped off the Leader's Stone and sat among her fellow leaders. "Now let's figure out the best way to confront Gorgestar and stop this madness before it kills someone."

(Downstar: 140, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Lavendertwist: 47, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Lemmy: 57, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond, good mediator)

(Wolverineheart: 13, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

(Thundergale: 13, female, teacher, adventurous, great hunter, good speaker)

(Splashtuft: 29, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

The four Clans send a war patrol to SlugClan.

[Image ID: Downstar and Puddlewhisper approach Gorgestar, who says "Downdapple, there you are." Under Puddlewhisper, it reads LEVEL UP! NATURAL INTUITION → KEEN EYE.]

---

Downstar won the right to lead the war patrol. Sure, the other three Clans had their fair share of skirmishes with SlugClan, but none had been as insulted as RippleClan. SlugClan's attacks against two clerics could not go unanswered. Downstar picked her most trusted codekeepers and warriors (Puddlewhisper, Waspdawn, Rapidleaf, Halibutdusk, Scaleripple, and Leathermask) and set off for SlugClan two days after the secret meeting.

They chose the dead of night for their assault. The chosen warriors could better ration their energy throughout the day, and there would be a few less warriors in SlugClan's camp upon arrival. Winter's chill still dug its claws into the land, frost coating everything living in a cocoon. It was the work of an Autumnfrost, those new spirits born of Autumnstar's Shardlings, Downstar was certain of it. They were mocking Downstar, rejoicing in her newfound warlust. What they didn't know was that there was no lust for war in Downstar's heart. Necessity drove her paws through the frost that night.

When Downstar stepped across the SlugClan border, she stepped across time. The weight of dozens of moons faded like snow melting across the territories. For a moment, she was Downdapple, a young caretaker, exploring her home with Fennelspot at her side, pulled into whatever hijinks Downdapple had planned for the day. A youthful vigor stirred her muscles as the smell of her kithood home filled her senses. Yet a wave consumed Downstar's nostalgia with a sickening reminder; she would be leading a war patrol into SlugClan's camp, the place she had been born, where she held vigil for her mother, her father, her littermates. She prayed their spirits would forgive her.

"I can smell AshClan's patrol," Puddlewhisper noted as they trailed along the SlugClan border. "They'll be at the meeting place before us." Downstar nodded, her thoughts too focused on the past to fully take in Puddlewhisper's report.

The four Clans decided to meet in a large dip along the SlugClan border. More than a few cats found themselves tumbling into the dip on their way to Gatherings, so everyone would know of it. Warriors from WheatClan, AshClan, and LynxClan were already waiting for RippleClan within the dip. It was a sizable group, able to match SlugClan's numbers. Oh StarClan, why was this the solution? The RippleClan war patrol merged with the other Clans as Downstar stood at the lip of the dip.

"Your leaders have all agreed," Downstar said, voice low and caught within the dip, "that for tonight, for this mission, you are to treat me as your leader, regardless of your Clan. As such, I expect everyone to follow my commands. Under no circumstance is any warrior to target the nursery. You'll answer to me if any harm comes to a kit during this attack. Allow noncombatants to leave camp freely, we are not taking prisoners."

"They attacked your clerics," an AshClan warrior hissed. "They attacked one of our artisans. Why shouldn't we attack theirs?"

"Because we are following the code," Downstar snapped, fur bristling. "Our four Clans have allied with each other because SlugClan's behavior has broken our code again and again. We are not going to return codebreaking with codebreaking. We are going to find Gorgestar and force him to Warriors… follow me." Downstar marched past the SlugClan border and deep into the territory itself. The war patrol climbed out of the dip and slunk after her, each Clan putting their unique training to use.

Still water pooled throughout SlugClan territory; leftovers from spring showers and runoff from the Great Northern River, forming thick, permanent puddles and tiny ponds. Downstar could almost hear the slugs and snails worming along the muddy shores and along the giant protruding roots. Downstar jumped from root to root, avoiding the algae-filled water. She hoped the other warriors were wise enough to know about leeches. How many times did Downstar go back to SlugClan camp as an apprentice with those disgusting creatures sucking on her legs? At least RippleClan copied their leader, following her path through the territory.

Downstar's mediators and artisans had been to SlugClan's camp since the founding of RippleClan; they often visited for trade and diplomacy's sake. Yet Downstar herself had not seen her birthplace since she set off with her fellow founders. How would it look now? How would Downstar's memories, her glories and tragedies, melt into the battle yet to come?

"Downstar!" a LynxClan codekeeper hissed from the back of the patrol. "I saw movement, racing past us. I think a patrol's seen us."

"That was bound to happen eventually," Halibutdusk muttered.

"Then we move quickly," Downstar huffed. She jumped off a buldging root and let her memories carry her to SlugClan's camp. The paws of her war patrol thundered behind her.

Thorn bushes marked out the walls of SlugClan's camp. Two willows, only just showing signs of spring growth, sheltered the Clan, with one standing amongst the thorny walls and another blossoming from the camp's heart. The nearly full moon danced through the fuzzy tendrils of the willow trees, dappling the area. Downstar could already hear warning yowls ring out inside the camp, stirring the sleeping warriors. The warriors on guard arched their backs, eyes darting about for signs of the incoming swarm.

Scaleripple and Leathermask lunged past Downstar. They tackled the two guards, spinning into one another. Two WheatClan warriors followed suit, pinning the guards down. With a flick of her tail, Downstar and her patrol stormed into SlugClan's camp.

If it weren't for the well-formed walls, it wouldn't have been strange to assume SlugClan's camp was just another part of the forest. All their artisan tools and ovens were hidden in a small grove away from the main part of camp, leaving just the giant willow tree and a series of thick bushes visible. The camp was too crowded for even a fire to warm the warriors through the night. Each bush marked the entrance to one of SlugClan's many dens, with the warrior's den right near the camp entrance. This meant, as Downstar and her war patrol breached the safety of SlugClan's camp, a horde of warriors met them before they got a tail-length in.

"Gorgestar!" Downstar yowled as her claws dug into a SlugClan caretaker. This particular caretaker was a bulky mass, shoving Downstar back into the swarm of intruding warriors. An AshClan codekeeper helped Downstar up and lunged at the offending caretaker. Downstar couldn't help but laugh; had she ever imagined an AshClan cat helping her in battle?

The tendrils of the willow tree that formed part of the camp wall shook. Waspdawn's gray eyes beamed from the branches. He, Puddlewhisper, and the rest of the AshClan warriors launched from the willow, landing on the SlugClan warriors. Tufts of fur flew across the clearing. The war patrol streaked around Downstar, finding the closest SlugClan scent and digging into their pelts. The queens scrambled out of the nursery, standing guard in front of their beloved kits. Elders who still had fire burning in their pelts stalked toward the chaos, daring the intruders to strike. Young, skinny warriors ushered mediators and artisans across camp. None of them were important to Downstar, not that night. No, her focus rested on the thick bush at the base of the central willow. The leader's den.

Downstar pounced on a SlugClan warrior. She tore into his ear, just as one of SlugClan's ranks had ripped into Honeybuzz. The warrior threw his head forward, flipping Downstar onto her back. Downstar's back paws slashed at the warrior's belly. The warrior yowled, stumbling back, giving Downstar enough time to get back on her paws. Her patrol tumbled and caterwauled across the camp, pinning down any SlugClan warrior they could get their claws on. One of the mediators burst from the procession of retreating noncombatants—Voleflake, that was his name, he was the go-to mediator to visit RippleClan—and raced into Gorgestar's den. Fine. Having a mediator during this confrontation would be better. There wasn't a hair on Downstar's pelt that wanted to draw blood from her old friend.

Downstar ran for the leader's den. She jumped over Waspdawn and a SlugClan codekeeper, teeth buried deep into one another. Downstar was just a few tail-lengths from the den. A pale gray blur slammed into Downstar's side. The tortoiseshell leader stumbled, but stayed on her feet. A pale gray tabby tom sneered at her with glistening green eyes. The huge scar along his chest, an infamous mark from a roaming wolverine, identified the muscular tom as Lettucecloud, the deputy of SlugClan.

"Downstar, why are you doing this?" Lettucecloud yowled, claws bracing for Downstar to pounce. "Why would you attack us?"

"Why would we attack you?" Downstar spat. "Why would you attack us? SlugClan has been out of control, Lettucecloud! I can't let you maul my clerics and go unpunished."

"Clerics?" Lettucecloud snapped, rearing back. "As in more than one? I only know about Honeybuzz."

"Weevilsight—" Downstar hissed, but a screeching mass of lilac fur smacked into her face. A long-furred SlugClan warrior pinned Downstar into the frosty ground.

"Carvingfur, we are talking!" Lettucecloud yowled. The warrior, Carvingfur, froze with a paw raised to claw at Downstar's eyes.

"Well forgive me for fighting an intruder," Carvingfur hissed.

"You've been attacking everyone you see by the border!" Downstar yowled. She shoved Carvingfur off, loosing a chunk of fur in the process. "You've mauled noncombatants! You tried to kill Weevilsight at StarClan's Shrine!" Lettucecloud's eyes bulged. Downstar stood tall, keeping an ear pricked for another would-be attacker.

"Call off your patrol," he gulped. "Stop the fight. We need to talk."

"You…" Downstar muttered, her ears ringing from the battle cries around her. "You don't know what I'm talking about." Downstar scurried up the central willow. She jumped onto the lowest sturdy branch and yowled, "Warriors! Halt! Halt!" Lettucecloud hurried up the tree beside Downstar. He yowled as loud as his lungs could manage. Slowly, the bloody warriors filling SlugClan's camp slowed in their bloodshed. Waspdawn hacked out another cat's blood and fur. Scaleripple and Leathermask limped into camp, covered in scratches and bruises. A SlugClan historian stepped off Halibutdusk. Warriors slipped on melting frost, which diluted the blood dripping from long claw marks. All eyes turned to the central willow.

"Give Downstar and I a moment to talk!" Lettucecloud yowled. "We… we will resolve this peacefully." Outrage tore through the warriors. SlugClan warriors hissed and batted at their camp's intruders, while the war patrol demanded SlugClan's heads.

"Remember why we came here!" Downstar snapped. "We've made SlugClan listen. We will draw no more blood tonight. I expect the codekeepers in our ranks to keep the peace. Puddlewhisper, with me."

Downstar's war patrol crept to one side of the camp, licking their wounds. The two clerics of SlugClan hurried to their Clanmates, sniffing their pelts for serious wounds. Codekeepers and the cooler heads of the war patrol held back vengeful warriors with a few curt words. Puddlewhisper slipped around the grumbling cats and scaled the willow. She eyed Lettucecloud closely and sat beside her leader.

"What's going on, Lettucecloud?" Downstar sighed.

"I have a theory," Lettucecloud sighed, staring down at the leader's den. Downstar suddenly realized that despite the chaos of the battle, Gorgestar had not shown his face since the war patrol's arrival. Sure, he couldn't fight, but he should have at least confronted Downstar.

"Start with why you attacked our clerics," Puddlewhisper huffed.

"One of your patrols told us they had orders to increase their aggression at the border," Downstar said. "Did Gorgestar give those orders?"

"He must have," Lettucecloud admitted. "I thought I stopped it after the incident with Honeybuzz. Gorgestar must have encouraged our warriors behind my back."

"You're trying to say your warriors got into skirmishes and you never knew of them?" Puddlewhisper said with a less-than-convinced sneer.

"In a cruel twist of fate," Downstar chuckled with a sad shake of her head, "that's the most believable part of this story. Gorgestar loves to handle patrol duties, he was that way when I was a caretaker here." Downstar's battle hardiness returned as she set her face and continued, "The rest of what you're saying, now that is less than believable. Gorgestar is a just leader who has always sought peace along his borders. He wouldn't change overnight." Lettucecloud's ears sunk low. He jumped out of the willow, in front of the leader's den. Downstar and Puddlewhisper followed him down.

"Talk to him yourself," Lettucecloud muttered. "You'll understand then." Lettucecloud peered into the leader's den and said, "Voleflake, Downstar and her codekeeper are coming in. They don't mean Gorgestar any harm." With that, Lettucecloud stepped back, giving the mollies room to enter.

The last time Downstar saw Gorgestar's den, she had been bidding her Clan farewell, preparing to take the lead over RippleClan and start a new story for the Clans. The cocky youth that still stirred in Downstar's chest laughed at the den's simplicity; the shipwreck and the overturned human basket Downstar nested in were far superior. Gorgestar's nest was the only thing of note within the bushy den, pressed against the trunk of the central willow. Voleflake sat beside the nest, whiskers twitching rapidly as he watched the two leaders meet. Gorgestar himself stood in his nest, trying to slide himself into his sled. Moss tore from his nest and collected on his motionless hind legs. He muttered something unintelligible, sparing nary a glance toward Downstar and Puddlewhisper.

"Gorgestar?" Downstar called. Gorgestar jolted from his work, eyes glazed. It took him a moment to settle on Downstar. The tension in his neck relaxed and his entire face softened.

"Downdapple, there you are," Gorgestar sighed. "What's the situation out there? Who attacked us?" Dread dripped down Downstar's throat and drowned her voice. "It was Autumnstar, wasn't it? Who else would come into camp like this?"

"They're gone, Gorgestar," Voleflake promised, touching his nose to Gorgestar's shoulder. "Down… Downdapple is just making sure you're alright." Voleflake's long, tense stare clued the two RippleClan mollies in.

"Yes, yes, of course," Gorgestar muttered. "You're a devoted caretaker, Downdapple, even if you turn a few of my hairs gray." He chuckled as he shuffled himself into his sled. "Tie me in, Downdapple. I should address the Clan, check on our warriors."

"Fennelspot is taking care of everything," Downstar said quickly, hurrying to Gorgestar's side. "He wants to focus on his work. Maybe you can address SlugClan once he's finished?"

"Clever molly," Gorgestar chuckled. His eyes caught on Puddlewhisper, who still lingered near the entrance. "Downdapple, I didn't realize, I should have known you wouldn't stumble in here without cause. We have a prisoner! Puddlespeckle, isn't it?" Puddlewhisper suddenly seemed too big for her pelt. "Good work, Downdapple. Make sure the codekeepers keep a close eye on this tom."

"I'll take care of the prisoner right now," Downstar said, backing up. "I just wanted to check on you." Downstar brushed against Puddlewhisper, easing the unnerved codekeeper out of the leader's den. "Don't strain yourself… sir." Downstar escorted Puddlewhisper out of the den before she could face more of Gorgestar's delusions.

"I've had a few cats misgender me in my life," Puddlewhisper groaned as they rejoined Lettucecloud outside, "but somehow, that was the worst." SlugClan glared at Downstar and Puddlewhisper, but most were too busy licking their wounds to speak up. Downstar's patrol tried to approach her, but Waspdawn and the other codekeepers kept them at bay.

"You'll have to forgive Gorgestar," Lettucecloud insisted in a soft voice. "His mind is caught in the past. It's anyone's guess what he'll think is real. He's been like this for some time now. It was managable for a while, at least I thought."

"He shouldn't be leader," Downstar growled, the fog of shock and grief fading. "He should have retired as soon as his mind began to fade. Surely your clerics and mediators would agree."

"He only has one life left," Lettucecloud sighed, lowering himself before the furious leader (much to the shagrin of Lettucecloud's Clanmates). "I've taken over most of his duties and keep him comfortable. I didn't want to disgrace his legacy by forcing him into the elder's den. How would it have looked to the other Clans? Do you think Eelstar, Gentlestar, or Ospreystar would respect my leadership if I ousted my predecessor?"

"He's been organizing patrols behind your back," Puddlewhisper huffed. "I've heard how age can cripple the mind, make one paranoid. StarClan knows what he's been telling his Clan, Downstar."

"It stops tonight," Lettucecloud declared. "I'm calling together a vote to officially remove Gorgestar from leadership. If I had realized what he was having SlugClan do, I would have ousted him moons ago, Downstar."

"You let your sentimentality endanger your Clan and mine," Downstar growled, ears and tail high as she spoke. "I speak for the other four Clans when I say this. When you come to the Gathering in a few days, I expect to be calling you Lettucestar. We will not tolerate any more skirmishes along your borders. It's up to you to keep your Clan in check, Lettucecloud, or the other leaders will do your job for you." Downstar looked back into the leader's den. Voleflake spoke softly to Gorgestar, but the paralyzed leader's eyes were far away.

Truthfully, the war patrol could only be called a success, Downstar knew that. But somehow, it would have been better if Gorgestar had some secret plan for Downstar to thwart. She couldn't thwart her old friend's mind.

All Downstar could do was grieve.

(Downstar: 140, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Puddlewhisper: 47, trans female, thoughtful, keen eye, ghost sense)

(Halibutdusk: 73, nonbinary (they/them), gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Scaleripple: 34, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Leathermask: 29, male, warrior, nervous, good fighter, eloquent speaker)

(Waspdawn: 47, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

[rippleclan]

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

Thus, the kitocalypse.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 83

With soup for getting food and water to Currentsmoke’s stomach and ointment to fight the infection growing in his jaw, Troutpool wracks her mind for anything else that might help her patient. At least Yellowburst’s yellowcough is gone.

[Image ID: Troutpool treats Currentsmoke with Robinkit's ghost standing behind the latter. Under Troutpool, it reads LEVEL UP! GHOST SENSE → GHOST SIGHT. Under Currentsmoke, it reads + INFECTION. Yellowburst walks away, with - CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH under her.]

"I know it stings," Troutpool cooed as she rubbed ointment along Currentsmoke's fracture, "but this will help kill the infection." Currentsmoke whined softly, but did not speak. There wasn't much he could say clearly; ever since Yarrowclaw carried him into camp after the accident, the clerics kept his muzzle wrapped in bandages and soft leather, preventing it from moving. Currentsmoke had to keep his mouth still if he didn't want to live with a crooked jaw the rest of his life.

Troutpool should have been able to prevent the infection. Currentsmoke hardly left the medicine den, had never thought of leaving camp. Troutpool and her denmates groomed the large gash across his face well, they kept track of what treatments they gave him. How did he develop an infection? What did Troutpool do wrong?

Pawsteps trapsed through the sand outside just as Troutpool smeared the last of the infection-kiling ointment. Yellowburst entered the otherwise empty den, carefully carrying a bowl of soup. Steam gently flew off the broth's glistening surface.

"I strained the solid bits out, just like you asked," Yellowburst said, placing the bowl in front of Currentsmoke's nest.

"You're wonderful, Yellowburst," Troutpool purred. She rubbed the remaining ointment on her paws off onto a scrap of leather. "When you're finished with your meal, can you ask my mother which caretakers are free? I have a bundle of bandages and leather that need washed."

"I'll pass it along," Yellowburst promised. "Are you feeling any better, Currentsmoke?"

"Tryn' tuh," Currentsmoke said, teeth locked together.

"I guess that's all we can ask for," Yellowburst chuckled awkwardly. "I'll see if Sandhollow would tell you any stories to pass the time later. Stay strong!" Yellowburst gently touched Currentsmoke's forehead and retreated from the den.

"Let me know when you're ready to eat," Troutpool sighed, placing her ointment back on the den's vast shelves. "I know it hurts, but if I help you open your mouth, we can make sure you don't make things worse." The fur on Troutpool's neck tingled. She paused, tail rising. She recognized that feeling, the sort that had lingered since her first days as a cleric, that eery sign of StarClan at work. She felt it at the ritual to weaken the Spirits of Shadow, she felt it when Oilstripe spoke to ghosts of friends passed, and she felt it every time she visited StarClan's Shrine. This time was different, though. This time, Troutpool heard a voice.

"I'll try to lower your pain, Current," the newcomer said. "Mom and I will get you through this, whatever happens." Troutpool turned slowly. A sparkling figure stood behind Currentsmoke, the spirit's transparent tail dancing over Currentsmoke's flank. He was dark red, with deep blue eyes and a splash of white wrapping around his chest and back. Troutpool recognized him. She would never forget the face of a kit she couldn't save.

"Robinkit?" Troutpool muttered. Robinkit jumped, attention wrenched away from Currentsmoke.

"How do you see me?" Robinkit yelped. "You're not supposed to see me!"

"I'm sorry?" Troutpool gulped, thoughts spinning.

"Saah-ry fah what?" Currentsmoke sighed with a slow, soft shake of his head. "Yah're doehng great."

"Oh, no," Troutpool stammered, shaking out her pelt, "sorry, Currentsmoke, I wasn't talking to you, I… I'll be back soon." Troutpool scurried out of the medicine den, fur burning. The camp was packed for the mid-day meal, basking in the late spring haze. Troutpool kept her eyes down, trying to look as sane as possible.

"You can see me!" Robinkit ran after Troutpool with silent paws. "I'm supposed to be invisible!"

"Don't look at me!" Troutpool hissed under her breath, sparing a quick glance back at her ghostly pursuer. "I'm not trying to disturb you!"

Near the entrance of camp, not far from the apprentice's den, Oilstripe sat alone, sunbathing. Except Troutpool realized her mother wasn't alone. Two ghosts Troutpool did not recognize sat around Oilstripe. One was a brown tabby who spoke animatedly, tail and paws flying about. The other was a light brown kit who laid on their back, watching the other ghost upside-down.

"So I tell Silverpaw, being dead isn't so bad!" the brown tabby chuckled. "you can fly now! And never aging, that's going to feel great!"

"Says the adult ghost," the kit scoffed. Oilstripe chuckled, hiding her humor under her paw.

"Mom," Troutpool called, unable to smooth her pelt. Oilstripe quickly picked up on her daughter's fear scent.

"What's wrong?" Oilstripe asked, hurrying up. "Is it Currentsmoke?"

"No, it's me," Troutpool whispered, trying and failing to ground her thoughts. "Mom, do you, um… please tell me you see Robinkit behind me."

"Hi, Oilstripe," Robinkit sighed. Troutpool closed her eyes and prayed the kit's ghost would go away. This wasn't how clerics communicated with StarClan. It bypassed all the rules Fennelspot taught her, invaded their divine privacy. How could Troutpool respect the traditions of her profession if she saw ghosts?

"Do you see Robinkit?" Oilstripe asked.

"Better question, do you see me?" the brown tabby huffed. Troutpool risked opening one eye. The brown tabby ghost stared at her with giant eyes. They gasped dramatically and cried, "She looked at me, she looked at me!" Troutpool shut her eyes again.

"Troutpool, you're alright," Oilstripe promised. "I see them."

"I'm not supposed to," Troutpool gulped. "I have to respect them. I can't go around the rules."

"Do you think I'm doing something wrong?" Oilstripe scoffed. She gently groomed her daughter's cheek. "Because if you think you're disobeying the code, then I must be. Call the codekeepers, put me on trial." Troutpool risked another look at the brown tabby. Their face was soft, free of judgment or divine wrath.

"I'm Applepelt," the brown tabby said with a friendly twitch of her whiskers. "I'm a friend of your mother's. And I don't think you're disrespecting anyone just by seeing us."

"But how do you see us?" the unknown kit huffed, pacing around Troutpool.

"Twinekit raises a good point," Oilstripe muttered. "If anyone were to inherit my sight, I would have expected Tallowheart or Slushtrail, but Carnationspeckle gave birth to me."

"Does that make you less of a mother?" Applepelt scoffed, slipping beside Troutpool and Oilstripe. Her transparent paw batted Oilstripe's head, but it phased through as though going through air. Oilstripe still flinched, unable to fight back a purr. "If this is something the All-Seeing did, do you think they would care about blood? We aren't talking about pelt patterns."

"It's still important that I respect your work when you visit us," Troutpool gulped, giving Applepelt some room. "I'm afraid I interuppted…" Troutpool looked back to where Robinkit had been, but the dead kit was gone.

"You'll get used to that," Oilstripe promised, nuzzling her daughter's neck. Troutpool sighed, relaxing into Oilstripe.

"Now, if you're finished panicking," Applepelt chuckled, splaying their paws about wildly as they fell on their belly, "I can tell you some of the embarassing things your mother got up to when she was younger."

"You can't embarass me," Oilstripe said, eyes narrowing in a challenge. Applepelt stared at Oilstripe like a victorious hunter.

"Does the phrase 'holy balls' mean anything to you?" Applepelt cooed. Troutpool choked on a laugh.

"You weren't even here for that!" Oilstripe gasped, swatting at Applepelt's ghost. "How do you know about that?"

"StarClan sees all," Applepelt said in a wobbley, dramatic voice. This time, Troutpool set her laughter (and her insecurities) free.

(Troutpool: 44, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sight)

(Currentsmoke: 18, male, caretaker, loving, good climber, skilled toolsmith)

(Yellowburst: 14, female, caretaker, adventurous, good mediator)

(Robinkit: 5, male, kit, unruly, avid play-fighter)

(Applepelt: 31, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

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

(Oilstripe: 87, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Yarrowclaw stays out all day and brings back one piece of fresh-kill for each main prey species in the territory. Even though Rabbitjoy notes that they may not be able to work through all that prey before it rots, Yarrowclaw insists the hunt was an important ritual to safeguard the Clan.

[Image ID: Rabbitjoy, Halibutdusk, and Elmsprout stare at Yarrowclaw, who yowls "Eat, eat!"]

(Yarrowclaw: 18, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

(Rabbitjoy: 120, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver

(Halibutdusk: 75, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Elmsprout: 50, female, caretaker, charismatic, trusted advisor)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 69

Waspdawn brought a litter of four kits to camp with the hopes that a WheatClan queen can nurse them.

[Image ID: Leathermask says to Waspdawn, “They’re quite cute, Waspdawn.” Four gold and white newborns sit in nests. The mostly yellow kit has the caption NEW PLAYER: YELLOWKIT, 0, FEMALE, NOISY. The white kit reads NEW PLAYER: SANDKIT, 0, MALE, SELF-CONSCIOUS. Below him, the dark golden kit reads NEW PLAYER: STORMKIT, 0, FEMALE, KNOW-IT-ALL. Lastly, the white and gold kit reads NEW PLAYER: LITTLEKIT, 0, MALE, SKITTISH.]

The Clan was a hive of chatter when Weedfoot and James returned from their slow walk around the territory. Weedfoot’s pregnancy weighed on her aging bones, but she wouldn’t let that stop her from taking some time to be with her mate. That meant when the pair entered camp once more, a light dusting of snow clinging to their heels, winter’s final push, they had no idea what was going on.

Paleseed, recovered from her bought with whitecough, raced past her mother, her tail weave of red feathers smacking Weedfoot in the face. Spikecrash hurried behind her, ducking between Weedfoot and James. Before Weedfoot could ask them what was the matter, they were gone.

“That’s not like Paleseed,” James muttered. “Do you suppose something’s happened?”

“Our Clan is riled about something,” Weedfoot sighed. Cats sat throughout the camp, eagerly explaining the unknown situation to their kin. A large crowd stood around the nursery. They peered into the nursery with soft gasps and excited whispers. Oilstripe, Lemmy, Clammask, and Harvest herded their kits into one group, keeping them entertained as whatever happened in the nursery unfolded. 

“Mom, we should really get Rattlepelt away from the nursery,” Anchovykit whined. He tried to run past Harvest, but the reddish-brown molly blocked his escape.

“She’s allowed to look,” Harvest huffed. “Why are you so worried about Rattlepelt?”

“Well, um,” Anchovykit gulped, “she, uh…”

“She can get really angry sometimes,” Robinkit said as he paced in front of Clammask and Lemmy, who worked as a team to stop Robinkit and his little patrol of friends from causing mischief. 

“Rattlepelt is having a rough time,” Oilstripe said, taking a break from her story with the well-behaved kits. “None of you need to concern yourself with her. Rattlepelt will be alright.”

“Just sit down!” Lemmy groaned. She jumped in front of Vervainkit before she could squirm around her guards. Weevilkit acted on the gap in their defense before anyone even realized there was a gap. She charged out of the swarm of kits. Clammask swiped at her tail, but the young tortoiseshell acted too quickly for her. She scampered to the dirt place, free from the queens’ imprisonment. Lemmy groaned, but did not chase her daughter.

“Oilstripe, if you’re all out here,” Weedfoot muttered, approaching the chaos, “then what is everyone looking at by the nursery?” Oilstripe’s troubled gaze brightened at the sight of her former mentor.

“It would be better if you went to look for yourself,” Oilstripe chuckled.

“Congratulations,” Slushkit chirped from her spot beside her mother. Weedfoot chuckled, for that was all she could think to do. 

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“And here I thought you were the wit in our relationship,” James chuckled. “Weed, it’s the nursery.” The spark of truth danced in Weedfoot’s mind a moment later. She quickly looked through camp. Paleseed had left, no need to count her. Puddlewhisper spoke to Downstar by the leader’s den. Lavendertwist and Scaleripple were a part of the crowd around the nursery. One kit missing. 

“Waspdawn?” Weedfoot muttered, paws leading her to the nursery. James trotted after her, tail high. As the mates neared the nursery, Scaleripple, who stood near the back, took note of their approach.

“Let my mom in,” Scaleripple said. Though he spoke softly and to no one in particular, the rest of the Clan took notice of Weedfoot’s arrival. They quickly scampered to either side, purring and giggling and staring. Lavendertwist stayed where he was, kneading the sand, dry for the first time in moons.

“Come look!” Lavendertwist cheered in a whisper. Weedfoot’s heart thrashed in her throat as she and her kin entered the nest-covered den.

Leathermask was with Waspdawn inside, constructing a new nest lined with leather. Neither noticed the change to the crowd outside. Waspdawn sat on the edge of Lemmy’s nest, looking down into Weedfoot’s freshly prepared nest. Four little drops of pale honey squirmed in her nest. Weedfoot’s whole face melted at the sight. The four kits couldn’t have been much older than a quarter moon, their fur just beginning to grow out. Each kit was a mixture of gold and white, from the darkest honey to the palest yellow.

“They’re quite cute, Waspdawn,” Leathermask chuckled, turning from his task. He froze when he saw Weedfoot and James staring inside.

“I’ll be good to them,” Waspdawn promised. He dipped a paw into the nest, gently petting the largest of the four kits. The yellow spotted kit mewed loudly and cuddled closer to their father. “I’ve had good mentors in parenthood.”

“I thought Lavendertwist would give us our first grandkits,” James said. Waspdawn’s ears perked up, paw retracting. He turned to the beaming faces of his parents and brothers.

“Wait, you did?” Lavendertwist said. James gently smacked his tail over his son’s face and let it rest there.

“Waspdawn…” Weedfoot whispered. She crept closer to the four kits in her nest. She couldn’t look away.

“Leathermask, could you give us a moment?” James asked.

“A fair request,” Leathermask said awkwardly, ducking his head. He squeezed around Scaleripple, who backed out of the den entirely to give the other warrior room to leave.

“They look just like you,” Weedfoot breathed. She stuck her muzzle into the nest. The darkest colored kit squealed, blind face angling toward the new scent as best she could. The litter was an even split; two toms, two mollies, gold and white splashed equally between them all. The biggest molly looked exactly like Waspdawn had when he first laid nursing at Weedfoot’s belly, a tiny blob named after the apprentice that never got to shine.

“I know you have questions,” Waspdawn sighed, laying beside the nest. “I want to answer them as best I can.”

“The code says you don’t have to,” Scaleripple said, creeping back into the den and examining Leathermask’s newly crafted nest.

“I remember how hurt and confused everyone was when Shadowdrop and Wildclaw brought Tempestshade, Trumpetspore, and Mosspounce to camp,” Waspdawn said. “I don’t want anyone to believe I’m repeating his mistakes.”

“We’re listening, then,” Weedfoot said. She moved closer to her son. Scaleripple sat in the new nest. James and Lavendertwist watched from the nursery’s edge.

“About two months ago, I was by the southern border,” Waspdawn began, “when a loner called me over. Her name was Gwen. She was new to the area and wanted to meet her neighbors. Regardless, we talked for a while. As you might be able to guess, instincts overtook us, and we mated.” Scaleripple draped a paw over his muzzle at the thought, unable to look at his brother. “Soon after, a monster slowed to a stop beside us. Gwen decided to approach them. The humans inside picked her up and took her into the monster before running down the path. I would have thought nothing of it if I didn’t reunite with Gwen half a moon ago.

“Around that time, one of our patrols told Downstar of a confused queen they escorted off the territory. I overheard them. Their description matched that of Gwen. I decided if she had come back after over a moon, she was likely looking for me, so I set off to find her. It didn’t take me long. She was taking shelter with a few of the barn cats in the nearest farm. She had deteriorated since I saw her last. Her fur was poorly kept and she was far too thin for how pregnant she was. She took a while to recognize me. Eventually, I learned the humans she had left with were of the wicked kind. They took her to a small human den with a Clan’s worth of cats trapped inside. They couldn’t leave and had little food.”

“I heard tales of humans like that in my youth,” James sighed, sneering. “Waspdawn, your friend was taken by a human we call cat-minded. They believe themselves to be cats and feel compelled to bring as many cats into their den as possible. Those dens become graves for the unfortunate cats they claim.” Lavendertwist squirmed, shoulder rubbing against his collar. 

“Gwen and another pregnant queen eventually managed to escape,” Waspdawn explained. “I agreed to offer some of my Clan training to further Gwen’s recovery. I’ve spent much of my free hours there, learning from the barn cats just as much as they learned from me. They were able to safely deliver Gwen’s litter a quarter moon ago.” Waspdawn set his chin on the nest with his kits. “When I realized how much they looked like me, I began to see them as mine, not just Gwen’s. The kitting made Gwen’s mind clear, and we were able to discuss what had happened between us. Gwen has no interest in living in the Clans, or any packed colony again. That’s when I offered to claim the litter and raise them here. Gwen decided that it would be better for them to grow up in stability rather than with a wanderer like herself. When they were strong enough to travel, I asked Puddlewhisper and Honeybuzz to assist me in bringing them home.”

“You could have told us,” Weedfoot said. Her paw touched Waspdawn’s.

“I only made the decision to claim them a few days ago,” Waspdawn admitted. He sat up and added, “I made sure I didn’t break the code by helping Gwen. I only provided her with my time and knowledge and took none of the Clan’s resources. I’ll stand trial if I have to and declare my innocence to the entire Clan.”

“You’re not going to trial,” Lavendertwist scoffed. “Really, Waspdawn, everyone knows Rustshade had his second litter with his old WheatClan mate, and no one did a thing about that. Nothing about your story sounds wrong to me.” Lavendertwist made his way around the many nests in the den and bunted heads with his brother.

“Alright, let’s not make that rumor into history,” Weedfoot reminded her brown and white son.

“Paleseed and Spikecrash went to WheatClan to ask for someone to nurse them,” Waspdawn explained. “With no one having milk, I wanted to make sure they ate well. Puddlewhisper is still discussing the situation with Downstar. She… may be annoyed that I didn't tell her about the kits.”

“She will get over it as soon as she sees these cute furballs,” Lavendertwist laughed. He waved his tail over the kits’ tiny noses, drawing their limited attention.

“They’re old enough for names,” Scaleripple noted with a twitch of his ears.

“I let their mother name them,” Waspdawn said. “Her last gift to them.” He carefully stepped into the nest with his kits. He nosed each one, naming them as he went. “Yellowkit… Sandkit… Littlekit… and Stormkit.”

“I like those names!” Lavendertwist cheered. “I might take naming inspiration from you when I have kits of my own!” Lavendertwist’s expression softened as he stared at his nieces and nephews. He hummed softly, thoughts unknowable. Eventually, he puffed up his chest and said, “I’ll be back soon.” 

He marched out of the nursery like a warrior on a mission. He quickly found his target by the warrior’s den. Weedfoot looked outside; Lavendertwist was staring at Elmsprout.

“Elmsprout!” Lavendertwist called, tail hooked overhead. Elmsprout, who had been making the finishing touches on the Clan’s evening meal with Rabbitjoy, looked up quickly. “How would you like to have my kits someday?” Weedfoot groaned, turning her head from the disaster. Scaleripple, in an uncharacteristic show of playfulness, snorted. James shook his head, sighing.

“Why would you phrase it like that?” Elmsprout yowled across camp as the entire Clan stared at her and Lavendertwist. Their heads flicked back and forth as though watching birds flutter through the trees.

“Because I want to have a family with you someday!”

“And you ask me now?”

“Why not?”

“Why yowl at me from the other side of camp?”

“I didn’t want to wait!”

“If you want to be my mate, just ask me that!”

“Okay! Do you want to be my mate?”

“Is this really working?” James muttered, sticking his head out of the den.

“I’ve wanted that for moons,” Elmsprout laughed. She bounded away from the oven and joined Lavendertwist outside the nursery. The Clan cheered as they rubbed pelts, laughing all the while. James joined his son, bunting his shoulder in congratulations.

“Now you’ll say you’re planning to have kits,” Weedfoot purred, looking over at Scaleripple.

“I don’t,” Scaleripple said, literal as ever. “I don’t think Tempestshade and I ever planned to have kits. I just wanted to be their companion.” Weedfoot could think of nothing to say. She turned back to her grandkits. Her first grandkits! StarClan, did that make her feel old. How much of the gray in her pelt was from her age? 

“Sandkit looks more like you than me, I think,” Waspdawn hummed as his kits searched for a warm belly. “Who knows? Maybe one of them will be like you, Scaleripple.” Scaleripple left the nest and joined his kin by the newborns. He stared at the four golden lumps, squirming and settling into deep sleep. Something in his eyes sparkled.

“I would kill for them,” he said. He locked his eyes on Waspdawn with a more focused stare than Weedfoot had ever seen from her youngest son.

“I think we all would,” Weedfoot purred. She nuzzled her grandkits, bathing in the warm joy of their tiny bodies.

(Weedfoot: 118, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(James: 145, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Anchovykit: 4, male, kit, charming, curious about StarClan)

(Harvest: 57, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Robinkit: 4, male, kit, unruly, avid play-fighter)

(Oilstripe: 73, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Lemmy: 46, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Weevilkit: 4, female, kit, bullying, curious about StarClan)

(Slushkit: 5, female, kit, polite, quick witted)

(Scaleripple: 22, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Lavendertwist: 35, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Leathermask: 17, male, warrior, nervous, great speaker, good fighter)

(Waspdawn: 35, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Yellowkit: 0, female, kit, noisy)

(Sandkit: 0, male, kit, self-conscious)

(Littlekit: 0, male, kit, skittish)

(Stormkit: 0, female, kit, know-it-all)

(Elmsprout: 36, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

While showing Harvest around the territory, helping her find a place in the Clan as she raises her kits, a kittypet asks about joining the Clan with her five kits.

[Image ID: Estherfern, a brown tabby with sunlit eyes, says “It seems your ancestors have an interest in me.” Under her, it says NEW PLAYER: ESTHERFERN, 103, FEMALE, BLOODTHIRSTY, GREAT MEDIATOR, PROPHECY SEEKER, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. Beside her are five kits. The solid lilac molly reads NEW PLAYER: THUNDERKIT, 1, FEMALE, BULLYING, MOSS-BALL HUNTER. The dark brown kit says NEW PLAYER: BOUGHKIT, 1, FEMALE, QUIET, CONSTANTLY CLIMBING. The gold tom reads NEW PLAYER: BRIGHTKIT, 1, MALE, SHY, LOVER OF ART. The ticked kit reads NEW PLAYER: FOAMKIT, 1, FEMALE, UNRULY, ALWAYS WANDERING. The last brown molly reads NEW PLAYER: WOLVERINEKIT, 1, FEMALE, SKITTISH, ALWAYS ASKING QUESTIONS.]

---

When Oilstripe was a WheatClan kit, she spent a lot of time asking the various cats of the Clan whether she would make a good warrior or artisan or whatever role they held. Considering how much she loved hearing their stories, the path of a historian seemed obvious to her now. Yet if that worked for her, perhaps Harvest, who had yet to declare herself in any official role beside a humble queen, needed that same chance to hear what it was like to follow a certain path through the Clans.

Oilstripe, Puddlewhisper, Carnationspeckle, and Halibutdusk sat with Harvest on a hill in the open southern lands, where sunhigh reminded them all of spring’s return as they bathed in its yellow beams. It was the perfect spot to survey the territory. While cold air still nibbled at their pelts and the trees showed no sign yet of newborn buds, the longer days left rich mud and life across the land. Harvest sat with her tail twitching while everyone else lounged about, sinking into the dull, tan grass.

“If you choose to be a warrior, there isn’t much you have to learn,” Halibutdusk explained, stretching out his front legs. “You’ll help out where needed and go on patrols. Your old friend taught you how to fight, so you won’t need extra training.”

“It sounds nice,” Harvest admitted, head tucked down, “but Oakface would brag about the other positions in Clan life. I feel I’d be dishonoring him if I didn’t consider them.”

“If you want to spend more time in the nursery,” Carnationspeckle purred, laying in an awkward looking yet shockingly comfortable heap, “you can become a caretaker. Some caretakers choose to spend all their time in the nursery as permanent helpers. Would that interest you?”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me,” Harbest gulped, “I love raising my kits, but I don’t want to be stuck in the nursery forever.”

“If you have an interest in order and justice, you should become a codekeeper,” Puddlewhisper pointed out as she itched her back paw. “We spend a lot of our time assisting Downstar and Weedfoot in organizing the Clan and honoring the code.”

“Don’t forget historians!” Oilstripe chirped, stretched out in an arch along the grass. “There’s a lot to learn, but our stories are important.”

“It’s just as overwhelming as when Oakface described them,” Harvest laughed awkwardly. “It’s so strange to say I’ll only do certain tasks the rest of my life.”

“That’s not what we’re saying, don’t worry,” Carnationspeckle promised. She tapped her paw against Harvest’s. “You can always make a change later on. No one will blame you if you take more time deciding!”

“You might need to join some patrols, though,” Puddlewhisper pointed out. “It’s important to contribute.”

“Of course,” Harvest said. “There’s so much to do now that I’m here. I hope to experience as much as I can.”

“And I hope we can fulfill your dreams,” Carnationspeckle chirped. Puddlewhisper lifted her head, ears turning south. She squinted, pupils narrow in the shiny sunlight.

“Someone just crossed the border,” she said, getting to her paws. Oilstripe, Carnationspeckle, and Halibutdusk followed her lead, claws out. “You can see them in the distance.” The Clan cats quickly followed Puddlewhisper’s gaze.

The intruder was nothing more than a speck in the grass from that distance. Oilstripe couldn’t even smell if they were a tom or a molly. Their dark fur was a shard of dull ocean rock thrown into the middle of the land, smooth from moons upon moons battered by the waves. They wandered deeper into RippleClan as though they were on patrol.

“If this is one of the same barn cats that keep trespassing,” Halibutdusk sighed, “we might have to show force.” 

“Something feels different about them,” Puddlewhisper muttered, eyes narrowing even more. “I can’t explain it.”

“I can,” Oilstripe said. As the intruder drew closer, Oilstripe saw another shape slipping through the grass. His ginger fur and white-wrapped torso were stuck in Oilstripe’s memory. He seemed to lead the newcomer toward the small gathering. Now why was Fennelspot leading a stranger over the border?

Carnationspeckle was the first to trot downhill, silky fur swaying softly. The others followed single file, all eyes on the stranger. The wind carried a molly’s scent to Oilstripe’s nose. The brown molly had bright bicolored eyes, coolly watching the incoming patrol. Fennelspot stopped when the patrol grew close. He looked to Oilstripe, familiar eyes easing any concerns she had of the intruder. With a low nod and a quick blink, Fennelspot vanished, leaving just the brown molly to tackle.

“Excuse us,” Carnationspeckle coughed. The brown molly sat undisturbed, eyes drifting over each cat. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you’re trespassing on our Clan’s territory. You’ve crossed our border by the horse path.” The others spread out around Carnationspeckle.

“I’m aware,” the stranger purred. Her tone was light and airy, a whispering wind or tuft of smoke blown from an oven where stew simmered and watered the mouths of passersby. 

“Then you know you’ll be escorted out,” Puddlewhisper huffed. “We don’t allow outsiders to wander into our land as they please.”

“I believe there is supposed to be an exception for me,” the stranger sighed. “My name is Esther, though from what I know, my name will change slightly when I join you. It seems your ancestors have an interest in me.” The patrol shared glances, shifting awkwardly, wondering if any of them had a good answer to Esther’s odd declaration.

“How would you know that?” Harvest asked, back arched slightly.

“I would be happy to tell you,” Esther said, getting up, “but first, would you help me with my kits?”

“Your kits?” Carnstionspeckle gasped, peering about like the kits would suddenly pop out of the grass.

“I’ve left them just by your border,” Esther explained. She flicked her tail the way she came. She sauntered off, but paused when no paw steps followed behind. “I didn’t wander into one of those territorial Clans, have I? The sort to leave a queen and her kits alone?”

“We’ll help,” Oilstripe promised. She gave everyone a cautious, knowing look. That was all Carnationspeckle needed to follow Esther toward the border. Harvest, Halibutdusk, and Puddlewhisper lingered behind while Oilstripe joined her mate. If Fennelspot was leading Esther into RippleClan (whether or not anyone knew he was there), then Esther couldn’t be a danger.

Esther led the patrol to the horse path, quiet of any rolling monsters. Esther was just another patch of mud in the recovering grass, a spot of brown in a sea of tan. Oilstripe could smell the kits before she saw the small dip in the ground some ways beyond the horse path. Esther crawled into the dip and nuzzled the tiny bodies tucked within.

“Hello, my darlings,” Estherfern purred. Five kits mewed with delight at their mother’s return. They were all earth-colored, ranging between brown and pale tan. Almost all of them sported Esther’s sunlit eyes. There was only one tom in the bunch. All five stared wide-eyed at the Clan cats. The tom and the brown tabby hopped over Esther and hid behind her. The dark brown kit stood on Esther to get a better view of them. The two pale mollies, however, scurried out of their makeshift nest and stared down Oilstripe.

“So many kits…” Puddlewhisper muttered as Esther pawed at her wayward daughters, urging them back to her side. 

“Tom cats!” the brown tabby gasped, peeking out from behind Esther. “Are you tom cats? Momma, you brought tom cats!”

“I’m a molly,” Puddlewhisper huffed, tucking into herself. “Halibutdusk isn’t a tom, either. They’re separate from toms and mollies.” Where Puddlewhisper seemed like she’d rather sink through the grass at the comment, Halibutdusk simply nodded, tail sagging.

“You can be something else?” one of the pale colored kits gasped, eyes sparkling. 

“Wolverinekit, don’t ask rude questions,” Esther warned, “and Thunderkit, don’t pester them.” Thunderkit stuck her tongue at her mother. A sharp glare from Esther sent Thunderkit scrambling toward her dark brown sister.

“They have Clan names,” Oilstripe realized. “How do you know how we name our kits?”

“I asked,” Esther purred. She glanced at the thin clouds above. “I’ve named my kits Thunderkit, Boughkit, Brightkit, Foamkit, and Wolverinekit.” Each kit jumped up at the sound of their name. Thunderkit and Foamkit were the pale mollies, one solid, one ticked. Boughkit was the dark brown kit, Brightkit was the golden-brown tom, leaving Wolverinekit as the curious long-furred tabby.

“I need an explanation before I lead you to our camp,” Puddlewhisper huffed, taking the lead. “It’s fine to ask to join our ranks, Harvest here did the same with her kits only a few moons ago.”

“Hello,” Harvest said with an awkward twitch of her tail.

“But claiming you’ve spoken to StarClan?” Puddlewhisper scoffed, unable to stop her ears from going flat. “I just don’t trust it, kits or no kits. So before I feel comfortable helping you, I want to understand what you’re suggesting.”

“Take a deep breath, Puddlewhisper,” Oilstripe said. She touched her tail to Puddlewhisper’s side. “Believe me when I say, there’s at least some truth to what Esther is saying.” Oilstripe turned to Esther and added, “She is right, though. I want to know what led you here.”

“Are you expecting my life’s story?” Esther sighed. Her son crawled under her chin. Esther groomed Brightkit’s head, earning a purr.

“Tell us how you know about StarClan,” Oilstripe said, sitting at the edge of the dip.

“Where I come from,” Esther sighed, “far to the west, prophecy is commonplace, if not more straightforward than what your ancestors love to craft. A prophecy is no more than a message from our God. When my God told me to travel east and find the five Clans, who was I to say no? I am needed here, apparently. I would have been here moons upon moons ago, if not for the human who snatched me in my sleep and threw me into her den. It was not the sort of place one could escape from, all filth and violence and too many cats in too small a space.”

“That…” Puddlewhisper muttered, pacing to the other side of the dip, “sounds familiar.” She studied the five kits, who all watched her like she would become a fearsome bear, ready to strike at any moment. “Esther, do you know a cat named Gwen?”

“She and I found a way out of that cesspool close to a moon ago,” Esther said. “By then, I had fallen pregnant, but I made do. They’re quite cute, after all.” Boughkit slid off Esther’s back with a small squeal, earning Thunderkit’s mockery. “While I rotted away, however, I began to hear more from your ancestors in my dreams. I was thrown off guard by their way of speaking, but I grew to find the meaning in their metaphors. Their prophecies told me how to find you, how to escape, and how to name my kits.” Wolverinekit stared bug-eyed at Puddlewhisper as the gray molly thought through Esther’s story.

“Do you believe her, Oilstripe?” Puddlewhisper asked. Oilstripe loafed at the dip’s edge, carefully staring at Esther.

“Can you describe any of the cats from your dream, Esther?” Oilstripe wondered. 

“Oh, there were a few over the moons,” Esther sighed. “None gave me their name. The most common sight in the last few moons has been… a tailless tortoiseshell, gray and ginger.”

“Parsley?” Carnationspeckle gasped. While Harvest was unphased by the name, everyone else paid a bit more attention to Esther. 

“If StarClan has called you here,” Halibutdusk asked, “then you must have some idea as to why.”

“I can give you their last prophecy to me,” Esther purred as Wolverinekit and Brightkit started nibbling at each other. “But I need to know you’ll escort me to your camp. I need to secure a safe home for my kits.”

“There’s no reason we wouldn’t, right Oilstripe?” Harvest said with a friendly cock of her tail.

“If you have so much experience with prophecies,” Oilstripe said as Foamkit once again left the dip and sniffed around the Clan cats’ legs, “RippleClan could use your expertise as one of our clerics.”

“I want to hear this prophecy, first,” Puddlewhisper huffed. Foamkit pawed at Puddlewhisper’s leg. Puddlewhisper peered down, curious. Foamkit wiggled her flank and launched at Puddlewhisper. She clawed up Puddlewhisper’s leg and stood on Puddlewhisper’s back. Puddlewhisper could only stand stunned for a moment before she suddenly started laughing. “Oh, do you want a horse ride?”

“What’s a—” Foamkit said, but she wasn’t fast enough. Puddlewhisper kicked and bucked like a frantic horse. Foamkit dug her claws in, squealing and laughing the whole way. The other kits wooed and awed at the sight, running toward Puddlewhisper. They chased after her as Foamkit held on for her short life.

“Well, while you’re busy mangling my daughter,” Esther sighed, “I’ll give you the prophecy.” Esther climbed out of the dip and cleared her throat. “Ferns spread spores across fertile soil. There is much to learn from their growth, good and bad.”

“Sounds like your average prophecy,” Oilstripe admitted. “I don’t think Downstar and Weedfoot will have any issues with you joining the Clan as another cleric. I’m sure Honeybuzz and my daughter, Troutpool, would appreciate the extra paws.”

“I know you gave your kits Clan names,” Carnationspeckle pointed out, “but you don’t have to change your name if you don’t want to. There are plenty of cats who keep their old names in RippleClan, like James!”

“Thank you, but I actually decided on a Clan-like name while I was recovering from my kitting,” the strange brown molly said. “I was hoping to be called Estherfern. I believe the name to be appropriate

(Oilstripe: 73, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Halibutdusk: 60, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Harvest: 57, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Carnationspeckle: 71, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Puddlewhisper: 35, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

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

(Estherfern: 103, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Wolverinekit: 1, female, kit, skittish, always asking questions)

(Thunderkit: 1, female, kit, bullying, moss-ball hunter)

(Boughkit: 1, female, kit, quiet, constantly climbing)

(Brightkit: 1, male, kit, shy, lover of art)

(Foamkit: 1, female, kit, unruly, always wandering)

Rattlepelt eavesdrops on Wolfkit.

[Image ID: Anchovykit says to Wolfkit, “She scares me, Wolfkit! My mom won’t believe me!” Rattlepelt listens in from the side.]

---

A kit just couldn’t get any privacy in RippleClan, it seemed. 

The first place Anchovykit tried to speak to Wolfkit was between the Shiprock and the medicine den. It was blocked off enough, so cats would have given them a bit of privacy. But new arrival Estherfern was causing a fuss in the medicine den, complaining about the herbs inside (“How can I focus on developing my relationship with your higher powers when you want me to crush leaves and roots all day?”). So that wouldn’t have been a good place to talk.

Anchovykit tried the quarantine den next. No one was there, so no one would interrupt. Except he then remembered just how many cats passed by to make dirt…. Not the right place.

He didn’t even stop to consider the nursery. Clammask and Lemmy were still talking to the visiting WheatClan queen about whether she needed to stick around and nurse Waspdawn’s kits, or if Estherfern could assist in the task. With well over a dozen kits of all ages inside, Anchovykit wouldn’t have been able to think, let alone talk to Wolfkit.

That was when he remembered that Mitepaw was the only apprentice in the Clan, and she had just left to collect wood with Rabbitjoy. The apprentice’s den was completely empty. The perfect place to talk.

“Anchovykit, why do you need to be so secretive?” Wolfkit sighed as Anchovykit led her into the apprentice’s den. The setting sun cast the entire den in deep shadow, better hiding the pair.

“Because this is really important!” Anchovykit huffed. With just the one nest inside, the den felt rather barren. The planks covering the roof seemed hollow in comparison to the secure stone walls of the nursery. Regardless, Anchovykit sat to the side, urging Wolfkit deeper into the darkness.

“So what is it?” Wolfkit asked. Anchovykit held his breath, trying to build up his courage and words.

“Did you talk to Spikecrash last moon about seeing things that weren’t there?” he gulped. Wolfkit pinned her big ears flat.

“How do you know about that?” Wolfkit whined.

“I overheard Spikecrash and Paleseed discuss it while I was making dirt,” Anchovykit admitted. “Wolfkit, I need to know! Do you see things glow, too? Do you see what’s wrong with Rattlepelt?” Anchovykit’s ears were as flat as Wolfkit’s.

“What’s wrong with Rattlepelt?” Wolfkit gulped.

“The ooze!” Anchovykit cried, stamping his paw. “The black stuff! The… oh what did she call it? The ichor! It’s all over her! She scares me, Wolfkit! My mom won’t believe me!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wolfkit whined.

“You know how mad she gets sometimes!” Anchovykit groaned. “Didn’t you see her yell at Mitepaw and Elmsprout yesterday?”

Anchovykit didn’t know what started the fight. He had been with Robinkit, Silverkit, and Vervainkit, learning a hunter’s crouch from Scaleripple. Mitepaw and Elmsprout had been talking about AshClan woodwork, the former showing off some of her pieces to Ravenkit. She had carved a bird’s wing out of a chunk of fallen wood, much to Ravenkit’s awe. It was in the midst of this happy moment that Rattlepelt appeared, giving into her own rage like a fire devouring the last of its fuel and surging upward in defiance. In Anchovykit’s unique eyes, Rattlepelt’s gaze shifted between the dark copper described by others and a burning, hateful yellow, her ichor smearing the sand. Oh how she had raged against Mitepaw and Elmsprout, screaming of traitors and false loyalty. It took both Puddlewhisper and Waspdawn to drag Rattlepelt away from the terrified mollies, the mediators hot on her trail, ready to uncover the truth of the outburst. 

But Anchovykit knew. He’d known for moons.

“There’s something wrong with Rattlepelt, and no one will believe me,” Anchovykit groaned. “It’s more than anger. I think she’s cursed! I thought you saw it too!”

“That’s not what I talked to Spikecrash about,” Wolfkit muttered, staring at her paws. “I see something else.”

“Do you see the future too?” Anchovykit and Wolfkit jumped, backs arched comically high. Weevilkit stood at the den’s entrance, shaking sand out of her pelt.

“It’s not nice to eavesdrop, Weevilkit!” Wolfkit huffed as her sister joined the duo inside.

“I only heard the last little bit,” Weevilkit insisted. “Now tell me what it is you see!”

“No, wait,” Anchovykit said, trying to smooth out the surprise prickling his pelt, “did you say you see the future?”

“Well, I’ve been keeping it a secret,” Weevilkit chuckled with a cocky sway of her flank. “I want to shock the clerics when I become an apprentice. I don’t want them to be jealous of how special I am.”

“Do you get visions from StarClan?” Wolfkit asked.

“Not like the clerics,” Weevilkit purred. “I see things just before they happen. Like when Estherfern arrived today! I saw her enter camp just before she actually entered camp. I’ve been seeing things like this for a while now. I didn’t know what it was at first, but now I know that it’s just what makes me special!”

“Oh, I know the word for that!” Wolfkit gasped. “Premonitions!”

“That’s it!” Weevilkit chirped, bouncing. “Do you have them too?”

“I see something else,” Anchovykit said, a bit more confident than when Weevilkit first interrupted. “I think it’s… influence. I see what StarClan touches, I think. If they like a place or person, it glows. I think I uncurse cats, too! I had a dream where a StarClan cat helped me uncurse Tempestshade so they could go to StarClan.” Wolfkit and Weevilkit looked at Anchovykit like they would look at a great hero of the Clans.

“So we’re both special,” Weevilkit gasped. She shoved Wolfkit and said, “What do you see, what do you see?”

“I don’t know if I actually see anything,” Wolfkit gulped, sitting with a plop, gaze stuck downward. “There was just something weird that happened last moon. I don’t think it’s happened since.”

“Well, try to make it happen again,” Weevilkit insisted. “What was it?”

“Um…” Wolfkit muttered. “I was playing with Yarrowkit, and I ran in front of her and glared at her like this.” Wolfkit lifted her eyes and stared at Anchovykit.

There was no moment between Wolfkit’s stare and what happened next. Anchovykit was on the ground, Weevilkit standing on his shoulder, smacking his head. Wolfkit crouched in on herself, shaking.

“Anchovykit!” Weevilkit yowled. She smacked Anchovykit’s face again. Anchovykit shoved her off.

“What was that?” he snapped.

“You weren’t breathing,” Wolfkit whined, swallowing hard. “You wouldn’t answer us. You weren’t doing anything. It was just like with Yarrowkit.”

“I don’t remember anything,” Anchovykit huffed, shaking out his pelt.

“Wolfkit, stare at me this time!” Weevilkit chirped, bounding away from Anchovykit and sitting in Mitepaw’s nest.

“Okay,” Wolfkit gulped. She turned her fearful gaze to Weevilkit. 

Anchovykit stared, waiting for something to happen. Except nothing did. Anchovykit quickly realized that was the point. Weevilkit did not move a single whisker. She did not blink. She did not breathe. Her eyes seemed hollow, frozen in a memory, a moment that had passed her by but that she could not leave.

“How do you stop it?” Anchovykit gasped. Wolfkit blinked hard. Weevilkit snapped back to life, once again wiggling with anticipation for something that already happened. She realized what she had missed as soon as she looked over at Anchovykit.

“We’re all special!” Weevilkit cheered. She ran to Wolfkit, nuzzling her sister. “We’re all special! I love it! You freeze people, Wolfkit! You’re special!” Wolfkit beamed in her sister’s praise. “Let’s go, let’s go! Let’s celebrate! We’re special!” Weevilkit charged out of the apprentice’s den. Caught up in the moment, Anchovykit and Wolfkit ran after her.

Rattlepelt was sitting directly next to the apprentice’s den. Anchovykit skidded in the sand at the sight of the furious, unnatural yellow eyes that only he could see. The ichor that pooled around Rattlepelt’s legs stained the leather she had been mending. Her claws poked through the leather. Anchovykit’s legs went numb. How much had she heard?

“This way!” Weevilkit snapped, nipping at Anchovykit’s scruff. The excitement and joy that had consumed her a moment before had vanished, replaced with a stiff terror. Weevilkit led Wolfkit toward the dirt-place. Anchovykit ran after them, just as Rattlepelt got to her paws.

Weevilkit skirted around the shipwreck and dove into the empty quarantine den. Anchovykit and Wolfkit scrambled to keep up, panting as their little hearts beat hard.

“I had another pree-me,” Weevilkit gulped.

“Premonition,” Wolfkit said softly.

“Rattlepelt was about to get really, really mad at us,” Weevikit said, shivering. “Is she following us?” Anchovykit glanced outside. The dirt-place was empty. No sign of Rattlepelt.

“There’s something wrong with her,” Anchovykit huffed. “Special cats always use their powers for good in stories, right? I think we need to use ours against Rattlepelt.”

“Maybe we should tell an adult,” Wolfkit suggested, glancing outside. 

“They won’t believe us,” Anchovykit huffed. “Waspdawn’s litter is so small! We have to keep them safe from Rattlepelt.”

“Would she hurt them?” Wolfkit gulped.

“You don’t see her like I do,” Anchovykit huffed, trying once more to be brave. “I think with her curse, she’s capable of anything.”

(Anchovykit: 4, male, kit, charming, curious about StarClan)

(Wolfkit: 4, female, kit, polite, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

(Weevilkit: 4, female, kit, bullying, curious about StarClan)

(Rattlepelt: 52, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 39, Part 2 (The Trial)

James has been resistant to retiring, but his aches and pains have slowed him down. He approaches Downstar and is honored for his tireless service.

[Image ID: James sits in the middle of the screen.]

It was strange for Weedfoot to consider herself to be even close to elder age. Still, there she was, watching her mate throw off the caretaker title and become an elder. He put on a show for Downstar and the others, claiming that he wanted to continue his service, to guide his kits through apprenticeship, but was “too easily exhausted” to continue his vigilant protection of the camp and all within. Now it was somewhat true; camp duties were his favorite, and walks around the territory had begun to tire him. But Weedfoot was certain that her fellow perceptive Clanmates saw the truth of it all.

James was finally old enough to retire without being called lazy, and he was taking that opportunity like a kit hunts a mossball.

Weedfoot let her mate celebrate his retirement with Parsley and Rabbitjoy. She would have plenty of time with him later, so why not let him brag to his friends about how easy his life would be now? Instead, as the Clan dismissed and Downstar went to her den, Weedfoot followed Downstar. The tortoiseshell leader was a bit like her old, friendly self now that she had Rustshade to pour her worries on, but since Harvest Moon a few days prior…

“Downstar?” Weedfoot called into the leader’s den. Downstar had been about to step into her nest, but turned at the sound of her deputy’s call.

“Something the matter?” Downstar asked. Weedfoot hesitated, unsure how to open the conversation. Paleshade would have known; she was always closer to Downstar than Weedfoot, even compared to the first moons of RippleClan, when the leader and deputy duo flowed together like birds flying in formation.

“I spoke with Rustshade and Mousesong earlier today.” Weedfoot entered the den and took a cautious seat a couple tail-lengths away. “Both will be ready for the trial tomorrow, if that is acceptable.”

“So soon?” Downstar sighed.

“By AshClan standards, this has been tediously slow,” Weedfoot said with a forced chuckle. The tensed muscles under Downstar’s fluffy coat killed Weedfoot’s laugh.

“StarClan,” Downstar groaned, walking toward the exit. “The first trial in RippleClan’s history… and I have to try my own kits.” Downstar paused and stared out at camp. Weedfoot joined her. Downstar’s gaze rested on a group of three outside the warrior’s den. Rustshade leaned close to Shadowdrop and Wildclaw, as he was prone to do in recent days. They were more than likely discussing their plan of attack for the trial once again. The pair of siblings couldn’t leave camp without escorts while they awaited their trial, and the wait physically dragged on Wildclaw. Even as she listened to Rustshade, she glanced toward the camp exit.

“I’m sorry this is happening,” Weedfoot sighed. “This is a fine mess we’ve found ourselves in.”

“How can I hope to judge them fairly when all I see are three healthy grandkits and my son acting like the father he’s dreamed of being?” Downstar turned back and marched into her nest. “The story doesn’t feel real to me.”

“Try not to think about the story too much,” Weedfoot reminded her. “You need to be as open-minded as possible for the trial.”

“I will be,” Downstar growled, tail fluffing. “I don’t give anyone special privileges. If they did something wrong, I’ll punish them, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt!” Weedfoot stiffened. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know they were ready.” Weedfoot bowed to her leader.

Yet as Weedfoot turned to go, Downstar groaned, “Wait, wait. Don’t leave, Weedfoot. I’m the one who’s sorry. I should not have snapped at you.” Weedfoot hesitated. She slowly approached Downstar and sat beside her. “I haven’t been able to talk to Rustshade while he’s preparing to defend my kits. I can’t deny my current feelings about this mess.”

“We’re conducting this trial together,” Weedfoot reminded her. “If anyone can listen to your worries about it now, I can.” Downstar sighed. She relaxed slightly and shifted closer to Weedfoot.

“Why did they have to go about it like this?” Downstar sighed.

(Weedfoot: 87, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(James: 115, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Downstar: 98, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

Shadowdrop is charged with endangering a queen and stealing her kits. Wildclaw shares the charge. Rustshade acts as their defender and Mousesong as their inquisitor.

[Image ID: Shadowdrop and Wildclaw stand behind Rustshade. The three all watch Mousesong stride forward.]

---

Practically the entirety of RippleClan took the day off to bear witness to the first trial in their young history. Rabbitjoy would still need to cook and they couldn’t simply leave their borders unchecked, but if a cat could stay in camp, they did. Who would want to miss such a spectacle?

Each of the original four Clans had their own traditions for a trial, which meant RippleClan needed their own, and quickly. The Clan had Rattlepelt to thank for their final idea. As the subjects of the trial, Shadowdrop and Wildclaw each wore tight leather bands around their necks, almost like the strange collars of human society. Rustshade had a smaller band around his front paw, a symbol of the defender empathizing and placing themself in the paws of their charges. Mousesong, as inquisitor, had the most elaborate adornment; a necklace lined with beautiful clam shell beads, dyed blue with dogwood bark. The beads clacked together as Mousesong moved like the soft whispers of StarClan taking their place as quiet judges.

Downstar sat on top of the Shiprock, with Weedfoot settled below her, eyeing the Clan for any disruptions to the trial. Fennelspot sat to the side of the rock, fidgeting with the sand under his paws. The sunrise burned across the ocean and covered the camp in warm orange light. The shadows concealed Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe, who sat by the nursery with four kits. Troutkit had opened her eyes the day before and babbled random sounds that vaguely resembled words, but the litter of three black kits were still quiet and shut off from the world.

“A trial is a sacred duty of a just leader,” Downstar declared, all eyes on her. “To decide on guilt and punishment for a crime such as this without hearing from the Clan would be the act of a tyrannical leader. This is why we have our codekeepers; with them, we honor our laws and protect one another.” Shadowdrop’s gaze fell to his paws at the mention of codekeepers.

“A trial demands silence from the audience,” Weedfoot called. “Do not interrupt the proceedings unless there is an emergency. If you need to speak to me, please wave me down and do not draw attention away from the trial.” Weedfoot stared at the elder’s den with that statement. James had his five kits gathered around him. Most were polite and sat quietly, studying the trial, but Lavenderkit squirmed and trotted around his family. Waspkit smacked his brother and forced him to sit. 

“Inquisitor,” Downstar said, turning to Mousesong, “are you ready to provide evidence of code-breaking and prove the guilt of the accused?”

“I am, Downstar,” Mousesong huffed, her necklace clinking as she nodded.

“Defender,” Downstar continued, looking to Rustshade, “are you ready to protect your Clanmates from undue punishment?”

“I am,” Rustshade said.

“And…” Downstar said. She hesitated for a moment as she made eye contact with her son and daughter. “And accused, are you prepared to accept the outcome of this trial, whatever it may be?”

“We are,” Shadowdrop said, unflinching.

“Then inquisitor, explain the purpose of this trial,” Downstar declared, laying down with her paws dangling off the tip of the Shiprock. Mousesong stood and faced the rest of RippleClan.

“Shadowdrop and Wildclaw share the charges of endangering a queen and her kits,” Mousesong began. Her gaze lingered on each of her Clanmates for a few long seconds before moving onto the next cat. “In this, the pair stole three kits from their mother’s belly and left the queen to suffer birthing complications and eventually pass onto wherever the souls of loners go to rest. Today, I will prove to you, cats of RippleClan, that Shadowdrop coerced a loner into having his kits in an attempt to fill the emotional hole left by Carnationspeckle’s rejection of him. In doing this, he recruited Wildclaw to bear witness to the birth and take the kits to RippleClan, where the molly of Shadowdrop’s desires would feel compelled to nurse and care for his children, just as Shadowdrop dreamed.” Oilstripe reflexively moved in front of Carnationspeckle at the mention of the brown molly’s name. 

“Today, I intend to prove that Shadowdrop acted not out of love, but of selfish desire that cost a young molly her life. I also intend to prove that Wildclaw shares this guilt as an accomplice to the stealing of Tempestkit, Mosskit, and Trumpetkit.” Mousesong looked back to Downstar as she said the names of the three newborn kits. Downstar nodded, and Mousesong sat back down.

“Defender,” Downstar said, “how do you refute these charges?”

“The code my charges are accused of breaking is the Code of Queens and Kits,” Rustshade said. Rather than facing the crowd, Rustshade remained focused on Downstar. “However, in the process of this accusation and investigation, members of our Clan have also broken this code. This code is meant to protect kits and their parents from undue harassment, and yet Clammask, Scrubmask, and Fennelspot set off to investigate Shadowdrop’s claims, thereby breaking the code themselves.” Clammask tried to speak, but Scrubmask harshly nudged her, keeping her silent.

“This code allows for the breeding of kits with cats outside of the Clan in order to encourage the growth of our numbers and strength of our blood. We may memorize this code as applying to mollies who become pregnant, but it applies to toms who bring their kits to camp as well. Shadowdrop had no romantic ties to the mother of his kits. He did not break the code in this way. He cannot be blamed for the death of his queen because upon leaving her, she displayed no signs of the fatal condition that would befall her.”

“She had a name, Dad!” Clammask finally snapped. Parsley, Waspkit, and Rabbitjoy yowled their agreement.

“Quiet, quiet!” Weedfoot yowled over them.

“So I have to be quiet but you can yowl all you want?” Lavenderkit hissed at his brother.

“No one should be yowling,” James huffed, flicking his tail over both toms’ noses.

“Clammask brings up a good point, despite her interruption,” Downstar sighed. “The queen’s name was Cinderella. We should refer to her as such. She may not have been a Clan cat, but we owe her enough respect to use her name.” Mousesong and Rustshade bowed slightly.

“Cinderella’s death is a tragedy,” Rustshade continued, “but she had no intention of joining RippleClan and had no romantic relationship with Shadowdrop. At the heart of the situation, this was not a break in the code, as I intend to show you today.”

“Very good,” Downstar said. “The inquisitor and defender will take turns calling their witnesses to give statements before the Clan. They will both ask questions of the witness and present appropriate evidence during each interview. The inquisitor will call her first witness.”

“I have many witnesses I plan to call today,” Mousesong declared, “such as Clammask, Waspkit, and Carnationspeckle. However, there is one witness that overshadows the rest in importance. I call to bear witness before RippleClan and StarClan… Cinderella.” RippleClan stared at Mousesong. No one dared speak up. Then Oilstripe slipped away from Carnationspeckle. Traditionally, witnesses were supposed to sit next to the deputy, but Oilstripe left a large space beteeen herself and Weedfoot.

“Mousesong, Oilstripe, explain this,” Downstar ordered.

“Not long after Clammask, Scrubmask, and Fennelspot returned to camp with news of Cinderella’s demise,” Mousesong explained, “Oilstripe began to see a new spirit wandering camp. We all know of her ghost sight, as verified by Fennelspot, so this in and of itself is not surprising. Yet this spirit lacked the same starry pelts as StarClan spirits and looked nothing like any cat Oilstripe knew of. This cat was Cinderella. She has agreed to answer questions with Oilstripe as an interpreter.”

“Objection!” Rustshade yowled. “Oilstripe has never reported seeing the spirit of a cat outside StarClan in the past. Even then, how can we trust that she’s reporting exactly what this spirit says?”

“Thank you for the trust, Dad,” Oilstripe muttered.

“We treat the testimony just like we would treat anyone else’s,” Mousesong explained. “I’m sure StarClan wouldn’t accept a perversion of their gift. If Oilstripe were to add her own words to the testimony, StarClan will likely inform Fennelspot.”

“Incredibly unorthodox,” Downstar muttered, “but I don’t know a time in living history when a Clan has been able to take a dead molly’s testimony. Oilstripe, do you swear to report only what the spirit of Cinderella tells you?”

“I do,” Oilstripe said, glancing overhead at her leader.

“Then begin your interview, inquisitor,” Downstar declared.

[Image ID: Mousesong speaks with Oilstripe. The ghost of a smoky black molly with a white collar stands next to Oilstripe. Oilstripe/Cinderella say “We had a deal. Bear kits with him, and he would teach me as much about Clan life as he could. Fire starting, cooking, crafting, everything.”]

Mousesong approached Oilstripe with a calculated gaze. She glanced at the empty spot beside her.

“I hope your afterlife is peaceful, Cinderella,” Mousesong said to the empty space. “I’m sure Rustshade will be questioning you on how you can exist when we thought Oilstripe only saw StarClan spirits. Do you have any answers for us?” Oilstripe’s ears tilted to the empty space. She was quiet for a while, listening to something no one else could hear.

“My mother told me that when I died, I would spend a year in the land I left behind, making sure my loved ones are safe before I move on,” Oilstripe said, although it would be more truthful to say that Cinderella said so. “This is just what I expected. Since I died, I thought it would be good to make sure my kits went to a good home.”

“Yes, your kits,” Rustshade huffed. He marched up beside Mousesong. His focus shifted between Oilstripe and where everyone presumed the spirit of Cinderella sat. “Kits you had with the young black tom behind me, am I correct?”

“She’s nodding,” Oilstripe reported.

“Is it true that you agreed to give the kits to RippleClan long before their birth?” Rustshade asked. Oilstripe squirmed as she waited for Cinderella’s response.

“I think you’ve made her nervous,” Oilstripe admitted, shifting closer to the Shiprock.

“This is a lot, isn’t it?” Mousesong sighed. “You find that you’ve died, you find a stranger who can see you, and you’re suddenly thrust into the ritual of a strange group. I can’t relate to being dead, but I understand feeling strange. I came to RippleClan when I was young. Everyone decided my fate for me. I imagine that’s a bit like what you’ve experienced as a loner, am I correct?” Oilstripe listened for a long time.

“Froggy told me about the Clans,” Oilstripe/Cinderella explained. “I didn’t want to live in one, but I liked what you could do. I thought if I could cook prey for my sister and I, it would be easier to live away from humans. I asked a few cats I saw near your borders, but none seemed interested in talking to me until I met Shadowdrop.”

“Yes, elaborate on your relationship with Shadowdrop,” Mousesong urged her on.

“We had a deal. Bear kits with him, and he would teach me as much about Clan life as he could. Fire starting, cooking, crafting, everything.”

“Did he tell you why he wanted to have kits?”

“He wanted a family.”

“Yes, a desire that the code has clear-cut provisions for!” Rustshade interrupted. “This only proves my argument, Downstar. Shadowdrop was not romantically involved with Cinderella, it was a deal as simple as the ones mollies make with strange sires.”

“That may be true,” Mousesong huffed, “but we have yet to get to the kitting itself. Can you take us through it, Cinderella?” Shadowdrop shifted closer to Wildclaw.

“When I felt the kits coming, I went to RippleClan,” Oilstripe translated for Cinderella. “Shadowdrop told me about all the medicines in the Clans, so I thought we would have the kits there. We met up nearly every day, so I knew where to wait for him. When he saw me, he told me to stay strong and went to fetch help.”

“He brought back Wildclaw, yes?” Mousesong clarified. 

“My memory blurs a bit when they get back. I was focused on my kitting. The first two kits came out right, but after the third kit, I felt different. I think there was an issue. It was hard to describe. What I remember is that not long after I cleaned up the third kit, Shadowdrop and his guest left with the kits. I was alone. I wasn’t sure what to do. I headed for home, but I suppose I never made it back.”

“It may be an odd testimony, but members of RippleClan, you’ve heard it from the victim,” Mousesong declared, facing the crowd. “Shadowdrop and Wildclaw left Cinderella behind, in pain, without her kits. Fennelspot could have saved her, but she never got the chance. How can we say this is a simple case of siring when they left Cinderella to die and tried to forget she ever existed?”

“I want to go back to how you said your memory blurs,” Rustshade huffed. “If you don’t remember much, how can we trust that what you do remember is correct?”

“Shadowdrop showed up with three black kits, didn’t he?” As Oilstripe repeated what only she could hear, she glared at Shadowdrop. Another pair of eyes stared at the black tom too, but they were invisible to nearly everyone. Shadowdrop felt the glare of both mollies.

Shadowdrop and Wildclaw are found guilty. Shadowdrop is demoted to a warrior and must spend the next half moon in exile. Wildclaw will be on nursery duty until the litter is apprenticed (a task she hates).

[Image ID: Shadowdrop and Wildclaw listen to their sentences.]

There were quite a few more witnesses after Cinderella (Waspkit, Clammask, Carnationspeckle, even Oilstripe came back as her own witness) but none could match hers in terms of strangeness. It seemed every interview looped back to what the unseen spirit had said. More than a few cats stepped out of camp to debate whether the loner’s ghost was actually there or if Oilstripe was lying to get Shadowdrop in trouble. Regardless of the truth, Mousesong dug into the statement like prey with every argument she crafted.

Rustshade, oddly enough, only called Wildclaw as a witness. She didn’t have much to add; her brother asked for her help, of course she helped. Shadowdrop, however, stayed where he was, studying his Clanmates, itching at his ceremonial collar.

Downstar took a while to make a decision. She called many members of RippleClan into her den to hear their opinions on the matter like any informed leader would. Despite it all, the wait was like a blanket of fleas crawling across the pelt of RippleClan. Shadowdrop and Wildclaw waited with Rustshade in the center of camp the entire time. While Wildclaw kept pestering Rustshade about what would happen next, Shadowdrop stared at the nursery, where his three squirmy kits slept in the darkness.

Downstar left her den shortly before sunset. Conversations died away and curious eyes watched Downstar climb onto the Shiprock. Shadowdrop sat up and nudged his sister. Weedfoot hurried out of the nursery and took her place below Downstar.

“I have come to my decision,” Downstar announced, studying her kits. “Before I pass my judgment, however, there’s someone we still haven’t heard from today. Shadowdrop?” Shadowdrop met his mother’s eye. “Wildclaw may share your charges, but in essence, you are the one on trial here. You’ve barely spoken today. I need to hear this from you. Tell us the truth, Shadowdrop. Please.” Shadowdrop stood, shaking the sand off his paws.

“I wanted a family, Mom,” Shadowdrop said. “I went about it the only way I could. If I couldn’t have them with Carnationspeckle, I would have them with someone else. I hid the truth at first because I knew people would make the wrong conclusions. I can be a great father. I’ll raise these kits to be model RippleClan cats.” Wildclaw poked Shadowdrop before he could say more. Over by the warrior’s den, Clammask and Oilstripe bristled. 

“Shadowdrop…” Downstar sighed. Her weary eyes washed over the Clan. “There were other ways to start a family. The way you’ve gone about it was irresponsible and selfish. What if Carnationspeckle wasn’t here to nurse your kits? Or did you sire them knowing she would?”

“That’s not what he wanted, Mom,” Wildclaw growled, stepping closer with unsheathed paws.

“Wildclaw, you don’t know what he wanted,” Downstar snapped. “You followed him out into the territory and didn’t ask questions. You don’t think these things through, Wildclaw, and it shows.” Wildclaw froze. She sat back beside Shadowdrop. Downstar sighed deeply, a shiver running down her pelt. As she relaxed, she sat taller and glared down at Shadowdrop and Wildclaw.

“Warriors of StarClan, may my words and my actions today honor your sacred code and protect RippleClan. Shadowdrop, Wildclaw, I find you guilty of endangering a queen and her kits. Your act of siring may be protected by the code, but you left a struggling mother to die and took away her kits. No matter what deal you may have made, you were cruel. All you cared about was having kits that you could watch Carnationspeckle nurse.”

“That’s not true!” Shadowdrop yowled. “I… I was…” Shadowdrop’s eyes bounced in his skull, searching for answers he couldn’t find.

“Shadowdrop, your attempt to sneak around the Code of Queens and Kits shows me that you cannot be trusted to guard the code in the future,” Downstar said. Her tone was still and steady. “Upon your return, you will no longer be a codekeeper, but a warrior assigned to whatever tasks your Clan needs.”

“Mom…” Shadowdrop gulped.

“When he returns?” Wildclaw snapped. “What does that mean?”

“Cinderella agreed to your deal in order to learn our skills and better survive as a loner,” Downstar explained. “You showed no compassion for her, and so should get a glimpse of what she may have experienced. For the next half moon, you will live in exile. You will not be allowed in RippleClan territory and must care for yourself like Cinderella did.” Shadowdrop stared up at Downstar. He kept still, but his jaw quivered and the tip of his tail twitched wildly. “In other circumstances, this could have been a permanent exile, Shadowdrop. Reflect on that. Mousesong, escort Shadowdrop out of RippleClan territory.” 

Rustshade gently helped Shadowdrop out of his ceremonial collar. Shadowdrop’s scared gaze tore into the nursery as Mousesong nudged him back. RippleClan parted as Mousesong shoved Shadowdrop out of camp. Halibutdusk looked at his paws as his brother passed. Downstar couldn’t look away.

“Wildclaw,” she finally said after a long, pain-soaked minute. “You could have helped Cinderella, but you didn’t. I believe you have perspectives on Clan life that need to be corrected. As such, until Shadowdrop’s litter is apprenticed, you will be on nursery duty. You will not be allowed on any other patrols and will care for the kits’ every need.”

“I don’t need to be in the nursery all day!” Wildclaw groaned. 

“You do and you will, Wildclaw!” Downstar yowled. “There will be no bargaining. Your punishment is set. May StarClan forgive you both. This trial is over.” Downstar soared off the Shiprock and sulked into her den. Halibutdusk was the first of the Clan to step out of the crowd. He headed for his mother’s den. Wildclaw struggled and pulled at her collar. Rattlepelt had to pull her paw away and help her before she broke the leather. Oilstripe hurried to the nursery, Weedfoot’s kits slipped around her to find their mother, and the Clan carefully broke into heated whispers.

With that, RippleClan’s first trial was finally over.

(Downstar: 98, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Weedfoot: 87, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Mousesong: 15, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

(Rustshade: 83, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Wildclaw: 31, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Shadowdrop: 31, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Clammask: 33, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Lavenderkit: 5, male, kit, noisy, likes to sing)

(James: 115, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Oilstripe: 43, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Halibutdusk: 31, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 42

Carnationspeckle recovers from birthing strains. Fennelspot does his best to prop up Spike’s body and feels growing concern at the rancid smell coming from the broken and twisted part of Spike’s back.

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle sits in the back while Fennelspot looks after Spike. Under Carnationspeckle, it says - CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. Under Spike, it says + INFECTION.]

Lavenderpaw was curious about Spike. Why wouldn’t he be? Shadowdrop, who had only recently come back from his punishment for causing one molly’s death, saves the life of another? A molly that most likely knew Cinderella?  Lavenderpaw was no historian, but it was quite the story! Of course he wanted to know more!

Despite that curiosity, Lavenderpaw didn’t get much of a chance to see Spike. Scrubmask loved to keep him busy. StarClan, that warrior was tighter than a leather strap! Every day, it was “Lavenderpaw, here’a why we patrol” and “Lavenderpaw, warriors help where needed”, there was no time for fun! Lavenderpaw’s littermates seemed to enjoy their apprenticeships. Palepaw learned from everyone she could about being a meditator. Wasppaw and Puddlepaw got to have fake arguments and pick apart famous trials of the past. Ripplepaw had a mentor that could interview ghosts! What could Scrubmask do? Snap at Lavenderpaw for humming?

Lucky for Lavenderpaw, his mother was deputy. While Weedfoot was still sick, she could boss cats around again. That’s how Lavenderpaw ended up Fennelspot’s apprentice for the day.

“Bubblemoon and I are some of the only living clerics to have dealt with broken backs,” Fennelspot explained as he darted about the medicine den. “We’ll be talking at the half-moon meeting for a while about Spike’s condition. I need to know that you can handle any sniffles or complaints the Clan may bring up while I’m gone.”

“You’ve given me a lot of medicine to help,” Lavenderpaw said, eyeing the vast assortment of ointments and powders along the walls. “If I have any questions, I can ask Palepaw.”

“And if it’s a true emergency, send Scrubmask to collect me,” Fennelspot reminded him. He placed a small jar into a leather pouch, tightened the twine around it, and slid it around his neck. “Carnationspeckle should be coming in sometime tonight for something to stop her milk. The kits stopped nursing a while ago, but Carnationspeckle’s still producing milk. I have a sage and parsley she needs to add to her next meal, give her the small pouch next to Spike.” Fennelspot and Lavenderpaw glanced Spike’s way. The loner spent most of her days lying quietly in her nest, silently watching visitors or turned to the wall. The latter was true that day.

Lavenderpaw leaned close to Fennelspot and whispered, “Should I do anything with her?”

“Just keep your eye on her and get her anything she needs,” Fennelspot said. “Spike? I’ll be back early in the morning. Lavenderpaw will help you while I’m gone.” Spike shifted her paw, the only sign she heard Fennelspot at all. Fennelspot sighed. He touched noses with Lavenderpaw and trotted out into the chilly winter sunset.

Lavenderpaw examined the den. Being cleric for a day would be fun! Just looking after the Clan, just like he already did. He had to admit, all the medicines were certainly interesting. He trotted up to Carnationspeckle’s prepared bundle and studied each herb and concoction. As his thoughts drifted, he settled on a song.

“Come join claw in paw, brave warriors all,

And rouse your bold hearts at fair liberty’s call;

No tyrannous acts, shall suppress your just claim—”

“Or stain with dishonor the dear Ripple’s name.” Lavenderpaw’s head spun toward Spike.

“You know The Movement’s Call?” Lavenderpaw gasped. Spike grew still. “Don’t go quiet on me! I love The Movement’s Call! How does a loner know that song?” Spike sighed deeply.

“Help me face you,” Spike muttered. Lavenderpaw bolted over. He carefully helped Spike stand on her front paws and, keeping her back straight with the brace, slowly spun her around. Lavenderpaw could smell the infection in Spike’s heavily covered wound. He wondered if Spike could groom herself with her injury. Surely Fennelspot was grooming her. So why was her fur so rough and ragged below her wound?

Lavenderpaw set Spike down with a thud. Lavenderpaw flinched as Spike hissed. 

“Sorry!” Lavenderpaw gulped. “Let me find something for the pain.”

“No, it’s fine,” Spike groaned, waving Lavenderpaw off. “I’ll tell you if it gets worse.”

“How do you know a Clan song?” Lavenderpaw asked, sitting beside the injured loner.

“Because, long ago,” Spike sighed, “my father lived in the Clans.” Lavenderpaw scooted closer. “I don’t know what else you expect from me. He knew the song, so he taught it to me.”

“Who is he?” Lavenderpaw asked. “Is he still alive? What Clan did he come from? Were you coming to join us when the horse trampled you?”

“You’re asking too many questions,” Spike huffed, her body tensing.

“You turned to talk,” Lavenderpaw pointed out. His smugness was as strong as the horse’s blow.

“My father is still alive,” Spike said, rolling her eyes. “He and my mother raised me until I was six moons old, at which point he went back to wandering. He stops by our den a couple times each moon to see how my aunt, mother and I are faring. Were faring. Until my aunt got pregnant and started bringing back all these Clan teachings my father never thought to share with us.”

“Cinderella was your aunt,” Lavenderpaw gasped. “We thought you were related!”

“And now I’m in the Clan that caused her death,” Spike muttered. She placed her head between her paws.

“In our defense, Shadowdrop got Cinderella pregnant. We had nothing to do with it. We helped you, didn’t we? We aren’t so bad.”

“You helped a dead cat. You have many skills in the Clans, but even you and your ancestors can’t fix an infected spine. I don’t get the dignity of dying around my kin, just like Cinderella.”

“You’ll see your parents again. I promise.”

“And who are you to make that promise?” Spike’s cold eyes hardened Lavenderpaw’s resolve.

“The deputy’s son, thank you very much.”

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Lavenderpaw stuck out his tongue. For the first time since he met Spike, the injured loner chirped softly, whiskers twitching in a quiet mirth.

“Oh, when my sisters were sick,” Lavenderpaw explained, “we visited all the time to keep their spirits up. Fennelspot said it helped them recover faster. Maybe if we spend some time together, your infection might go away.”

“I don’t believe that’s how infections work.”

“Please? I want to hear stories from a real loner, someone who knows what life is like out there right now.” Lavenderpaw couldn’t help but wiggle his flank in anticipation. Spike sighed once more, stretching out the breath until Lavenderpaw thought he would explode from the wait.

“What else do you want to know?” Spike groaned.

“Truthfully,” Lavenderpaw chuckled, sitting in a loaf in front of Spike, “I want to continue singing The Movement’s Call with you. You have a good voice!” Spike rolled her eyes, but cleared her throat.

“In freedom we’re born, and in freedom we’ll live;

Our hearts are ready,

Steady, Friends, steady.”

(Lavenderpaw: 8, male, warrior apprentice, bold, likes to sing)

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Spike: 17, female, loner, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

Scrubmask can’t imagine what her life would look like without Downstar. They both spend time with Mosskit, who has greencough.

[Image ID: Scrubmask and Downstar face Mosskit, who has + CONDITION: GREENCOUGH written under him. Downstar says “Tell us that story you were so excited about, Moss.”]

(Scrubmask: 59, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Mosskit: 3, male, kit, bullying, stares at fire)

Tempestkit disappears from camp as a blizzard begins to pick up. Downstar leads a patrol after the wayward kit.

[Image ID: A patrol marches through the snow. From left to right, the patrol includes Rustshade, Fennelspot, Wasppaw, Mousesong, Puddlepaw, Shadowdrop, and Downstar.]

---

Fennelspot predicted it the day before; a massive blizzard tearing into the territories, cursed by Stormfoots, those twisted Spirits of Shadow born from their namesake in the Dark Forest. Downstar was quick to act and ordered the caretakers to lead preparations around camp. She disappointed Wildclaw, who thought it meant reprieve from kit duty, when Downstar put her in charge of shoring up the nursery. Carnationspeckle worked with the artisans to find the best spot in camp for a bonfire; they would need the warmth. Clammask darted about, making sure everyone had a den to fortify or a job to do in prepping for the storm. Even James got off his lazy flank and helped out.

“If we cook the prey we have into dishes like pemmican,” Downstar muttered, studying the fresh-kill pile, “we can feed the Clan with well-preserved food throughout the storm.”

“Do you suppose it will be a long blizzard?” Weedfoot asked. Her voice was congested, the symptoms of whitecough still clinging to her pelt and slowing her down, but she could largely do her job now.

“That’s what Fennelspot predicted,” Downstar sighed. “He was right about the darkhound, so I assume he’s right about the storm. Wildclaw, where are you going?” Downstar looked over at her daughter, who walked with Trumpetkit and Tempestkit away from the nursery.

“Mom, I’m just escorting them to the dirt place!” Wildclaw groaned. “The nursery’s ready for the snow.”

“Good,” Downstar sighed, nodding as Wildclaw ushered the two black mollies around the shipwreck. 

“You seem more like yourself today,” Weedfoot hummed. “More like you were when we founded RippleClan.”

“I work well in a crisis,” Downstar admitted. A snowflake danced over her whiskers, making her shiver.

“StarClan, the snow’s starting already?” Weedfoot groaned, looking up. “Fennelspot said the storm would start in the morning. It isn’t even sunset yet.”

“Hurry, everyone!” Downstar yowled to the scurrying cats around camp. “We have less time than we thought. Focus on the essentials. Rattlepelt, Rabbitjoy, Carnationspeckle, start cooking and make sure the fires are lit!”

“The apprentice’s den isn’t ready for the snow,” Puddlepaw called, sticking his head out.

“You’re sleeping in the nursery with the elders then,” Downstar barked. “If the snow will be as strong as Fennelspot says, I don’t trust the shipwreck to keep us warm. Weedfoot, get Oilstripe and Mosskit into the warrior’s den.”

A sudden caterwaul caught the Clan’s attention. It came from the dirt place.

“Tempestkit!” Wildclaw yowled. Shadowdrop, who had been bundling leather pelts at the edge of the warrior’s den, bolted past Downstar. Downstar and Weedfoot joined him in the race to the dirtplace.

When the trio turned the corner, Trumpetkit’s tiny teeth were buried in Wildclaw’s leg. The tip of Tempestkit’s tail slipped through the thorns that covered the top of the rocks, keeping the dirtplace separate from the rest of the world. Oilstripe had Trumpetkit by the scruff and finally pulled her off.

“Tempestkit, get back here right now!” Shadowdrop roared. He soared onto the rocky border, but the hole in the thorn wall was only big enough for a kit; Shadowdrop stuck his paw through and frantically waved about, but Downstar could see Tempestkit’s fluffy pelt streaking toward the forest, snowflakes catching on her black fur.

“Trumpetkit, what are you doing?” Oilstripe snapped, throwing Trumpetkit down. “That’s your aunt!” 

“You nearly drew blood!” Wildclaw groaned, licking her back leg.

“Tempestkit wanted to go on an adventure like Aunt Duskkit did when she was our age,” Trumpetkit whined. She sunk into the sand, big golden eyes bouncing between each panicked adult. “She said if I distracted Aunt Wildclaw, she’d bring me back a gift!”

“During a blizzard?” Weedfoot hissed. She looked between Trumpetkit and Tempestkit’s hole in the wall. Shadowdrop continued to frantically claw at the hole, as though if he stretched far enough, he would snatch Tempestkit’s tail. Shadowdrop screamed and jumped off the rocks.

“You’ve been staying in the den next to the dirt place for moons!” Shadowdrop roared at Oilstripe. “Didn’t you see this hole in the wall?”

“I don’t watch cats use the dirt place, Shadowdrop!” Oilstripe hissed. Downstar had enough of it. She raced back into the main clearing, where the Clan was nervously waiting to hear what happened.

“I want all our codekeepers with me, now!” Downstar yowled. “Tempestkit has run off. We need to bring her back before the blizzard grows.”

“Does that include our apprentices?” Rustshade asked as Mousesong shook out her pelt, ready to go. Downstar nodded. Wasppaw and Puddlepaw hurried to their mentors. Wasppaw stood proud beside Mousesong while Puddlepaw rubbed against his father, searching for answers in James’ face.

“Mom, I’m coming with you.” Shadowdrop ran up beside Downstar, leading the rest of the crowd out of the dirt place.

“No,” Downstar huffed. “Trumpetkit and Mosskit need you.”

“I am coming with you!” Shadowdrop snapped. “She is my daughter, it is my responsibility to look after her.” Downstar hesitated. How responsible could Shadowdrop be when his kits came about from such a selfish act? 

“Oh…” Downstar groaned, jaw tense, “Wildclaw, don’t let the other kits out of your sight!” Wildclaw stood to the side with Trumpetkit and Mosskit, who had stumbled out of the quarantine den. Wildclaw pulled them both close. “Fennelspot, with us! The longer we wait, the further she gets!” Downstar’s patrol formed around her as she hurried out of camp. A cold wind ushered them out as the sky above darkened.

Fennelspot and Mousesong beat the patrol to the other side of camp where the dirt place wall gave way and Tempestkit made her escape. Mousesong sniffed the ground and growled. 

“All I smell is the dirt place,” she said, nose curling.

“She ran that way,” Shadowdrop said, pointing his tail toward the forest.

“Tempestkit!” Wasppaw called. “Tempestkit, it’s cold out here! It’s not that exciting!” Another sharp wind blew in Downstar’s face, sending a barrage of snow into her eyes.

“Pray to our ancestors she has the good sense to turn around,” Downstar growled. “Follow her trail.” 

At their leader’s command, the patrol charged into the growing blizzard, calling Tempestkit’s name.

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Weedfoot: 90, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Wildclaw: 34, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Puddlepaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)

(Trumpetkit: 3, female, kit, nervous, plays in mud)

(Tempestkit: 3, female, kit, troublesome, loves to eat)

(Oilstripe: 46, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Shadowdrop: 34, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Rustshade: 86, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Mousesong: 18, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

(Wasppaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, strict, interested in clan history, eye for detail)

[Image ID: Shadowdrop, Downstar, and Tempestkit cuddle close as snow falls around them and Downstar says “I will die as many times as I need to keep you both warm.”]

---

Tempestkit shouldn’t have been far. She was still a kit, unfamiliar with the territory. The forest wasn’t thick yet. Tempestkit should have been leaving the scent of the dirt place  in her wake. But as sunset arrived, the snow grew thicker. Downstar’s paws grew numb. And the patrol was no closer to finding Tempestkit than they were when they set off.

Shadowdrop yowled as the thickening blanket of snow under his paws sent him tumbling forward. He smashed his chin against the cold ground. Puddlepaw and Rustshade helped him up. 

“This is ridiculous!” Shadowdrop groaned. “Where could she have gone? How have we not found her yet?”

“It’s the Stormfoots,” Fennelspot gulped. He stared into the harsh blowing snow. “They’re hiding her in their snow. I just know it.”

“They aren’t taking my granddaughter from me,” Downstar hissed. “We keep going. We don’t go home until we find her!”

“The snow’s starting to collect on the ground,” Puddlepaw pointed out. “We’ll start seeing pawprints sooner or later.”

“We don’t even know if we’re still following her,” Mousesong huffed.

“Then we split up,” Rustshade said. He glanced around and added “If you were a kit on an adventure, where might you go?”

“I would go see the river,” Wasppaw said. “I was curious to see it when I was little.”

“You didn’t grow up with stories about your dead mom,” Mousesong grunted. “Wouldn’t you want to see her grave for yourself?”

“Maybe she’s not thinking,” Shadowdrop said, casting a cold eye at Mousesong. “Maybe she just picked a direction and wondered what was out there.”

“Fennelspot, I know what you’re going to say,” Downstar groaned, “but I think we should split up.”

“That is an awful idea!” Fennelspot gasped. “The storm will only get worse. This is the sort of weather that gets cats killed!”

“And my daughter is out there,” Shadowdrop hissed, tail thrashing. “If my mother thinks we should split up, I’m following her.” 

“We don’t know where Tempestkit went,” Downstar reminded the group. “It’s more important to find her and make sure she’s warm than worry about ourselves. This is what we train for.” Wasppaw nodded, gaining a second wind. Mousesong copied her apprentice, tail brushed against his side. 

“Howlingwind, Celestial of snowfall, hear us o Blessed One and repel these Stormfoots from our shores.” Fennelspot squeezed his eyes tight as he prayed.

“Fennelspot, take Wasppaw and Mousesong to the Great Northern River,” Downstar ordered. “Rustshade, Puddlepaw, head south. Shadowdrop and I will continue west.”

“We have to go back to camp when it gets too dark,” Fennelspot huffed. “I mean it, Downstar. We can’t find Tempestkit if we freeze to death.” Downstar stayed silent as the snow tried to tear Fennelspot’s voice away. Shadowdrop curled into himself as he braced against the wind. His eyes met his mother’s. There was a quiet agreement no plea could break.

“Be quick, everyone,” Downstar ordered. “Find her!” Shadowdrop and Downstar joined each other’s side and hurried against the screaming snow. From that moment on, they might as well have been the only cats in the territory.

If the situation wasn’t so dire, Downstar would have thought the storm to be a beautiful thing. Soon the snow would drag the pine branches low and cover the ground in a white blanket that reached Downstar’s chest. But the storm had only been blowing for a short time. When Downstar ran over the snow collecting on the dead grass, she could once again see the grass through her pawprints. The dark trees were dusted rather than smothered. But the lack of thick layers meant nothing when the falling snow tore at Downstar’s eyes. She didn’t feel when her paws hit the ground and her face was ready to fall off. 

Downstar wasn’t sure where they were in the territory. The snowfall turned the world white. Shadowdrop and Downstar scoured each area they found, calling Tempestkit’s name and searching in each little cranny. Sometimes Downstar forgot whether they had searched a certain bush or tree yet and Shadowdrop had to redirect her. She prayed it was her worry clouding her memory and not the freezing fangs of frostbite.

“Pawprints!” Shadowdrop finally shrieked. “I found pawprints!” Downstar had been checking under a large exposed root when Shadowdrop called for her. Sure enough, there was a small trail of kitten sized pawprints emerging from a bush and hiking through the snow.

“Tempestkit!” Downstar yowled, jogging alongside the tracks. Shadowdrop kept his nose to the ground, searching for a scent amidst the churning storm. The wind screamed and knocked Downstar off-balance.  As she steadied her paws, she spotted a large stone jutting out of a gentle slope. A small hole broke through the haze of white that slowly turned black in the coming night. The fading pawprints led straight to it. Downstar shoved Shadowdrop and turned his gaze to the hole.

Downstar and Shadowdrop fought to squeeze inside. From the size of it, the hole may have been a fox den, although if it was, all trace of its creator had vanished. The more concerning feature of the den was the black kitten huddled in the back, shivering so hard Downstar thought she would hurt herself.

“Tempestkit, what were you thinking?” Shadowdrop groaned. He wrapped himself around his daughter. Downstar suddenly realized that between all of Shadowdrop’s new duties and the Clan’s effort to help Tempestkit and her siblings find their place in the Clan, she had never seen him properly curl up with his kits. It seemed natural for him. He’d endured his punishment with dignity, he wanted to be a father. Perhaps Tempestkit noticed that. Perhaps there was more to her misadventure than following in the pawsteps of her long-dead aunt.

“I’m cold,” she whined, pressing into her father’s shoulder. Downstar licked Tempestkit’s fur the wrong way, trying to warm her up. She was so cold, she didn’t feel alive.

“We need to start a fire,” Downstar muttered, glancing out into the storm. The world suddenly turned a deep, unbreakable blue, shifting into dark grays in the snowfall. 

“With what?” Shadowdrop huffed. “Everything is wet. Mom, Tempestkit needs warmth. Come here. Please.” Downstar crawled beside her son and granddaughter. She pressed into both of their dark pelts and tried to pour what little heat remained into them.

“I’m ready to go home now,” Tempestkit muttered into her father’s fur. “I had my fun.”

“I don’t think we can move,” Shadowdrop said. “I… I don’t know where we are.” Downstar pushed her son closer. Shadowdrop nudged Tempestkit between them, giving her the majority of the extra warmth.

“We’ll sleep here tonight,” Downstar sighed. “I’ll keep you both warm.”

“Focus on Tempestkit,” Shadowdrop huffed. “She needs it more.” Downstar wrapped her front paws around Tempestkit, but squirmed closer to her son.

“I will die as many times as I need to keep you both warm,” Downstar promised.

The world screamed her to sleep.

(Shadowdrop: 34, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Puddlepaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)

(Mousesong: 18, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

(Rustshade: 86, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Wasppaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, strict, interested in clan history, eye for detail)

(Tempestkit: 3, female, kit, troublesome, loves to eat)

[Image ID: Fennelspot looks up at smoke in the sky, saying “Everyone, follow the smoke!”]

---

Fennelspot ordered Wasppaw and Mousesong to head back to camp when Wasppaw reported an unshakable chill seeping through his body. Standing beside the freezing river, searching for a missing kit, would only tear apart their skin and hurt them more. They simply had to turn back. Rustshade must have had the same thought, as he and Puddlepaw were already home when Fennelspot’s group returned.

Downstar and Shadowdrop didn’t come home that night.

“Downstar!” Fennelspot yowled, his voice muffled by the thick snow. “Tempestkit!” 

The storm had finally subsided shortly before dawn, leaving the world smothered in snow. As soon as the weather cleared, Weedfoot picked a few well-rested trackers like Scrubmask, Halibutdusk, and Carnationspeckle and sent them back out with Fennelspot to find their missing Clanmates.

“You said they went west?” Carnationspeckle huffed, breath frosting around her as she stood by Fennelspot.

“The storm is over, why aren’t they coming home?” Halibutdusk groaned from his lookout point on a low oak branch. “Shadowdrop! Shadowdrop!” Scrubmask stayed quiet, focused on scenting the air. 

“I’m going ahead,” Fennelspot sighed. “I need to pray. Yowl if you see anything. Downstar’s still alive out there.” That was an indisputable fact. The storm was strong, but not enough to take all of Downstar’s lives. Not yet, at least. Fennelspot had to hide his gaze, however, at the thought of Shadowdrop and Tempestkit. 

The rest of the patrol kept calling out, but Fennelspot found a quiet spot under a pine. The weight of the snow dragged it off the branches, leaving huge, awkward piles around the trunk but bare needles above. The pine sat beside a small opening in the forest canopy, revealing a bright gray sky. Fennelspot closed his eyes. He had to keep his ears sharp. At a time like this, StarClan surely would not stay silent.

A storm within a storm gives the dark a chance to shine. Look to the sky for the call to action.

Fennelspot gasped, eyes fluttering. This was it! The moment of the prophecy! Tempestkit was the storm in the storm! Shadowdrop went to find her, he was the dark. The second half… Fennelspot locked his eyes to the gray clouds. The sky was still.

“I’m looking,” Fennelspot begged softly.

The color of the clouds shifted. A slimmer of darker color slipped into the corner of Fennelspot’s gaze. It rose into the high clouds. The aging cleric realized it wasn’t just another cloud. His eyes could follow the trail back into the trees.

It was a smoke stack.

“The smoke!” Fennelspot yowled. “Everyone, follow the smoke!” He didn’t wait to see if the others head his cry. He ran into the trees, towards where the drifting smoke disappeared. His feet skidded in the fluffy snow and his legs had to push against its weight. As usual, Scrubmask was right behind him.

He saw the fire before he saw Downstar. It was a small fire composed of the barest of essentials. Heavy smoke drifted from the burning branches. Downstar had cleared away the snow around the fire and placed Tempestkit beside the flames. Downstar stared into the fire, unaware of Fennelspot’s arrival.

“Downstar!” Carnationspeckle dove through the snow, snowballs knotting in her leg fur. Downstar snapped out of it as Carnationspeckle wrapped herself around her former mentor. “StarClan, you’re so cold!” Fennelspot focused on Tempestkit. Somehow, the little kit didn’t seem to have frostbite or any major damage from the cold.

“Have you been with her all night?” Fennelspot asked. Downstar nodded softly, her focus returning to the fire.

“Is Shadowdrop still with you?” Scrubmask asked. Downstar did not reply.

“Tempestkit, how do you feel?” Fennelspot asked the young kit.

“Like I’m in a lot of trouble,” Tempestkit gulped.

“We kept her warm,” Downstar muttered. “We kept her warm.” There was a den behind Downstar. Only two sets of paws left the den in the heavy snow.

“Carnationspeckle, care for Tempestkit,” Fennelspot gulped as Halibutdusk finally joined them. 

Fennelspot slipped past Downstar. His nose quivered in the chill. He braced himself and stepped inside. His eyes quickly adjusted to the light. Shadowdrop was still inside. He laid with his back to the exit, curled around cats who were no longer there.

He would not be joining his mother and daughter by the fire.

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Carnationspeckle: 44, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Halibutdusk: 34, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Scrubmask: 59, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Tempestkit: 3, female, kit, troublesome, loves to eat)

Halibutdusk is grief-stricken at the loss of his brother.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk faces Downstar and Wildclaw. Under Halibutdusk, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING. Under Downstar, it says LIVES LEFT: 6.]

---

Halibutdusk couldn’t stop wondering; did his mother lose a life first, or did Shadowdrop growing cold push her over the edge? Who left their body first? Whose death resulted in the others? At least Tempestkit survived. At least he had that vague comfort. 

Downstar called Halibutdusk and Wildclaw into her den while Fennelspot prepared Shadowdrop’s vigil. The trio hadn’t talked much since they brought Shadowdrop’s body back to camp. Wildclaw had been busy reuniting Mosskit and Trumpetkit with their wayward sister, Downstar had to make sure the vigil went according to plan, and Halibutdusk… he couldn’t really think.

When the two surviving littermates entered their mother’s den, Downstar paced around her nest. She showed no signs of the cold that stole one of her lives. Halibutdusk shifted awkwardly as he waited for Downstar to speak. Wildclaw beat him to it.

“This is my fault, right?” Wildclaw huffed. “That’s why you called me in here. I let Tempestkit get out of camp, and Shadowdrop died.”

“No,” Downstar growled, clawing the ground at the very thought. “I will never blame you for this.” Wildclaw was stunned into silence. “I didn’t punish Oilstripe for letting Duskkit sneak out all those moons ago. This is more Tempestkit’s fault than your own, and even she’s realized what she did was wrong.” Halibutdusk distinctly remembered Downstar tearing into Oilstripe for letting her adventurous daughter slip around her, but Halibutdusk didn’t have the heart to bring it up. 

“Then what do we do now?” Wildclaw groaned. 

“There’s nothing to do, Wildclaw,” Downstar sighed. She sat in her nest. “We just mourn. I brought you in here because…” Downstar took a deep breath, closing her eyes and collecting her strength. “There is a chance Shadowdrop… might not make it to StarClan.” Halibutdusk didn’t know his heart could fall any further.

“Why not?” Wildclaw hissed, the fur on the back of her neck prickling. “How do you know?”

“Duskkit greeted me in StarClan when I lost my life,” Downstar explained quietly. “She told me Shadowdrop would be put on trial when he entered StarClan for how he handled the situation with Cinderella.”

“We already put him on trial!” Wildclaw snapped with a thrash of her scarred tail. “He’s already been punished! He’s done so much good, he doesn’t—” Wildclaw stopped herself, jaw tight. “I’m going out. I’ll be back for the vigil.” Downstar let her daughter go, leaving Halibutdusk standing alone before his mother. 

Halibutdusk slowly approached his mother. Downstar scooted over. Halibutdusk slipped into the nest beside her. He pressed into his mother’s side.

“They’ll let him into StarClan,” Halibutdusk gulped. “They have to.”

(Halibutdusk: 34, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Wildclaw: 34, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

[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 62

Oilstripe wakes up and wails, her dreams haunted by visions of Rustshade.

[Image ID: Oilstripe says to Carnationspeckle, “We need a fresh start, Carny.” Under her, it says + CONDITION: NIGHTMARES, PREGNANT.]

She saw him. Oilstripe saw her father, a glimmering ghost standing between the trees, heather blue eyes coldly watching as she ran towards him. Why wouldn’t he visit? Why did he have to so coldly reject his own daughter? Downstar told her she saw Rustshade in StarClan when she lost her life to the humans, a soft comfort to ease an awkward relationship, so why, why would he see Downstar and not Oilstripe? Why was he always a bit too far away for Oilstripe to reach him? He didn’t need to speak! He didn’t need to do anything! He just had to be the quiet, comforting backbone Oilstripe grew up with. She needed her father!

Oilstripe woke up in the earliest moments of the new day with a lump in her throat. The dull embers of the campfire glowed against the edge of the den. Oilstripe’s Clan was still asleep, piled on one another in peaceful dreams. Clammask and Halibutdusk were awake, tucked into the same nest, muttering to one another. Oilstripe and Halibutdusk made eye contact, but Oilstripe quickly looked away, trying to breathe., She crawled out of her nest. She tiptoed around Wildclaw and Rattlepelt, gently tucked under their fox pelt. Oilstripe stepped into the cool, salty night.

Scrubmask’s ghost laid just outside the warrior’s den, startling Oilstripe. The dead warrior did not move, ears still turned to the den. Her eyes passed over Oilstripe and her raised fur. Scrubmask scoffed.

“You’re so distracted by your dream,” she said, “I would bet you didn’t notice your mate was gone.” Oilstripe looked back inside. Sure enough, Carnationspeckle’s spot by Oilstripe’s nest was empty. Oilstripe sniffed. Her mate’s scent was fresh, and still close by. She followed the scent out of camp. 

Carnationspeckle was on guard duty. Her fur drifted in the soft breeze. When she saw Oilstripe, it was like her soul returned to her body, her usual soft glimmer sparking in her eyes once more. Oilstripe curled up beside Carnationspeckle.

“You look tired,” Carnationspeckle whispered.

“I am,” Oilstripe mumbled. “I’m not having good dreams.”

“Have you talked to Paleseed?” 

“She’s been… I don’t know, distracted. Besides, I feel stupid for not knowing how to deal with this. Everyone else is able to grieve. I get to see other spirits all the time, and it might still hurt to know they’re not here anymore, but I can check in on them. My dad… he doesn’t want to see me. He’s making the active decision to not be involved in my life anymore.”

“He wouldn’t be able to see Clammask whether or not he visited. Maybe he wanted to be fair to both of his daughters. Maybe he knew Scrubmask was going to die, and didn’t want to make his own passing any worse for Clammask.” Carnationspeckle whimpered a bit as she said Scrubmask’s name. Oilstripe sat up.

“Life’s been hard for us lately, hasn’t it,” Oilstripe sighed. Carnationspeckle leaned against Oilstripe.

“I don’t like being alone in dens anymore,” Carnationspeckle muttered. “I get nervous, no matter how much I talk myself down. I get nauseous when I eat prey as-is, no matter how well-cooked it is. My mind thinks it’s raw, like it was with the Witch Hunters. I got so sick with them.”

“You haven’t told me that before.” Oilstripe nuzzled Carnationspeckle’s shoulder.

“Spikecrash has been helping me. I didn’t want to give it power by mentioning it to anyone else. I thought it was getting better, and then Scrubmask… do you think it was a Witch Hunter? Do you think we’ll ever know? I’m terrified, Oilstripe. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Me neither.” 

Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle buried their faces in one another’s fur, breathing in the other’s warm scent. All Oilstripe could hear was Carnationspeckle’s soft whimpers.  and the breeze in the trees. All they had lost in the past few seasons, friends and family and sleep and normalcy, bit at Oilstripe like a pack of rats. Rustshade was not there, but Oilstripe could feel her father in her heart, his voice springing to life. You’ll lose a lot more before your journey’s done. Find something to fill the space around that void.

“We need a fresh start, Carny,” Oilstripe sniffled, stepping back. “We’ve been chasing one tragedy after another, we need something new.” Her words got stuck in her throat. She forced them out like a cough. “We were trying to get pregnant when you were kidnapped. Let’s try again.” Carnationspeckle stared at Oilstripe like she said the ocean was made of bone broth.

“Now?” Carnationspeckle asked. “I… Oilstripe, I don’t know if we’re in the right place to do that.”

“And I don’t know if we can wait!” Oilstripe groaned. She leaned her head against Carnationspeckle’s head. “Raising Troutpool with you has been incredible. She’s so much like you, clever and caring and good at what she does. I’d like a kit or two like me!”

“Troutpool does have your eyes,” Carnationspeckle pointed out, a bit of laughter breaking through her sorrow and shock.

“She and Rattlepelt are great daughters,” Oilstripe chuckled, mind fuzzy with Carnationspeckle’s scent. “Maybe we can add a son to the pot. We can teach them all about Scrubmask and my dad and, and anyone else we may lose. I want to keep going with you.” Carnationspeckle took a moment. Her breath caught. Her nose touched Oilstripe’s.

“Let’s find a suitor somewhere beside the human settlement,” Carnationspeckle gulped, a sob mixing with her joy. Oilstripe laughed, love pressing against the hole in her life as she pressed against Carnationspeckle.

Yes. This was what they needed. A fresh start.

(Oilstripe: 66, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Halibutdusk: 54, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

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

(Carnationspeckle: 64, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

Halibutdusk has been a comforting presence in Clammask’s life for as long as she can remember, and with Scrubmask gone, she decides to commit herself to them.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Clammask have + MATE: CLAMMASK and + MATE: HALIBUTDUSK written under them respectively.]

---

Clammask’s shifting and muttering woke Halibutdusk up. It had been a dreamless sleep, easy to disturb and hard to return to, which meant the rest of RippleClan was left in their peaceful slumber despite Clammask’s state. Halibutdusk had moved their nest closer to Clammask after Scrubmask’s death, giving them a perfect view of how Clammask’s back leg twitched and the tip of her claws peeked out of her paws. Halibutdusk scooted to the side of Clammask’s nest. They quietly watched their friend’s tremors. Their soft breath stirred Clammask’s whiskers. The golden molly opened her eyes partially, the faint embers outside catching her irises.

“Halibut?” she grumbled, throwing a paw over her muzzle.

“Sorry,” Halibutdusk whispered, giving Clammask room to breathe. “I wanted to check on you. Your dreams seemed cruel.”

“In a way,” Clammask yawned, slowly blinking. She sat up, prompting Halibutdusk to their paws. She hesitated as she spoke. “You’re a warrior, Halibutdusk. Do you ever dream about killing other cats in battle?” Halibutdusk wondered if the truth was appropriate in Clammask’s situation. It was Clammask, though; she would understand.

“Do you remember when my littermates and I snuck out of camp to reclaim territory from AshClan?” they asked.

“Of course I do,” Clammask whispered. “Downstar was so scared when my father brought you home.” Halibutdusk felt younger for a moment, an apprentice once more, wrapped up in Wildclaw and Shadowdrop’s antics, pulling them into their own. Shadowdrop clawed at Halibutdusk’s heart, sticking to them like bitter honey.

“I blinded Heronflank,” Halibutdusk said. “I could have killed him. It was the first serious wound I inflicted on another cat. Outside of a few fights with rogues, I haven’t hurt anyone else like that since. Sometimes, when I’ve had a difficult day, Heronflank sneaks into my dreams, and this time, I don’t just blind him.” Clammask nodded softly. As she did, Halibutdusk noticed Oilstripe on the other side of the den, bright blue eyes wide. They stared at each other for a moment before Oilstripe slipped out of the den. It seemed Clammask wasn’t the only cat having a difficult night.

“So you regret it in your dreams, then,” Clammask muttered. Her shoulders tensed. “Am I wicked for not feeling regret until I wake up?”

“Only the dead can control their dreams,” Halibutdusk reminded her. “Dreams just happen. You can’t be blamed for what your heart does when you’re not in control.”

“Will you judge me if I tell you what I dreamed of?”

“Never.”

“I killed the Witch Hunter that killed Scrubmask.” So it was about Scrubmask. Just not in the way Halibutdusk assumed. Clammask stared at the wall as she spoke. “I know we aren’t sure it was a Witch Hunter, but who else could it have been? I dreamed I drowned them like they drowned her, and I didn’t regret it.”

“I miss her too.” Halibutdusk laid back down, tucking their paws under them. “How are the toms taking her death?”

“They have been asking Rapidleaf for stories of when Scrubmask was an apprentice,” Clammask said. “They don’t have much else to do since three of them are still recovering from that bad rabbit. They’ll be okay. I’m proud of them! They’re strong toms. They have Scrubmask’s spirit.”

“And you?” Halibutdusk wondered. Clammask was not as quick to reply this time around.

“It feels wrong to feel better,” she eventually muttered. “I’m always going to miss her, but I don’t want her death to be something that keeps me down forever. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be like Downstar when her mood sours.”

“You didn’t offend me,” Halibutdusk promised. “My mother knows it’s hard to be around her when she’s struggling. She doesn’t want to be like that either.”

“I never want to let Scrubmask go,” Clammask gulped, fur bristling, “but I don’t want her to keep me stuck, either. I want to carry her with me and start my life again. I want to grow closer to Oilstripe. I want to see my sons through their apprenticeships. I want to fall in love again!” Nearby warriors stirred slightly at the emotion in Clammask’s voice. Clammask flinched and leaned closer to Halibutdusk. “Is that wrong?”

“Why would it be?” Halibutdusk asked. Clammask’s eyes softened. Her breath grew so slow and soft, Halibutdusk could not see her body move.

“Can we go on a walk together?” Clammask asked. Halibutdusk was about to agree when Clammask quickly muttered, “Not as friends.” Halibutdusk cocked their head. Clammask took a giant breath. “I jumped right into having kits with Scrubmask because she won me over so quickly, and I love her, but I want to see what it feels like to flirt and let a relationship grow like Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle did, or like Weedfoot and James, so if you’re interested we can see what it’s like to look at each other as mates rather than friends.” She panted as she finished her anxious rambling. “Sorry. I… really needed to say that.”

Halibutdusk’s mind was still behind. Mates? Romance? With them? Halibutdusk didn’t consider themself a handsome or even good looking cat; dusky gray fur without any special markings, about as bland as a tabby could look. They had friends, there wasn’t a reason they wouldn’t, but for someone to actually take a romantic interest in them… especially Clammask, of all cats! This gorgeous golden molly who helped all the caretaker apprentices with their chores and helped Halibutdusk tell stories… what else could they say but—

“Where do you want to go?”

(Halibutdusk: 54, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Clammask: 56, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Oilstripe: 66, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Parsley wanders out into the territory. She is later found dead, a peaceful expression on her face. Carnationspeckle is hit hardest.

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe face Parsley’s ghost.]

---

If RippleClan had not known about Oilstripe’s wonderous ability, they would have called her mad as she yowled at nothing, demanding that Parsley, whose gray-speckled body laid in camp, explain why “in the Dark Forest would you leave camp like that without a word to Carnationspeckle?” Carnationspeckle loved her mate and how fiercely she fought for her, even if a new part of her soul felt empty without the confident former loner in her life. Even though she was sluggish with her recently developed pregnancy, even though she still wasn’t sleeping well, Oilstripe insisted she join Carnationspeckle, Rabbitjoy, and Trumpetspore in burying Parsley beside Scrubmask and Fennelspot. If Oilstripe wasn’t encouraging her, Carnationspeckle wasn’t sure she would have been able to make the journey to the graveyard.

Rabbitjoy had a sense of humor with Parsley’s burial accessory. She found some parsley leaves and wove them into a wrap around the small remnant of her tail. Parsley’s ghost was likely laughing at that. Carnationspeckle could hardly imagine Parsley with her tail, and the wrap would have been painfully tight had she been alive. 

Had she been alive.

Burying Parsley was a quick affair. Her body had been blessed, her memory honored, and all that was left was to put her old, frail form in the dirt. Rabbitjoy and Trumpetspore took up the bear’s share of digging. Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle sat to the side, too tired to contribute. It was just after sunhigh, and it seemed like the sun wanted to treat Parsley’s body like prey on a fire, cooking everyone else with her. They buried her in the shade, all four mollies silently noting that Parsley would have been upset if she was buried in the middle of the hot sunshine.

According to Oilstripe, Parsley agreed with that. The awkward expressions on Rabbitjoy and Trumpetspore’s faces silenced any further ghostly discussion.

“StarClan, that took a while,” Rabbitjoy sighed as she kicked the last of the dirt over Parsley’s body. “Enjoy your rest, Parsley. RippleClan is glad to have met you.”

“I know I have no say in tonight’s meal,” Trumpetspore said, grooming clumps of dirt off her paws, “but I remember Scrubmask telling me how she convinced Parsley to stay in RippleClan. I believe she won her over with some pemmican. Could we make that for the Clan in Parsley’s honor?”

“Mosspounce and Wildclaw are on stove duty tonight,” Rabbitjoy sighed, “but if you mention that idea, they should agree. We just have to check the ingredients. What do you think, Carnationspeckle?”

“I like that,” Carnationspeckle said, a bit of life returning to her voice.

“Let’s head home, then,” Rabbitjoy said, patting Parsley’s grave.

“Actually,” Oilstripe said, nuzzling Carnationspeckle, “we may stay here a while longer.” They would? Carnationspeckle looked back at her mate. Why linger in the loss? Hadn’t they promised each other only half a moon before that they would work to grow around the holes in their spirits? But Oilstripe placed her tail over Carnationspeckle’s, and the brown ticked molly remembered how much she trusted her star-sighted mate.

“If you need to,” Rabbitjoy said. She touched noses with each molly and said, “We’ll be sure to save you both some pemmican. We’ll see you back at camp.” Rabbitjoy flicked her ears at Trumpetspore. The black molly nodded to Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle, then followed Rabbitjoy out of the graveyard, bugs singing them home.

“What are you thinking?” Carnationspeckle asked when Rabbitjoy and Trumpetspore were out of earshot.

“The better question would be, what is Parsley thinking,” Oilstripe awkwardly admitted, laying on her side. Carnationspeckle looked around, as though she expected to develop Oilstripe’s gift and see her tortoiseshell friend standing at her own grave. “It turns out that my little outburst in camp gave her a few things to say to you before Applepelt takes her away.” 

“Applepelt’s here?” Carnationspeckle gasped. “How are they?”

“As silly as usual,” Oilstripe chuckled. She gave a performative gasp and scoffed, “Don’t make that face at me! You know I’m right!” 

Carnationspeckle purred at that. It was hard to picture Applepelt’s brown face and friendly eyes, but knowing she did her best to stay a part of her friends’ lives eased the loss a bit. Truthfully, the more Carnationspeckle embraced Oilstripe’s sight, the weaker death struck her vigil after vigil. In some ways, they weren’t dead at all; they were just across the border, or on a quest, their reunion with Carnationspeckle guaranteed.

“So what’s about to happen?” Carnationspeckle asked, laying next to Oilstripe. 

“I’ll tell you what Parsley says,” Oilstripe explained. Carnationspeckle nodded and closed her eyes. The warmth of the sun acted like a fire on a chilly night. The buzzing bugs quieted the sorrow in her heart and her many questions. “What are you doing?”

“If I don’t close your eyes, I’ll just hear you, not Parsley,” Carnationspeckle explained. Oilstripe hummed and scooted closer to Carnationspeckle. To Carnationspeckle’s ears, it was not Oilstripe that spoke next, but Parsley.

“Hello again, stranger.”

Carnationspeckle couldn’t help it; she gave an undignified, snorting sort of laugh.

“Is that what you think she sounds like?” she laughed, staring at her flushed mate.

“You all need to stop laughing at me, that is an accurate accent!” Oilstripe whined, her whiskers giving away her shared laughter. The bugs almost sounded like Applepelt and Parsley, laughing at Oilstripe’s odd attempt to translate for Carnationspeckle. Carnationspeckle rested her head in the direction of Parsley’s grave and closed her eyes once more, purring.

“Hi, Parsley,” she said.

“I suppose Ms. Oilstripe was right,” Parsley sighed. “Knowing how the Clans work, I probably shouldn’t have just wandered off to die like that. You gotta understand though, Carnationspeckle, some cats… we just wanna be alone in our last moments. You can feel death coming up on you, and you don’t want everyone crying and screeching over you. It’s a natural thing, you know. Most cats are solitary folk. Death, it makes you scared. You feel weak, knowing you can’t protect yourself. Don’t get me wrong, I felt as safe as can be in RippleClan, but it’s not the sort of instinct you can easily ignore.”

“I just wish you went to fetch me, instead,” Carnationspeckle muttered. “You were old enough to be my mother many times over, but ever since you came to RippleClan, I considered you one of my closest friends. Why else would I trust you to watch Troutpool when she was a kit?”

“And I loved that, don’t misunderstand me,” Parsley said. “I wasn’t seeing clearly. Literally, the world looked covered in fog, and my ears felt like they were full of bugs! You try to think logically when you feel like that.”

“But if you had been thinking clearly, would you have let me know? I could have been with you. Wasn’t it lonely, dying outside of camp like that?”

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. I felt a bit better curled up in a bush like that. It was what I needed. But yes, to answer your question, I would have let you know. I might have still wanted to go out on my own, though.” Carnationspeckle’s body tightened. 

“All I thought when I was with the Witch Hunters was, I don’t want to die away from my family.” She couldn’t help it, she was crying again, shaking despite Oilstripe’s pressure on her side. “I hate thinking you might have felt like that. I don’t want anyone to feel like that.”

“And I didn’t, Carnation. I really didn’t. I know I’ll be the wild old molly in a lot of cats’ memories, and I’m happy with that. Don’t feel bad for me, really. I’m excited to see what your afterlife is all about, what with all the recent noise around death and ghosts we’ve been through. And apparently, I can come visit whenever I’d like, so I’ll be doing that a bit. I’ll be lingering around the nursery once your next litter is born, I can promise you that. Now, I know you can’t feel it, but I’m pressing my nose against your head. Just imagine it for me, alright? And don’t feel too bad for old Parsley. She’s got it under control.” 

A cool nose touched Carnationspeckle. She gasped, eyes flying open, only to find it was Oilstripe’s nose on her head, not Parsley’s. Carnationspeckle leaned into it, purring through her pain.

(Oilstripe: 66, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Carnationspeckle: 64, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Rabbitjoy: 99, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Trumpetspore: 23, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Applepelt: 31, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Parsley: 156, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

Paleseed and Darkkick discuss Terracottafoot’s proposition.

[Image ID: Darkkick says to Paleseed, “Why do you think you have to live up to anyone?”]

---

Darkkick did not want to be alone with Tempestshade. The cursed caretaker was an incredible cook and could stir a purr out of even Darkkick’s grumpy old heart with their kit-like antics, but, at no fault of their own, they were still cursed, and Darkkick didn’t trust that she would make it home if she left camp with just Tempestshade at her side. So, when Tempestshade invited her to collect a few fresh herbs for a heart-strengthening stew, Darkkick casually dragged Paleseed with her.

Tempestshade trotted ahead with a basket, leading the pair through the humming mid-morning forest toward their favorite herb patches. They sang under their breath, seemingly happy just to have some company as they hunted down fresh thyme. Darkkick and Paleseed walked beside one another, enjoying the sunshine through the trees and the warm dirt under their paws.

“We don’t need you destroying any of these roots, remember that!” Darkkick called to Tempestshade.

“I know better than to do that!” Tempestshade laughed, spinning around and walking backwards. “Besides, who wants thyme roots in their stew? No thank you!” They spun back the right way and continued their happy trot.

“I don’t think thyme strengthens the heart,” Paleseed whispered to Darkkick.

“Whatever they have planned, it should taste good at least,” Darkkick sighed. Paleseed hummed in agreement. Her tail twitched with unspoken nerves. Her chin drooped and her eyes grew lost in thought. 

“Harvest Moon is less than a moon away,” Paleseed muttered. She glanced Tempestshade’s way, but the young caretaker was too absorbed in their task to hear. “My mom and I spoke with Terracottafoot, and we agreed to help them with the Autumnstar situation.”

“Really?” Darkkick scoffed, unable to stop the ice in her voice. “That Clan was going to let Weedfoot die, and now she wants to help them?”

“You didn’t hear her at the Gathering,” Paleseed huffed, head rising to contest Darkkick’s ire. “She talked to a lot of the AshClan cats there. They’re so apologetic. Whether they were alive back then or not, most of the Clan regrets what they did to my mother and her friends. She won’t let Autumnstar hurt more cats.” Darkkick’s pace slowed. Paleseed sounded more like her namesake than herself for a moment. The summer sun’s glimmer on her pelt reminded Darkkick of Paleshade’s ginger patches.

The moment faded as quick as it came. Paleseed ducked her head once more, her moment of confidence come and gone.

“And you?” Darkkick sighed. “You’re no fighter, Paleseed. I don’t know what StarClan expects you to do in the Dark Forest.”

“I don’t know either,” Paleseed admitted, “but I want to be brave. I want to do my part to make a difference in someone’s life.”

“You do that just fine already,” Darkkick scoffed, stopping altogether. Tempestshade didn’t notice, continuing through the trees without them. Paleseed stood in front of her, confused. “You don’t need to give up your life for a Clan that never wanted you born.”

“Maybe I’m not just doing it for AshClan, then,” Paleseed suddenly snapped, her tail bristling. “Maybe I want to do more than help grieving cats. How am I ever supposed to live up to Paleshade if I can’t do what StarClan asks of me?” Darkkick’s scarred tail pointed down. Her small ears tilted to the sides. 

“Why do you think you have to live up to anyone?” Darkkick growled. “You think you have to be a hero to be important? You think you have to be Paleshade? If you weren’t aware of it, you aren’t Paleshade. You’re your own cat, you can do nothing else with your life and still be as important as she was.” Paleseed’s frustrated warped to shock as her bristling tail slid between her legs. “By the stars, don’t be scared! You think I’m mad at you? I’m just trying to tell you that forcing yourself to live up to what others want of you will just make you miserable. Being a cleric, a tom, an AshClan cat, that was what everyone else wanted for me. My family, Autumnstar, even StarClan! If I don’t have to be those things, what makes you think you have to be Paleshade? Do you think Waspdawn believes he has to live up to a long dead apprentice? Does Lavendertwist have to pretend to be the molly Rabbitjoy fell in love with? You shouldn’t be going on a dangerous quest like this just because it’s what Paleshade would have done!” 

By the end of it all, Darkkick was out of breath. Paleseed’s eyes were huge, staring at the old molly as she panted and tried to smooth her pelt. Paleseed gulped, forcing her tail out from under her. Darkkick sat, the rain-hungry trail exploding in dust and coating her flank.

“Mediators would call that a breakthrough,” Paleseed muttered, slightly out of breath. 

“Well,” Darkkick huffed with a lick of her chest, “it needed to be said.”

“I still want to do it,” Paleseed said. “I promised Terracottafoot I would help. I think you should help too.”

“You think you can convince me?” Darkkick sighed.

“It’s not exactly the sort of reason a mediator should give for something like this…” Paleseed groaned, tail circling overhead as she approached, “but spite. Do it out of spite.”

“Spite,” Darkkick said, monotone.

“Autumnstar hurt you,” Paleseed said, sitting. “It might help you if you got to show him how much you’ve grown since then.” Darkkick thought it over, rolling the word on her tongue. Spite. Spite.

“You should have someone else go with you anyway,” Darkkick conceded. “If I need to go with you—”

“What’s slowing you down?” Tempestshade trotted back down the path, ears tilted down. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Sorry, we got distracted,” Paleseed said, slinking to Tempestshade’s side. “We just… had to talk something through. I think we’re in agreement now.” 

That they were.

(Darkkick: 122, trans female, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Tempestshade: 23, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

(Paleseed: 28, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 55

Puddlewhisper tries to have a conversation with Tempestshade but it ends up awkward when neither of them speak up.

[Image ID: Puddlewhisper says to Tempestshade, “Sorry about the, um… the omen… thing…”]

(Tempestshade: 16, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

(Puddlewhisper: 20, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

Curious and adventurous, Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle travel to the human settlement to hunt.

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle faces down Madeline, yowling, “Just run, Oil!” while Oilstripe obeys.]

---

There was something eerily exciting about entering the human settlement. Oilstripe couldn’t help but shiver as she and Carnationspeckle trekked further north, following Darkkick’s advice on what to look for. The world of humans was an unknown frontier to Oilstripe, and she was exploring it with her mate on a noble mission. How could she not be excited?

“Are you sure about carrying the kits this time?” Carnationspeckle asked as she walked alongside her mate. “Troutpool alone was exhausting. I don’t think we’ll get just one kit again. I’m worried about how you’d handle it.”

“But that’s just it,” Oilstripe purred. “I want to be a mother again, but this time, you won’t be worn down, and we won’t have… Shadowdrop to deal with.” Carnationspeckle’s tail patted her flank as she sneered. StarClan clearly decided he did enough to get in, since Oilstripe occasionally saw him looking after his kits or siblings or mother (she didn’t speak with him. She wasn’t sure he would want to anymore than she did). None of that was enough to wash out the bile that filled Oilstripe’s mouth at the thought of Shadowdrop’s creepy, selfish behavior.

“If you’re sure, I’m sure,” Carnationspeckle promised. She rubbed against Oilstripe’s cheek. 

“In that case,” Oilstripe chuckled, “what do you think of focusing on a brown tom for a sire? That way the kits might look more like you.” 

“I’ll take whomever seems kind,” Carnationspeckle sighed as the smell of the human settlement stung the couple’s noses. Oilstripe could see traces of the shipwreck’s design in the towering dens and sluggish monsters. It made the foreign land feel a little less foreign and pushed Oilstripe’s paws on.

She had seen a couple spirits on her way to the settlement (Twinekit watching after her lively cousins, Locustseeker and Burdockcreek play fighting along the river), but the human settlement stole Oilstripe’s breath when she realized that her mate did not see the many cats wandering the streets. Most of them were translucent like water, as taut and strong as they likely were in life. They looked just like Cinderella’s spirit had before she stopped appearing. Each spirit moved quickly and with purpose or lingered around a living cat. 

Oilstripe’s curiosity spun. How did these cats work? Where did they go when they were finished in the mortal world? What were the details of their beliefs? She wanted to stop a spirit and ask them everything, but she bit her tongue. She had barely convinced Cinderella to testify during Shadowdrop’s trial, and the entire time she muttered, “This isn’t right.” Oilstripe hadn’t added that to her translated testimony, and Cinderella always ignored her after that. The spirits of the human settlement would probably act the same. 

“Oilstripe,” Carnationspeckle whispered, “how many dead cats are we walking around right now?”

“More than I expected,” Oilstripe admitted. One of the spirits had been only a few fox-lengths away from the couple when Oilstripe made the comment. Their green eyes met Oilstripe’s with a sudden realization that made the ginger molly feel too big for her pelt. The spirit slipped between two dens in a hurry.

Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle continued on, looking for a suitable tom. The humans ignored the pair, so long as they stayed out from under their feet. Their odd pelts reminded Oilstripe of Rattlepelt’s fox leather. Humans didn’t have fur either; was that why they wore such odd pelts? Oilstripe had no time to ponder, however. She was on a quest!

“Rabbitjoy told me about a group of young toms she spent a moon with during her traveling days,” Carnationspeckle said. “We could see if they’re still around. They may be willing to help.”

“I like that,” Oilstripe said. A crow cawed loudly from the roof of a tall den. The bird stared at Oilstripe, head cocked slightly. Spirits sat around the crow, watching Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle. Oilstripe nudged her mate onward. The crow cawed again and flew overhead.

“Are you feeling alright?” Carnationspeckle asked. She stopped to study Oilstripe’s face. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No, I want kits,” Oilstripe insisted, trying to focus on her mate over the prickling of her fur. “I’m just starting to wonder if this isn’t the right place to look for a sire. I have a bad feeling about the spirits here.”

“They can’t do anything to us,” Carnationspeckle reminded her. 

“Well, there are those rogues you saw a while ago,” Oilstripe said. A crow landed on the roof right above Oilstripe.  “We’ve had some reports of them lingering by the river.”

“This is a big place,” Carnationspeckle said, leading Oilstripe toward a shadowy path away from the stomping humans. “If they’re here, it’s unlikely we would see them.” Another crow landed across the horse path behind Oilstripe with a loud caw. Oilstripe scurried down the path. There were no cats or humans between the dens, giving Oilstripe a moment to breathe. Carnationspeckle let out a meow of laughter and said, “Are you scared of a few crows, Oilstripe?”

“It’s not the crows that worry me,” Oilstripe gulped. “It’s what they mean.”

“Alright, you’re too nervous to keep going,” Carnationspeckle sighed, stopping. “Let’s go home. We’ll try the farmland to the south tomorrow. If it’s about being pregnant, I can carry the kits again, Oilstripe, you don’t have to lie for my sake.”

“Carny, I’m not lying to you!” Oilstripe groaned, unable to keep her fur flat. “There’s something wrong with this place. I never lie about what I see, and I don’t lie to you.”

“What exactly is it that you see?” Oilstripe’s back arched high. She hissed, turning to the newcomer at the end of the path. Carnationspeckle matched her stance, all traces of humor or annoyance gone. A black and white molly sat half in shadow, half in sunlight. Crow feathers wrapped around her neck and decorated her pelt. 

“I see a molly who needs to back away from my mate and I,” Oilstripe growled. A chorus of cawing made Oilstripe jump once more. Crows lined the edges of the rooftops overhead, staring at Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle. Spirits watched from beside the crows with burning eyes. One large crow flew down and landed beside the strange molly. It cawed in her ear, and the stranger nodded.

“A molly who claims to see the dead,” the stranger said. Her lips curled as she got to her paws. “That may be even worse than your blasphemous clerics. Who are you to poke your nose into the business of the dead? What gives you the authority to meddle with their affairs?” The stranger flicked her tail, and three more cats appeared behind her, claws out. Carnationspeckle moved in front of Oilstripe.

“Oilstripe, I want you to run,” she growled, her fur making her look twice as big as she was.

“I’m not leaving you!” Oilstripe gasped. “Why would you say that? We can take them on together!” Oilstripe stood beside Carnationspeckle, even as her mate tried to nudge her back.

“They want you dead, Oilstripe, not Carnationspeckle.” Oilstripe turned around once more. Applepelt shimmered and glowed at the other end of the short path. The crows screamed, wings flapping wildly. The spirits watching from above hissed and yowled, backing away from the ghost that did not belong to them. “As your friend, and as someone who’s learned a thing or two since dying, let your mate stall for time and get out of here.” The crow beside the black and white stranger cawed so violently that Oilstripe’s ears burned. The cool anger in the stranger’s blue eyes shifted to bloodlust.

“Get the witches!” she screeched. Carnationspeckle reared on her front paws and kicked Oilstripe back.

“Just run, Oil!” she yowled. Carnationspeckle launched at the feather adorned stranger with a battle cry. The crows swarmed down in sync with the living cats, sharp beaks diving toward the Clan cats. Oilstripe rolled back on her paws. Applepelt was at her side, hissing at the approaching crows.

What else could Oilstripe do? She ran back toward the crowd of humans and horses. The crows were on her tail, screaming with such fury Oilstripe thought her ears would bleed. But Applepelt was at her side too, matching her pace. When the crows reached Applepelt, they squawked and fluttered back, bumping into one another.

“Who are these cats?” Oilstripe yowled. She weaved between strolling humans, who panicked at the sight of a dozen crows flying so low to the ground. Their high-pitched yowls drowned out the crows and the sounds of battle.

“You know how those of us in StarClan like to help when we can?” Applepelt huffed. “They are the exact opposite.”

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

(Carnationspeckle: 57, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Madeline: 103, female, Witch Hunter General, faithful, omen sight)

(Applepelt: 31, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

[Image ID: With Mosspounce behind her, Lemmy speaks in the background, saying “The Witch Hunters see the Clans as a threat to the safety of the Other Side, our afterlife. They’ll pry what information they can out of your friend and use it to kill you all. They may even turn her against you.” In the foreground, Troutpool, Oilstripe, and Spikecrash stand to the left together, while Downstar, Weedfoot, and Wildclaw stand to the right together.]

---

“If you don’t see her, then she has to be fine, right?”

“No, Rabbitjoy, because if I saw her, I would at least know she wasn’t suffering. I would know who to kill. Something far worse could be happening to her. You spent moons traveling, how did you not know about these cats?”

“I never heard of them!”

“Why are we standing around talking about this? We should be storming the settlement and rescuing Carnationspeckle!”

“We don’t know where she is. We can’t run through the human settlement without a plan or the humans may take us. I won’t lose anymore warriors. Is that understood, Lavendertwist?”

The Clan’s frantic ideas all melted together in Mosspounce’s head as he stood just outside camp. Downstar didn’t trust that Oilstripe returned to camp unfollowed and wanted someone on guard while the rest of the Clan discussed what happened. Mosspounce had already been on guard duty when Oilstripe ran panting past him, so he was asked to stay there. Probably for the best. His guilt would have been painted across his fur. 

If he had known Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle were going to the human settlement, he would have stopped them, even if it meant revealing his connection to Lemmy. It was Madeline, Oilstripe’s description matched her perfectly. She really could speak to the crows. The crows really spoke to the dead. It wasn’t that Mosspounce didn’t believe Lemmy, but it was so different from what he knew. But it was true. Oilstripe’s abilities would make her seem worse than clerics in the eyes of the Witch Hunters. So what would they do with the mate of such a blasphemous cat? 

Maybe Carnationspeckle was already dead and her spirit was hurrying home to let her mate know. Carnationspeckle was the last cat to deserve that. She nursed Mosspounce and his littermates, even though they were born because she spurned their father. Mosspounce’s heart ached like he had thrown Carnationspeckle to the Witch Hunters himself. He should have told the Clan about Madeline moons ago. It was his fault.

The wind carried a familiar scent to Mosspounce, but not the familiar scent Mosspounce wanted to smell. Lemmy? Mosspounce glanced into camp. Everyone had gathered around the Shiprock, debating with Oilstripe and Downstar. Mosspounce snuck away from his spot and looped around the rocky, bramble-lined walls of camp. Sure enough, when he turned the corner, just as he had last season in the human settlement, he saw Lemmy, sniffing at the rocks. 

“Lemmy!” Mosspounce gasped, hurrying to his friend. Lemmy bristled at the sound, but her fur relaxed when she saw Mosspounce.

“Mosspounce, there’s a ginger molly, Oilstripe,” Lemmy huffed. “Did she make it home?”

“Yes, she’s talking to the Clan right now,” Mosspounce stammered. “How did you find our camp? Did you follow Oilstripe’s scent?”

“She was smart enough to mask her scent in the river,” Lemmy explained, shaking her head. “The Witch Hunters won’t be able to track her.”

“So how did you get here?” Mosspounce asked again. Lemmy rubbed a paw into the sand speckled dirt. Her expression sunk inward, her usual icy confidence chipped.

“Hey!” Mosspounce and Lemmy jumped. Wildclaw stood behind Mosspounce, back arched and lips curled. Bandages covered her left shoulder, protecting the large dog bite that nearly took out a chunk of her flesh. Despite the injury, she still showed her claws and readied herself for a fight.

“Wait!” Mosspounce yelped. He stood between Lemmy and Wildclaw like he was trying to hide the tortoiseshell. Lemmy didn’t need his protection, he knew that; she was already showing her claws and bracing herself for Wildclaw to strike. “Wildclaw, hold on, she isn’t here to hurt anyone.”

“Mosspounce, I need an explanation before I start biting,” Wildclaw growled. 

“Do you want to know what’s happening to Carnationspeckle?” Lemmy pushed past Mosspounce, deep blue eyes locked onto Wildclaw’s burning amber stare. “Because I know what the Witch Hunters will do to her, and I have an idea how to get her back. But if you want to try and kill me, go ahead.” Mosspounce puffed himself up behind Lemmy. Wildclaw stayed tense, glaring at Mosspounce with a look of hurt that felt like an old memory.

“Rattlepelt!” Wildclaw called. “We have a guest.” She flicked her tail sharply. Mosspounce followed Wildclaw back to the camp entrance, with Lemmy trailing behind. Rattlepelt waited at the entrance. Her eyes widened when she saw Lemmy. She hurried back into camp and Mosspounce braced himself for a very long day.

“That’s one of the Witch Hunters!” Tempestshade yowled as soon as Lemmy entered camp. All of RippleClan rioted. Rabbitjoy looped around Rattlepelt and shoved her toward Spikecrash and Paleseed, who quickly backed up. Downstar jumped off the Shiprock, with Weedfoot immediately slipping to her side. James had to grab Parsley by the scruff to stop her from attacking Lemmy. Even the kits copied their elders in untrained battle stances, despite Clammask and Scrubmask’s efforts to get them into the nursery.

“Wait, please!” Mosspounce yowled. “She’s my friend! She’s not here to hurt us!”

“Um, Mossy, she literally tried to kill you,” Tempestshade huffed. Scalepaw crept beside them, puffing up his long fur to the point that he looked like a moss ball. Lavendertwist protected his little brother, sneering at Lemmy.

“Why are you friends with someone who's been haunting our borders for moons?” Wildclaw hissed, muzzle a mouse-length from Mosspounce.

“Lemmy’s not like the others,” Mosspounce insisted. “She listens and she really wants to do the right thing. She came here to help us.” Mosspounce stepped so close to Lemmy, their pelts were almost touching.

“Where is Carnationspeckle?” Oilstripe hissed. She shoved past her Clanmates, Troutpool in tow. Lemmy cooly eyed the Clan. Mosspounce couldn’t understand how she kept her fur smooth when everyone looked ready to slice her throat open.

“That, I don’t know yet,” Lemmy said. “Madeline, my leader, is keeping her location contained to herself, Achilles, the Witch Finders, and a few older enforcers. I haven’t been let in.”

“Then what help could you be?” Oilstripe snapped. “What are they doing to my mate?”

“Oilstripe,” Downstar huffed. Oilstripe glanced back at her leader. Troutpool nuzzled under her chin. She gently guided her mother back. Downstar and Weedfoot approached Lemmy. “Lemmy, is it? What exactly can you tell us about the Witch Hunters?” RippleClan seemed to settle down slightly. Spikecrash joined Oilstripe and Troutpool, offering comforting whispers to them both. Wildclaw stood behind her mother, glaring at Lemmy and Mosspounce. 

“The Witch Hunters see the Clans as a threat to the safety of the Other Side, our afterlife,” Lemmy explained. “They’ll pry what information they can out of your friend and use it to kill you all. They may even turn her against you.”

“That’s not happening,” Oilstripe said. 

“Your leader is a mouse-brain if she thinks she can take on all five Clans,” Elmsprout scoffed from her spot by Darkkick. “I may not have been in AshClan since my father became leader, but he’s not leading a Clan of kits. They alone could wipe out a lot of Witch Hunters.”

“You didn’t see how many cats follow them,” Mosspounce said. “It was a Gathering’s worth!”

“And you know this how, Mosspounce?” Downstar asked.

“I…” Mosspounce gulped, “may have visited the human settlement a few moons ago looking for Lemmy. I saw their meeting. They were celebrating how they murdered Bubblemoon.”

“They’re the rogues who killed Bubblemoon?” Troutpool gasped. A new wave of righteous shock flooded over RippleClan. The Clans had heard about Bubblemoon’s death at a Gathering two moons back. They had all known it was a strange rogue attack, Mosspounce knew some cats theorized it was the Witch Hunters, but they had no proof, and it wasn’t their Clan. Mosspounce found himself grateful that Fennelspot was sick in the quarantine den; he didn’t have to see his grief. Should Mosspounce have said something back then? Would that have stopped Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle from visiting the human settlement?

“Madeline isn’t stupid, despite what you may think,” Lemmy huffed. “The Witch Hunters may have strong numbers, but they won’t launch a full-on assault on anyone without information. That isn’t how we operate. We study witches and we pick off the guilty. And now that they know RippleClan has a molly who can speak with the dead whenever she wants, they’ll focus their efforts on taking your colony out first.” Lemmy glared at Oilstripe like a misbehaving apprentice.

“So they’re interrogating Carnationspeckle to find our weaknesses,” Halibutdusk muttered. Trumpetspore pressed into them, the fear in her eyes as clear as sunshine on the water.

“What can we do?” Downstar asked. “How can you help us?”

“More like why do you want to help us?” Wildclaw snapped. “Why did you befriend someone you tried to kill?” 

Troutpool’s fur stood on edge. Oilstripe’s gaze broke off Lemmy and onto an empty spot behind her. Her eyes slowly drifted back toward Lemmy, but rather than looking at the tortoiseshell visitor, Oilstripe stared at her paws. Mosspounce knew that look. Back in the nursery, Carnationspeckle would call that her “haunted” look. There was a spirit in camp, sitting right in front of Lemmy, Mosspounce was sure of it. Could Troutpool see them too? She seemed unnerved, but looked around like she expected a surprise attack. Lemmy, meanwhile, sat and let tension ripple from her neck down through her tail.

“There is an afterlife where the dead must be respected and crows guard the boundary,” Lemmy sighed. “But I have learned that there is also an afterlife where the dead work tirelessly to guide the living. Your afterlife. I believe that over the course of the last year, I have been visited by a resident of your afterlife in my dreams, asking me to stop my community from hurting yours. This visitor, this little black kitten, has encouraged me to befriend Mosspounce, lie to my fellow Witch Hunters, and find out where they are holding Carnationspeckle so I can bring her back to you.”

“Duskkit,” Oilstripe gasped. “Duskkit is visiting you.” Troutpool enthusiastically nodded. Downstar squirmed at the mention of her daughter.

“You’ve been talking to my aunt?” Mosspounce gasped, staring at Lemmy.

“Why would Duskkit be visiting a Witch Hunter?” Rattlepelt asked.

“Maybe StarClan sees something in Lemmy no one else has before,” Troutpool muttered. RippleClan glanced at one another. Mosspounce sat with Lemmy. His tail slowly shifted towards hers. When the tip of his tail touched Lemmy, she did not flinch. 

“If I can win over Madeline’s trust,” Lemmy explained, “I may be allowed to see Carnationspeckle. When I find her, we can free her. Until then, I’ll keep an ear out for plans against the Clans and warn you when I can. Make sure there are cats by the river around sunhigh each day, that’s when I would share news if I have any.” Lemmy’s tail wrapped itself over Mosspounce’s tail. If they were alone, Mosspounce would have melted into purrs. “The Clans have their own afterlife. There’s no reason for Madeline and the Witch Hunters to interfere with you.”

“And we can trust you?” Downstar asked, carefully studying Lemmy’s face. Mosspounce stepped forward.

“If you trust me,” he declared, “then you can trust her.”

(Rabbitjoy: 92, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

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

(Lavendertwist: 21, male, warrior, playful, good singer, good storyteller)

(Downstar: 114, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Mosspounce: 16, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Lemmy: 31, female, Witch Hunter enforcer, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Wildclaw: 47, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Rattlepelt: 38, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Tempestshade: 16, nonbinary (they/them), childish, incredible cook)

(Elmsprout: 22, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

(Troutpool: 16, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Halibutdusk: 47, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Duskkit: 4, female, kit, troublesome, quick witted)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 47

James has been impatient toward the end of Weedfoot’s pregnancy. When he hears Weedfoot has gone into labor, he drops what he is doing and sprints for the nursery, where Weedfoot is bringing a single kitten into the world.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and James stand around a newborn, cream-furred kit. Under Weedfoot, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. Under the kit, it says NEW PLAYER: SCALEKIT, 0, MALE, LONESOME.]

(James: 123, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Weedfoot: 96, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Scalekit: 0, male, kit, lonesome)

Halibutdusk gazes up at Silverpelt and feels, finally, the grief is beginning to subside. Just as Wildclaw finally recovers from greencough, news reaches the Clan that Froggy has died.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Wildclaw sit together, watching Trumpetpaw, Tempestpaw, and Mosspaw. Under Halibutdusk, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING. Under Wildclaw, it says - CONDITION: GREENCOUGH. Wildclaw says “They look like both of them, don’t they?”]

---

Halibutdusk found a cool corner of camp to sit and watch his Clanmates share tongues. It would be one of the last nice spring days for the year, the historians predicted, so it would be good for the Clan to enjoy sunhigh as much as possible before the sand began to burn their paws. Halibutdusk still preferred the shade cast by the southern rock wall. The spot also gave him a good view of the three apprentices sharing tongues outside the apprentice’s den.

Tempestpaw, Mosspaw, and Trumpetpaw laid side by side, each working on knots in another’s fur. Trumpetpaw’s slim-cut fur meant there was little for Tempestpaw to groom, but Mosspaw found plenty of tangles in Tempestpaw’s fuzzy coat and harshly licked them away. Tempestpaw would squirm and protest, but Mosspaw kept on grooming.

“Having fun over here?” Wildclaw plopped down beside her brother, nesting into the sand. Halibutdusk gave her a little room, but Wildclaw groaned and said “Hal, Fennelspot says I’m symptom free. I won’t give anyone greencough.”

“Forgive me for being careful,” Halibutdusk said with a slight roll of his eyes. He moved back beside his sister and started sharing tongues with her.

“You seem better too,” Wildclaw noted. “Still your typical subdued self, but there’s something different about you today.” Halibutdusk sighed and turned back toward the apprentices.

“Mom was right,” Halibutdusk said. “Training Trumpetpaw has been good for me. It… it makes Shadowdrop’s absence a little easier to deal with.” Wildclaw kneaded the sand. She stared at her paws.

“I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this,” Wildclaw muttered, “but I got back from patrol a little bit ago. We spoke with a loner who wanted to cross through our territory and reach the southern farms. They knew Froggy, and they let us know… that he passed in his sleep.”

“Oh,” Halibutdusk said. His chest itched with a sudden, strange anxiety. He barely knew his father, only spoke to him on occasion, but…

“They look like both of them, don’t they?” Wildclaw hummed. Halibutdusk looked back to the apprentices. Trumpetpaw and Mosspaw managed to get Tempestpaw onto her back. Tempestpaw giggled violently as her siblings worked on knots on her pale belly. Trumpetpaw and Mosspaw couldn’t help but laugh with her.

“They do,” Halibutdusk hummed, leaning against his sister.

(Halibutdusk: 39, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Trumpetpaw: 8, female, warrior apprentice, troublesome, plays in mud, lover of stories)

(Tempestpaw: 8, female, caretaker apprentice, troublesome, loves to eat)

(Mosspaw: 8, male, caretaker apprentice, shameless, stares at fire)

(Wildclaw: 39, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

Palepaw proves herself skilled at handling the Clan’s disputes and is named Paleseed. Her brothers are named Waspdawn and Lavendertwist.

[Image ID: Paleseed, Waspdawn, and Lavendertwist pose with pride. Under Paleseed, it says LEVEL UP! PALEPAW -> PALESEED, PICKY NEST BUILDER -> STEADY PAWS, NEVER SITS STILL -> FAST RUNNER. Under Waspdawn, it says LEVEL UP! WASPPAW -> WASPDAWN, INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY -> LEARNER OF LORE, EYE FOR DETAILS -> CLUE FINDER. Under Lavendertwist, it says LEVEL UP! LAVENDERPAW -> LAVENDERTWIST, LOVES TO SING -> GOOD SINGER, + NEW SKILL: GOOD STORYTELLER.]

(Paleseed: 13, female, mediator, insecure, fast runner, steady paws)

(Waspdawn: 13, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Lavendertwist: 13, male, warrior, playful, good singer, good storyteller)

Carnationspeckle, Tempestpaw, Mosspaw, and Wildclaw are ambushed by rogues!

[Image ID: Mosspaw faces off against a tortoiseshell with a yellow collar. Under the tortoiseshell, it says NEW PLAYER: LEMMY, 23, FEMALE, COLD, DEEP STARCLAN BOND. Tempestpaw faces a black molly with a blind eye and white markings, while Wildclaw and Carnationspeckle fight a brown tom.]

---

“This is the most boring part of being a caretaker,” Mosspaw groaned as he dug out the roots of tall garlic mustard flowers. Dirt caked between his paws as the pile of plants grew at his side. Tempestpaw’s pile was much bigger than Mosspaw’s, and she set about her digging with a fervor Mosspaw could not copy.

“It’s not so bad,” Carnationspeckle said, spitting a stalk out of her mouth. “We’re getting rid of invading plants that hurt our territory and don’t serve much purpose to us. In fact, be extra careful when you pick them up. You could get sick if you swallow it.”

“Rattlepelt wants us to bring a few stalks back to camp though,” Wildclaw called from where she stalked along the trees, looking for more garlic mustard. “She can make some kind of yellow dye from them.”

“It’s still boring,” Mosspaw huffed. He sat dramatically beside his pile. He sniffed the leaves and sneered. “They smell weird, too.”

“Why are you complaining?” Tempestpaw asked. She lifted her head from where she had been happily burrowing, her nose coated in dust. “You wanted time away from nursery duty with Clammask.”

“I’ll go back to nursery duty now, thank you,” Mosspaw grumbled. Wildclaw rolled her eyes and dug at a new stalk of garlic mustard. Mosspaw jumped over his old pile and went off to find garlic mustard stalks away from the eyes of the other caretakers.

The patrol wasn’t too far from the Great Northern River. Mosspaw followed the sound of the humming current until he found a new patch to weed. The garlic mustard grew along a thick patch of shrubbery. Mosspaw bent down to pluck a small stalk out clean. Suddenly, he yelped and jumped back. A thorny vine stretched around the garlic mustard. It had left one of its tiny loads embedded in Mosspaw’s gums.

“Ow ow ow,” he muttered, rubbing his face on the ground. The thorn slipped out. Mosspaw spat a little blood on the grass beside it.

“Young black tom!” someone called. “Do you hail from one of the five Clans of warriors?” 

Mosspaw looked up, still sneering from the phantom pain of the thorn. Three cats stood on the other side of the Great Northern River. The first, the one who had yowled to Mosspaw, was a brown tom whose long fur dangled on a thin frame. A long scar ran along his left side. He cocked his head at Mosspaw, as though trying to get a better look at him. A black molly with small white markings stood beside him. Vicious scars trailed around half of her face, leaving one of her brown eyes a mangled mess. The third visitor was a tortoiseshell. A yellow leather collar wrapped around her neck. With the way her colors laid on her pelt, it was like her tail was always in shadow.

“I said,” the brown tom yowled again, “do you hail from one of the five Clans?”

“Yes?” Mosspaw said. Wildclaw appeared by his side a few moments later, called by the yowling. She glared at the strangers and her ears pressed back. 

At Mosspaw’s confirmation, the brown tom looked back at his companions and nodded. They stood beside a path of stones that jutted in and out of the water, turning the river paw-deep. With the brown tom’s signal, they hurried across the Great Northern River, eyes locked on Mosspaw.

“Mosspaw, back!” Wildclaw snapped. Mosspaw obeyed immediately, skittering backward, low to the ground. The brown tom launched at him with a mighty caterwaul. Wildclaw intercepted his pounce and pinned him to the ground.

“What’s going on?” Carnationspeckle and Tempestpaw hurried into view, the latter still clutching a garlic mustard stalk in her jaws. Carnationspeckle gasped as the other two mollies hissed and sneered at her. Wildclaw and the brown tom spun in a fury of claws and teeth. Carnationspeckle hurried to her former apprentice’s aid, fangs digging into the brown tom’s scruff. The black molly ran at Carnationspeckle, but Tempestpaw got to her first. 

“Lemmy, take the tom!” the black molly yowled as she smacked Tempestpaw across the face. Mosspaw snapped out of his shock when the tortoiseshell, Lemmy, stalked towards him. His courage flooded back in.

[Image ID: The brown tom, Achilles, yowls “Consider this an official message from the Witch Hunters!” while the black molly and Lemmy stand behind him. Under the brown tom, it says NEW PLAYER: ACHILLES, 75, MALE, DARING, ELOQUENT SPEAKER. Under the black molly, it says NEW PLAYER: PEARL, 33, FEMALE, CAREFUL, EXPLORER, CLEVER.]

“Some advice from me to you, stranger,” Mosspaw snapped, ducking under Lemmy’s swing. “If you’re going to attack someone, don’t go into battle with a collar around your throat. It lets me do this!” Mosspaw jumped over Lemmy’s head. He spun around and attached onto her back. He grabbed onto Lemmy’s yellow collar, the leather thick and foreign in his mouth, and pulled it tight against Lemmy’s throat.

Lemmy choked and wiggled under Mosspaw. She strained under his weight, desperately searching for air. As her movements began to slow, Mosspaw let go of her collar. Just as he slid off Lemmy’s back, the black molly dug her fangs into Mosspaw’s scruff. She threw him down. Mosspaw’s head hit the ground hard. Lemmy stared at him, stars fluttering around her.

“Give us your final message for the world of the living,” Lemmy growled. Mosspaw struggled and squirmed under the black molly, but she had him pinned tight. What could he do, what could he do?

“If I have to die,” Mosspaw gulped, a strained laugh slipping out, “at least I get to look at a pretty face like yours.” Lemmy blinked. Her mouth hung slightly open. It seemed she couldn’t quite process what Mosspaw had said.

“Pearl, Lemmy!” Lemmy and the black molly, Pearl, stepped away from Mosspaw. Mosspaw squirmed away as soon as Pearl moved. Did that really work? The brown tom scurried away from Wildclaw, Carnationspeckle, and Tempestpaw. Blood dripped into his eyes from a deep scratch on his head. “We’ve made our point. We’re leaving.”

“Yes, Achilles,” Pearl said. She and Lemmy ran up to the brown tom, Achilles, completely forgetting Mosspaw.

“What point?” Wildclaw snapped, spitting the rogue’s blood out of her mouth. “Why did you attack us? Who are you?”

“Consider this an official message from the Witch Hunters!” Achilles yowled with a dramatic swing of his tail. “We will not tolerate a perversion of the Other Side!” Pearl and Lemmy proudly stood behind him, panting hard. Achilles flicked his tail back. He led his two companions back across the river without a second glance. Carnationspeckle ran to Mosspaw and groomed his scruff. Wildclaw cleaned a small claw-wound off her paw. Tempestpaw shook out her pelt.

“Can anyone explain what just happened?” Tempestpaw huffed.

(Mosspaw: 8, male, caretaker apprentice, shameless, stares at fire)

(Tempestpaw: 8, female, caretaker apprentice, troublesome, loves to eat)

(Carnationspeckle: 49, female, caretaker compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Wildclaw: 39, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Achilles: 75, male, rogue(?), daring, eloquent speaker)

(Pearl: 33, female, rogue(?), careful, explorer, clever)

(Lemmy: 23, female, rogue(?), cold, deep StarClan bond)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 37

Oilstripe was seen in a very serious conversation with a kittypet, who ran away when another patrol arrived.

[Image ID: Rattlepelt, Wildclaw, and Weedfoot approach Oilstripe, who is speaking to Froggy. Under Weedfoot, it says - CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH.]

“Thank you for coming with me,” Rattlepelt sighed as Wildclaw and Weedfoot walked behind her with baskets. “Last night’s storm is sure to have produced some good clay.”

“Now that I’m not exhausted,” Weedfoot said, adjusting her basket, “this seems like a good way to stretch my legs.”

“I’m just here to keep you safe,” Wildclaw huffed, matching pace with Rattlepelt. “We don’t want any rogues attacking you.”

“They would be fools to attack a fox risen from the dead, wouldn’t you think?” Rattlepelt laughed. Her fox pelt covering included the fur of the dead beast’s head, which covered Rattlepelt’s sun sensitive head. With the way the leather pelt hid her from the burning sun, a stranger in the distance would likely think she was a very, very sick looking fox.

While clay deposits were not as fruitful as they were in SlugClan, the Great Northern River still offered its fair share of clay for RippleClan’s use. The gentle water would cool Rattlepelt as she dug up the needed clay. It would be better than roasting in camp on that particularly hot day. 

It seemed Oilstripe had a similar idea! As Rattlepelt’s patrol approached the river, the young molly spotted her mother’s new mate sitting on one of the half submerged rocks in the middle of the river. A fluffy black kittypet sat on the other side of the river, talking to Oilstripe. A newcomer to RippleClan, perhaps?

“I recognize that kittypet!” Wildclaw gasped. “That’s Froggy!”

“Your sire?” Rattlepelt asked as Wildclaw dropped her basket. Rattlepelt had heard of the wandering kittypet a few times; Carnationspeckle frequently bumped into him near AshClan. 

“Let’s see if he needs something,” Weedfoot said, setting her basket aside and taking the lead. As the group got closer, however, Froggy’s fur fluffed up. He nodded to Oilstripe with a soft meow and trotted away from the river.

“Come back!” Wildclaw yowled, but her father vanished into the shrub. She growled and clawed the wet earth of the river’s shore. 

“I think Rattlepelt’s leather scared him,” Oilstripe admitted with an awkward chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” Rattlepelt said as her ears burned.

“We were finished anyway,” Oilstripe sighed. She hopped back to dry ground and groomed her wet paws.

“Is Froggy doing well?” Weedfoot asked with one ear cocked in Froggy’s direction.

“His humans are still hunting, and he still joins them,” Oilstripe explained. “I’m glad I found him, though.”

“What do you need a kittypet for?” Wildclaw asked, squinting at Oilstripe. 

“I suppose I can tell you,” Oilstripe gulped. She kept her gaze on the ground. “Carnationspeckle and I have talked, and… we would like to be parents.”

“That’s wonderful!” Rattlepelt gasped. She shoved her face into Oilstripe’s fluff. The face of her fox pelt smacked into Oilstripe’s muzzle. The ginger molly laughed and shoved it aside to groom Rattlepelt’s head.

“You must be looking for a sire, then,” Weedfoot purred.

“I asked Froggy if he knew any ginger toms who would be willing,” Oilstripe explained. “Carnationspeckle and I don’t want a sire with Clan connections. We want to be the parents of our children, not share that with someone else.”

“Why a ginger tom?” Rattlepelt asked as she rubbed against Oilstripe.

“Carnationspeckle’s planning to carry the kits, isn’t she?” Wildclaw realized. “You want the kits to look like you.”

“Can you blame me?” Oilstripe laughed.

“I suppose we can’t,” Weedfoot purred. She touched noses with her former apprentice, tail twitching high overhead.

(Rattlepelt: 20, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Weedfoot: 86, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Wildclaw: 29, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Froggy: 106, male, kittypet, rebellious, maintains the territory, great speaker)

(Oilstripe: 41, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Carnationspeckle announces she is expecting kits. She doesn’t believe she can effectively perform her duties while expecting kits and moves into the nursery.

[Image ID: Fennelspot speaks to Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe. Oilstripe yowls, “It worked? It really worked!”. Under Carnationspeckle, it says + CONDITION: PREGNANT.]

---

“It worked? It really worked!”

The yowl snapped Shadowdrop out of his conversation. He had been sharing a meal with his littermates in the shadow of the shipwreck, tearing apart a large kelp wrap to get to the meat inside. Halibutdusk paused, about to take another bite.

“Was that Oilstripe?” Wildclaw asked, cocking her head. Shadowdrop nodded. He recognized the historian’s voice. The yowl came from the medicine den. It caught the attention of the other cats lounging around camp, enjoying a meal before sunhigh.

“What do you suppose she’s talking about?” Halibutdusk asked his littermates. Realization sparked in Wildclaw’s eyes.

“Oh!” Wildclaw gasped. “That was quick.”

“What is it?” Shadowdrop asked. As he spoke, Carnationspeckle, Oilstripe, and Fennelspot left the medicine den. Shadowdrop’s heart twinged as Carnationspeckle wove her tail with Oilstripe’s. Something twisted in Shadowdrop’s chest at the sight, and yet, he couldn’t look away.

“Downstar!” Carnationspeckle called into the leader’s den, paws dancing. “Downstar, are you still in there?”

“I’m here, I’m here,” Downstar huffed, trotting outside. She spotted Oilstripe in the back. The ginger molly’s sunny disposition quivered under her leader’s gaze.

“Downstar, do you remember what I told you before the last Gathering?” Carnationspeckle purred, stepping in between her mate and former mentor. The twinge in Shadowdrop’s chest gripped him like fangs on his scruff as Carnationspeckle brushed her tail against her belly. “We picked a good sire. We just spoke with Fennelspot. He confirmed how I’ve been feeling. I’m going to have kits!” 

RippleClan flowed around Shadowdrop, moving toward the ocean that was Carnationspeckle’s unending joy, but Shadowdrop was a rock whose peak stuck out of the water. He couldn’t move with the current’s flow, even if he wanted to. Downstar touched noses with Carnationspeckle. Wildclaw slipped between them with a crude joke. Halibutdusk spoke to Oilstripe, congratulating her. He shouldn’t have been congratulating her! She shouldn’t be the second mother of Carnationspeckle’s kits! It shouldn’t have been her!

The rock pushed back against the river’s flow.

Shadowdrop slipped out of camp without a single glance his way. He should have said something to Carnationspeckle sooner. He should have made his intentions clear. Carnationspeckle should be preparing to nurse his kits! He could have been a great father! He could have had a family who chose him over all others, rather than hiding in their dens or chasing foxes or staring at the clouds.

Maybe he still could.

(Oilstripe: 41, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Shadowdrop: 29, male, codekeeper, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Halibutdusk: 29, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Wildclaw: 29, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Carnationspeckle: 39, female, caretaker compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Downstar: 96, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

Burdockcreek’s mangled tail has healed, but the injury left him scarred. He bats his injured tail for a while, entertaining himself.

[Image ID: Burdockcreek’s tail is lined in scars. Under Burdockcreek, it says - CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL.]

(Burdockcreek: 31, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

Wildclaw confessed her feelings to Rattlepelt but got rejected. She immediately slipped on some rocks and dislocated her paw.

[Image ID: Wildclaw walks away from Rattlepelt. Under Wildclaw, it says + CONDITION: DISLOCATED PAW.]

---

Shadowdrop may have been unlucky in love (and grumpy, and gloomy, and strangely absent as of late) but Wildclaw would not repeat her brother’s mistakes. If she had feelings for someone, she would act on them before anyone else could. And by the stars, she had feelings.

And she had the perfect opportunity, too; Rattlepelt had a meeting planned with LynxClan and SlugClan artisans to share the latest knowledge and tricks of leather-making, and she would need an escort. Sure, technically escorting artisans like that was a warrior’s job, and Downstar initially asked Scrubmask to join the young artisan, but a bit of confidence (and a lot of begging) let Wildclaw take the lead.

Sitting through the meeting was a bit like when the fox bit into Wildclaw’s tail moons ago. Rattlepelt had no time for her caretaker escort, and instead showed a new apprentice how to properly prepare leather for future crafts. The other escorts wandered around the Gathering grounds and had decent conversation, but Wildclaw wasn’t there for small talk. She was there to secure her future, even though it meant sitting through a storm and getting soaked through her skin.

Sunset was half over by the time Wildclaw and Rattlepelt finally started for home. Rattlepelt’s fox pelt burned in the dusk light peeking through the thinning clouds, a gift from Wildclaw to the molly of her affections. Wildclaw steadied herself and cleared her throat. Rattlepelt watched Wildclaw from the corner of her eye.

“Rattlepelt,” Wildclaw began, dragging her paws along the wet grass, “there’s something I’m hoping to try with you.”

“What would that be?” Rattlepelt asked. The fox head slipped off her slick gray skin, revealing her pointy white ear.

“It doesn’t have to be anything serious,” Wildclaw said. She picked up speed as her usual confidence surged back into her voice. “I was thinking that we could start seeing each other romantically. We don’t have to call each other mates yet, I know that may be too sudden, but if you want to—”

“But I don’t want to,” Rattlepelt gulped.

“You don’t?” Wildclaw snapped, spinning to face Rattlepelt. However, as she turned around, she stepped on a slick rock at an awkward angle. Her paw flew out from under her. She fell on her shoulder. Her head smacked into the mud. When Wildclaw scrambled up and stood on her offending paw, pain shot through her leg and forced her back down.

“Oh, oh, are you alright?” Rattlepelt yelped, hurrying to Wildclaw’s side.

“My paw hurts,” Wildclaw growled. She swore she could see her paw swell already. She slipped on a rock? Really? She wasn’t an elder, for StarClan’s sake!

“Lean on me,” Rattlepelt said, nudging Wildclaw up. Ears burning, Wildclaw pressed into Rattlepelt and held her injured paw close. She couldn’t stand to look at Rattlepelt. “We’ll take the walk home slow. Fennelspot can take care of you then.” 

Wildclaw limped forward, but almost fell again. Rattlepelt slipped under her and caught her, almost losing her fox pelt in the process. Rattlepelt’s gentle, bony weight against Wildclaw’s chest was too much. She fell on her flank and forced her question out.

“Why don’t you want to see me?” Wildclaw huffed. Rattlepelt shifted awkwardly. The front of her fox pelt fell off and dangled at her side.

“I don’t want to be in a relationship right now,” Rattlepelt explained. “I’m hoping to mentor one of Weedfoot’s kits, and I need to help my mother with her pregnancy. I don’t get to be much of a sister to Mousesong, so I want to be a good sister to the new litter.” 

Oh. Of course that was it. For someone who thought she was so smart, Wildclaw could be rather mouse-brained at times. Why should she put her own feelings over the needs of her other Clanmates? Rattlepelt had important things to do, others to care for. Wildclaw would be a distraction. That wasn’t her place in the Clan.

“That’s understandable,” Wildclaw chuckled, her shoulders tense as she cradled her injured paw and wounded pride. “I didn’t mean to make a fuss back there.”

“Anyone can slip,” Rattlepelt assured her. “Let’s get back to camp.” Rattlepelt fixed her fox pelt and joined Wildclaw’s side. Wildclaw tested her paw, but it hurt to stand on it. So she leaned on Rattlepelt as they made their way back to RippleClan territory, just the same as they were when they left.

(Wildclaw: 29, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Rattlepelt: 20, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

Palekit’s snake bite has healed! But both she and Ripplekit got heat exhaustion.

[Image ID: Palekit and Ripplekit sit on screen. Under Palekit, it says - CONDITION: SNAKE BITE, + CONDITION: HEAT EXHAUSTION. Under Ripplekit, it says + CONDITION: HEAT EXHAUSTION.]

(Palekit: 3, female, kit, impulsive, picky nest builder)

(Ripplekit: 3, female, kit, know-it-all, avid play-fighter, splashes in puddles)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 48

Weedfoot and James discover that Scalekit is extremely sensitive to certain sounds and textures. He starts crying at the feeling of leather.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and James stand behind Scalekit, who is an older kit now. Under Scalekit, it says + NEW SKILL: AVID PLAY-FIGHTER, + PERMANENT CONDITION: SENSORY SENSITIVITIES. Fennelspot tells the group, “We’re a sensitive species. Some more than others.”]

(James: 124, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Weedfoot: 97, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Scalekit: 1, male, kit, lonesome, avid play-fighter)

(Fennelspot: 105, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

Rustshade tells himself he cannot let his feelings consume him, he must move on. Clammask’s grief begins to lessen. Weedfoot picks herself out of her nest and begins her day anew, a fresh conviction in her heart.

[Image ID: Rustshade, Clammask, and Weedfoot stand together. Under each of them, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

(Rustshade: 92, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Clammask: 42, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Weedfoot: 97, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Spikecrash and Darkkick have both healed, but remain scarred by their injuries.

[Image ID: Spikecrash has a small scar at the base of her tail, while Darkkick has scars wrapping his tail. Under Spikecrash, it says - CONDITION: BROKEN BACK. Under Darkkick, it says - CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL.]

(Spikecrash: 23, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Darkkick: 108, male, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

The new cleric apprentice from AshClan, Terracottapaw, comes asking for horsetail. They refuse to say why AshClan needs them but RippleClan still provides them with horsetail.

[Image ID: Paleseed tells a ginger tabby apprentice with white markings “You can talk to me if you’d like.”]

---

“I can’t believe I have another mediator to work with!” Paleseed cheered as she walked alongside Spikecrash. “I thought it would be ages before I had someone else with my training to help.”

“You can’t really call it training,” Spikecrash reminded her, features squishing together in awkward humility. “It’s just lived experience.”

“I’m just glad I’m not alone in this,” Paleseed purred, rubbing against Spikecrash. “I was worried I would ruin everything without help.”

“I’m sure you would have been fine without me,” Spikecrash sighed.

The pair approached the AshClan border near the end of a long, hot day. Bugs swarmed around Paleseed’s face and made her nose itch. A bug bute swelled in Spikecrash’s ear. The mediators almost couldn’t breathe through the thick humidity, but still they pressed on, hoping the cool night would quell some of the bugs. When the border came into view, there were already a few mediators waiting for them. There was Shellstripe, whom had offered a lot of valuable training during Gatherings and meetings. Two of Paleseed’s good friends, Frogbelly and Eveningshade, waited as well. An unfamiliar ginger apprentice lingered behind them, carefully eyeing the approaching cats.

“Ready for your first mediator meeting?” Paleseed asked, taking a deep breath.

“I think you are more nervous than I am,” Spikecrash said before pressing on. She and Paleseed stopped just a tail-length from the border, batting away gnats that tried to crawl onto their eyes.

“Good evening, Paleseed!” Frogbelly chirped, fur fluffing up at the sight of his friend. When he and the other AshClan cats spotted Spikecrash, he said “Oh, a new friend! Newtstream mentioned a potential future mediator in RippleClan!”

“Everyone, this is Spikecrash,” Paleseed explained, gently nudging Spikecrash’s chin up. “A horse broke her back, so we brought her to camp. She decided to become a mediator while she healed!”

“Recovering from a broken back is impressive, Mediator Spikecrash,” Eveningshade purred, bowing slightly. “Your clerics are skilled. StarClan must have blessed your recovery.”

“I’ll have this scar for the rest of my life,” Spikecrash sighed, showing off the deep gouge a bit above her tail, “but I can walk. The scar still aches sometimes.”

“Better some aches than to be paralyzed,” Eveningshade said with a dismissive flick of her whiskers.

“We were going to talk about how we can improve relations between our Clans, what with one of our apprentices abandoning us for your ranks,” Shellstripe gulped, “but we should start by getting to know you better, Mediator Spikecrash. Perhaps soon enough, we’ll be able to drop the honorific. I am Shellstripe, and this is Eveningshade and Frogbelly.” The gray and lilac cats stood taller when their names were spoken.

“You haven’t introduced this one yet,” Paleseed said. She nodded to the ginger cat lingering behind the group. “You must be newly apprenticed. What’s your name?”

“I am Terracottapaw,” the apprentice gulped, carefully slinking between the mediators. “I am Newtstream’s apprentice.” They squeezed their eyes tight and said very quickly, as though under interrogation, “I may smell like a tom but I am not a tom and want you to think of me as something else with they and them!”

“No need to be nervous, Terracottapaw!” Paleseed said. She crouched a bit to reach the small apprentice’s level. “My sister Puddlewhisper used to be a tom too. If you ever need a friend to talk to, I’m sure she’d love to chat with you at the next Gathering. It’s not the same experience, but she could help!” Terracottapaw nodded stiffly, not meeting Paleseed’s heather eyes.

“I thought this meeting was just for mediators,” Spikecrash noted. “What is a cleric apprentice doing here?”

“I have an official request for RippleClan,” Terracottapaw mumbled. Paleseed almost couldn’t hear them.

“Why don’t you and I step to the side?” Paleseed suggested, nodding to a tree that straddled the border. “Spikecrash can get acquainted with the other mediators that way.” Spikecrash stiffened as Frogbelly suddenly bombarded her with questions. Terracottapaw slunk away. Paleseed followed on her side of the border until they stopped by the trunk of the bordering tree. She rubbed against the tree, rubbing away bugs swarming her face.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Terracottapaw,” Paleseed said as the young apprentice carefully sat, “but why is Newtstream not here with you? It’s a big task to send a new apprentice out without their mentor.”

“We need horsetail, if your Clan has any to spare,” Terracottapaw asked softly. 

“Wouldn’t it be better to ask SlugClan for horsetail?” Paleseed suggested. “Their territory is better suited to growing horsetail. They’d be more likely to have extra.”

“Do you not have some?” Terracottapaw stammered, eyes wide. “Please! Newtstream said it has to come from RippleClan for the ritual to work!”

“Ritual?” Paleseed said. “What do you mean?” Terracottapaw squeezed their muzzle shut tight. They glanced toward the mediators, who were utterly absorbed in conversation with Spikecrash. They shivered despite the heavy heat. “You can talk to me if you’d like. You look like you have a lot on your shoulders for someone so young.”

“I just need the horsetail,” Terracottapaw gulped, shaking their head.

“I can ask Fennelspot if he has any to spare,” Paleseed sighed. Before she could pry any further, Spikecrash and the AshClan mediators strolled over to her and Terracottapaw. The ginger apprentice slipped back behind Shellstripe as they looped Paleseed in on their conversation.

What was happening in AshClan?

(Paleseed: 14, female, mediator, insecure, fast runner, steady paws)

(Spikecrash: 23, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

Halibutdusk realized tom doesn’t describe how they feel anymore.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk sits in the middle of the screen. Under them, it says LEVEL UP! MALE -> NON-BINARY (THEY/THEM).]

(Halibutdusk: 40, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

Mosspaw plays with Lemmy along the border.

[Image ID: Mosspaw tells Lemmy “Maybe you’re too scared to spar with me.” Lemmy responds, “Excuse me?”]

---

Mosspaw had been on a hunting assessment when he saw Lemmy again. She was on RippleClan’s side of the river, sniffing at the current. Her whiskers twitched as the water sprayed her face with a soft mist. Her blue eyes scanned the territory but could not see Mosspaw’s dark pelt in the dappled shadows of the brush.

Downstar warned the Clan to keep an eye out for the attackers. Clammask warned Mosspaw to get backup if he saw any of the three cats again. Yet this tortoiseshell intrigued him. Were her friends waiting for a signal to attack? Was she looking for someone to kill? Hmm…

“If you’re looking to plan an ambush,” Mosspaw called, stalking out of the undergrowth, “you’ve picked a bad spot to wait.” Lenny’s eyes tightened. Her claws slipped out. Her tail thrashed about as she readied herself for the approaching attacker.

“You don’t have to be here,” Lemmy growled. “I’m not looking for a fight.”

“And yet you and your friends tried to kill me,” Mosspaw scoffed, taking a cocky step forward. “Can you explain why?” Lemmy fluffed herself up, trying to appear bigger than she was.

“You’re young,” she said. “You can leave this Clan and respect your ancestors rather than insult their rest with rituals and shrines.”

“I think you have an odd perspective on the Clans,” Mosspaw laughed. “But if you’re not going to kill me, might as well let you know my name. I’m Mosspaw. I overheard your friends call you Lemmy.”

“Go,” Lemmy hissed. “My fight’s not with you.” She turned back to the river. 

“Maybe you’re too scared to spar with me,” Mosspaw chuckled. He risked a few steps closer.

“Excuse me?” Lemmy faced Mosspaw again, lips curled. 

“You’re here to learn more about the Clans, aren’t you?” Mosspaw laughed, wiggling his flank. “Why not see how a Clan cat fights? A friendly spar between would-be killer and would-be victim.”

“You are an imbecile,” Lemmy snapped with a violent slash of her tail.

“You could say I have my father’s charm,” Mosspaw purred. “I’m just a tom who sees a pretty molly and wants to get to know her.”

“You want to spar?” Lemmy huffed. She crouched, claws sliding out and eyes sharp. “Fine then. Let’s spar.”

“This will be fun!” Mosspaw laughed as Lemmy pounced.

(Mosspaw: 9, male, caretaker apprentice, shameless, stares at fire)

(Lemmy: 24, female, rogue(?), cold, deep StarClan bond)

Mousesong scents AshClan on the territory, despite the good relations between Clans.

[Image ID: Mousesong looks up at a big tree, calling “Terracottapaw? Is that you?” Behind her, a massive dog pounces.]

---

As a codekeeper, it was Mousesong’s responsibility to enforce the code on her Clan, and that meant following up on the occasional rumor. She’d overheard an odd rumor one sleepless night in the warrior’s den that Elmsprout’s reason for joining RippleClan could have been to smuggle oceanic resources to her home under the guise of sanctuary. Now, Mousesong did not believe the rumor. Eelstar looked frustrated enough at Gatherings to make her think Elmsprout’s asylum was legitimate (although he had been oddly absent from the last Gathering, replaced instead by his deputy Barkfur). Still, it was worth setting up a stakeout by the AshClan border in the wee glimmers of the morning, bugs dancing around her ears and nipping at her scalp.

Mousesong didn’t have many places to hide with her bright white fur. She wasn’t much of a climber, which meant she couldn’t really hide in the trees. Would she have to smear her pelt with mud and crawl under a bush? Maybe there would be a thick enough shrub or something with white flowers to keep her camouflaged…

A strong fear scent slammed into Mousesong’s nose, making her stumble. StarClan was it thick! And fresh too, only minutes old. It certainly wasn’t RippleClan scent. No, the smell was AshClan through and through. What was an AshClan cat doing in RippleClan? Mousesong thought they were trying to stay friendly, despite the issue with Elmsprout. Why did they smell so terrified?

The odd scent was far more important than a rumor Mousesong already didn’t believe in. Her eyes traced an unseen trail further into RippleClan territory. Ears sharp and alert for sounds of an ambush, Mousesong followed the trail. She didn’t have to go far, however. Her tense ears picked up a hard sobbing sound from somewhere overhead. 

Mousesong scanned the trees, searching for odd colors amidst the low-lit green leaves. The fear scent slipped up a thick, round beech tree. A bright ginger pelt clung to a branch far overhead, shaking so violently that leaves tumbled off the twigs. Mousesong recognized the apprentice from the last Gathering a few days ago.

“Terracottapaw?” Mousesong called. “Is that you?” Terracottapaw gasped, silver eyes locking onto Mousesong like she was a bear.

“It’s after me,” Terracottapaw whined. “Autumnstar sent it after me!” They buried their face against the thick branch.

“What’s happening?” Mousesong huffed, looking about for a threat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Terracottapaw cried, refusing to lift their head. “Run, please!”

“I’m taking you back to AshClan,” Mousesong said. “I’ll keep you safe.” Her words began to falter as the sound of heavy paws grew closer. She could hear the thick panting well before she turned around. Claws at the ready, she arched her back and hissed at the approaching beast.

It was just like her sister described it from her own encounter as an apprentice; a massive dog, bigger than any dog she’d ever seen before. Tall, pointed ears, sharp as claws. Wild eyes. Hungry jaws.

Terracottapaw was gone by the time a patrol found Mousesong’s body.

(Mousesong: 25, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

[rippleclan]

Picrew cats of RippleClan, living and dead!

In order: Applepelt, Burdockcreek, Carnationspeckle, Clammask, Downstar, Duskkit, Fennelspot, Halibutdusk, James.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 27

Graythroat returns to camp with a bleeding tail and stories of a dead fox.

[Image ID: Graythroat stands proud while the text under her reads + CONDITION: BITE WOUND. Fennelspot and Downstar sit together in the upper corner.]

Downstar was not supposed to be so cooperative.

Fennelspot was only a couple moons younger than Downstar, so he vividly remembered how she plagued his apprenticeship; spunky and wild Downpaw would limp into the medicine den with scraps and bruises from her latest misadventure, with Shadowsun sighing behind her. At first, Fennelspot’s mentor Yellowflower gladly treated her, but she was in the medicine den so much, she finally said that young Fennelpaw would treat Downpaw for whatever injury or illness she brought in. It prepared Fennelspot well for being Downstar’s first cleric and for caring for her equally troublesome children.

Fennelspot remembered when Downstar broke a rib not long before he got his full name. No matter how much he insisted she had to rest, she wouldn’t stay in her nest, insisting she could watch over the nursery or guard camp or do whatever it was she thought interesting at the time. That was just her way. Now, though…

Downstar spent most of her time in her den, resting. When Fennelspot entered to check her leg or help her exercise, Downstar listened without fuss. She groomed her leg, kept it still, and took whatever advice Fennelspot gave her without question.

Something was deeply wrong with Downstar.

Fennelspot was deep in his worries as he placed a new splint on Downstar’s leg when suddenly, a manic laugh broke through camp. Both Fennelspot and Downstar’s heads snapped up as the strange laugh drew closer. Fennelspot left Downstar’s den just as others in the camp, in the midst of naps or sharing tongues, looked out of their dens to find the source of the odd sound.

“Hali!” the source of the laugh yowled. “Shadow! You won’t believe it!” Graythroat marched into camp with wild eyes and a tall tail. Foreign blood smeared her muzzle while her own dribbled down her legs from a huge wound on her tail. 

“Graythroat, what did you do?” Fennelspot gasped. He ran at Graythroat and forced her to a stop. RippleClan gathered behind him, staring at Graythroat’s bloody face. Halibutdusk and Shadowdrop pushed through the crowd, standing on either side of their sister.

“What did I do?” Graythroat laughed, flicking her tail as though it wasn’t bleeding profusely. “What did I do? Let me tell you, I killed a fox!” She cackled once more, giving Fennelspot just enough time to shove her flank down and pin her tail for a better look at the wound.

“You killed a fox?” Rattlepaw gasped, peeking out from behind Rabbitjoy and Carnationspeckle.

“Gray…” Halibutdusk gulped. The young warrior studied Fennelspot as he groomed the blood around Graythroat’s wound. It was no doubt a fox bite; Fennelspot didn’t know another creature with such a long mouth and sharp punctures. Still, Graythroat must have thrashed her tail hard in the fox’s grasp. There were multiple smaller bites that tore across the skin.

“There I was,” Graythroat said, ducking slightly as though stalking through the forest, “enjoying some time alone, when I see the biggest, fattest, reddest fox I have ever seen in my life, just mouse-lengths from the border!”

“Graythroat, you’ve only ever seen one fox,” Halibutdusk sighed.

“It was outside our territory?” Shadowdrop asked. 

“I wasn’t going to let it come in,” Graythroat scoffed. “It was the greatest fight of our generation. Our fangs dug into each other, we tumbled to and through—”

“And you can keep telling the story once I treat your wound!” Fennelspot snapped. “StarClan knows what diseases a fox could have. Medicine den, now.” Graythroat groaned, tilting her head back as far as it could go. Still, she obeyed (with a nudge from Halibutdusk). 

As Fennelspot led Graythroat (and most of the Clan) to the medicine den, he caught Downstar’s eyes shining from her den. Fennelspot should have been snapping at her to rest her leg as she made sure Graythroat was okay, or at least question her as to why she would attack a fox who had done nothing wrong. But Downstar was still. She just watched Graythroat bleed. Fennelspot had been aware of Graythroat’s issues for a while, but Downstar… 

She scared him.

(Fennelspot: 84, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 86, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Graythroat: 19, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Rattlepaw: 10, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, plays with prey)

(Halibutdusk: 19, male, warrior, gloomy, great storyteller, clever)

(Shadowdrop: 19, male, codekeeper, sneaky, eloquent speaker, good teacher)

Rattlepaw teaches Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe a special dance in the water.

[Image ID: Rattlepaw waits for Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe as Carnationspeckle says “I’ll dance if she will!” Under Carnationspeckle, it says LEVEL UP! TALENTED SWIMMER -> FISH-LIKE SWIMMER. Under Oilstripe, it says LEVEL UP! GHOST SIGHT -> GHOST SPEAKER.]

(Rattlepaw: 10, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, plays with prey)

(Carnationspeckle: 29, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Oilstripe: 31, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 31

It seems Downstar’s broken bone has finally healed, but she stays in her den.

[Image ID: Downstar sits in the center of the screen. Under her, it reads - CONDITION: BROKEN LEG.]

(Downstar: 90, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

Weedfoot asks James to show her a few battle moves.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and James face each other while Halibutdusk and Clammask watch from afar. Under Weedfoot, it says LEVEL UP! VERY CLEVER -> STEADY PAWS. Under Halibutdusk, it reads LEVEL UP! GREAT STORYTELLER -> MASTERFUL STORYTELLER. Lastly, under Clammask, it says LEVEL UP! LORE KEEPER -> LORE MASTER.]

---

“You want me,” James scoffed, staring at Weedfoot like she had grown a second tail, “to teach you some battle moves?”

“You’re a good fighter when you want to be,” Weedfoot chuckled, pacing around James. They were in the center of camp, not long after everyone had finished their sunhigh naps. Clammask and Halibutdusk watched the pair as they cleared snow from around camp and tended the fire near the warrior’s den. Weedfoot left large paw prints in the snow as she eyed James and his bulky figure. 

“At least you’re suggesting we do this in camp,” James sighed, glancing at the ocean behind him. “It’s too cold to leave camp.”

“You never want to leave camp,” Weedfoot laughed. She crouched with her flank high, trying not to let her heart climb out of her mouth. “We’ve got an audience. Do you want to show the young cats how you handle things?” James glanced at Clammask and Halibutdusk. His whiskers twitched and a purr mixed into his laugh.

“I hope you’re ready then, my dear,” James laughed. He launched at Weedfoot, and the duel began.

(James: 107, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Weedfoot: 80, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

While the codekeepers investigate claims from WheatClan that Wildclaw and Clammask went hunting in their territory, they come across a large dog. Shadowdrop is caught by the dog, but his patrol saves him. Mousepaw is apprenticed to Rustshade to allow Shadowdrop to heal.

[Image ID: Rustshade is running away, but Mousepaw looks back at Shadowdrop in the distance and yowls “Rustshade, it got Shadowdrop!” Under Shadowdrop, it says + CONDITION: BROKEN BONE.]

(Mousepaw: 8, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

(Shadowdrop: 23, male, codekeeper, sneaky, eloquent speaker, good teacher)

(Rustshade: 75, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 20

The war between RippleClan and AshClan comes to a formal end, and everyone in RippleClan celebrates.

[Image ID: A crowd of RippleClan cats, including Oilstripe, gather to frame Downstar, who says “It’s over, everyone!”]

Oilstripe hated the wait. 

All of RippleClan lingered in their camp’s clearing, the light of a central fire throwing shadows onto the shipwreck. A soft snowfall danced overhead, fizzling out well before it reached the warm camp. Everyone’s minds seemed far from camp, however. Weedfoot paced around the exit while Puddlespeckle watched her with a tired, but oddly soft gaze. Burdockcreek and Clammask silently shared tongues with Rustshade. Oilstripe sat close to the fire with Carnationspeckle and Applepelt. There were no StarClan spirits in camp that night to distract her. All she had were two friends stuck in the same state of mind.

“This seems like a formality, don’t you think?” Applepelt sighed, front paws kneading the sand. “AshClan hasn’t done anything since last moon’s Gathering. I don’t know why everyone is so tense.”

“We don’t know what Autumnstar thinks of us now,” Carnationspeckle said as Oilstripe groomed her long brown fur. 

“I know exactly what he thinks,” Applepelt chirped. “He’s terrified to face me again!” She rolled onto her back and batted the air. 

“Terrified to face StarClan, maybe,” Oilstripe scoffed. “His whole argument fell apart the moment Downstar came back to life. He can’t chase out a Clan accepted by StarClan, it’s in the code.”

“So StarClan’s truly real, is it?” Applepelt sighed. She squirmed deeper into the sand while Oilstripe gave a half-hearted laugh.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Oilstripe said.

“Applepelt, scoot away from the fire, your whiskers will catch,” Carnationspeckle chuckled. 

“Make me,” Applepelt cooed. “It’s too quiet tonight. I’m gonna ramble for a while. Smack me if you wanna stop me.” She rolled back onto her belly. She ranted about WheatClan stories she picked up at the last Gathering, but Oilstripe tuned her out. She and Carnationspeckle groomed knots out of each other’s fur as the fire crackled and spat.

Soon enough, Downstar and Rabbitjoy both entered the camp. Weedfoot stopped pacing and joined them on their way to the Shiprock. Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe both kicked Applepelt, pausing her story mid-sentence. Applepelt seemed ready to whine, but spotted the returning leader and sat up. 

“All cats old enough to catch their own prey, gather below the Shiprock for a Clan meeting!” Downstar called before she even got to the rock. Halibutpaw had been sitting quietly outside the apprentice’s den but now called his littermates into the clearing. The small Clan huddled around the fire. Their eyes shone in the dim light like Silverpelt brought down. Rabbitjoy sat at the bottom of the Shiprock. Oilstripe put her paw over Applepelt’s and her tail over Carnationspeckle’s as she held her breath. Downstar could only keep her serious expression up for so long, though.

“It’s over, everyone!” Downstar yowled, tail high. “RippleClan and AshClan are at peace!” A great cheer tore through the clearing. Oilstripe’s muscles melted like her namesake. “AshClan will hereby acknowledge our position as a Clan ordained by StarClan. As the moons pass, we will establish the same relationships we have with the other Clans. AshClan will allow us to walk along the border to visit the other Clans.”

“Finally,” Halibutpaw scoffed. Graypaw batted his ear.

“Aww, you afraid of a fight?” Graypaw laughed. “You’re the warrior apprentice. You should be sad you can’t show AshClan what’s what anymore.”

“Maybe I don’t want another friend to die, Graypaw,” Halibutpaw snapped. Graypaw stepped back, blinking wildly.

“Alright, alright,” James cooed, stepping between the pair. “That’s quite enough. When I lived with humans, they always celebrated special moments with a good meal. I say we do the same!”

“I like that idea, James,” Downstar chirped. “Carnationspeckle, you’re the best swimmer we have. Would you take Graypaw to the coast and find some fish for the Clan?”

“The ocean’s freezing, Mom,” Graypaw whined. “Can’t I help at the oven?”

“You’ll be a caretaker soon, Graypaw,” Downstar sighed, shaking her head. “If I ask you to do something, you’ll need to do it. It won’t take long.” Graypaw muttered something, but didn’t put up anymore fight. 

“We have a bit of flaxseed oil from WheatClan!” Clammask said, jogging over to the portion of the shipwreck where the Clan stored jars and pots and baskets. “Let’s use that tonight!”

“Wonderful,” Downstar purred, hopping off the Shiprock. “We could use a feast. Enjoy yourselves tonight, everyone!” Weedfoot, Shadowpaw, Halibutpaw, and Rustshade surrounded Downstar. Carnationspeckle stretched and touched noses with both Oilstripe and Applepelt.

“I’ll catch a fish for us to share,” she promised. With a wave of her feathery tail, Carnationspeckle led Graypaw out of camp. 

“My humans used to catch fish, did I ever tell you that?” Applepelt chirped.

“A few times already, yes,” Oilstripe purred, her heart as warm as the fire.

“You should have seen the fish they would bring in,” Applepelt laughed, stretching her legs as far as they could go. “Some of them were this big! I’ve never seen others of them before, either. I think they got on a ship and caught them, but I don’t know how that works. I know James helps build rafts sometimes, but they couldn’t go far enough to catch these fish. I don’t know if I could call some of them fish…” 

Applepelt continued on, describing spider-like masses of flesh and fish with more teeth than she could count. As her words washed over Oilstripe, the ginger historian’s eyes drifted over the apprentice’s den. A cream-colored cat stood outside the den, shining as bright as the fire. Oilstripe nodded to her sibling and enjoyed her Clan’s victory.

(Oilstripe: 24, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Applepelt: 29, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Carnationspeckle: 22, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Downstar: 79, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Halibutpaw: 12, male, warrior apprentice, impulsive, quick witted, lover of stories)

(Graypaw: 12, female, caretaker apprentice, bloodthirsty, careful listener)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Clammask: 14, female, caretaker, righteous, lore keeper, good teacher)

Two apprentices graduate from their training without their brother. Shadowpaw was held back to catch up on missed training from whitecough.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Graythroat pose. Under Halibutdusk, it says LEVEL UP! HALIBUTPAW -> HALIBUTDUSK, IMPULSIVE -> GLOOMY, QUICK WITTED -> CLEVER, LOVER OF STORIES -> GREAT STORYTELLER. Under Graythroat, it says LEVEL UP! GRAYPAW -> GRAYTHROAT, BLOODTHIRSTY -> FIERCE, CAREFUL LISTENER -> VALUABLE INSIGHT.]

(Halibutdusk: 12, male, warrior, gloomy, clever, great storyteller)

(Graythroat: 12, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)

Graythroat attacks a fox without hesitation, but merely freaks it out.

[Image ID: Graythroat faces down a fox while Fennelspot and James watch in the corner. Under Fennelspot, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: GRAY & GRAY (OMEN).]

---

Fennelspot loved having a proper selection of caretakers to help him manage his gardens. It could be hard to properly tend to the selection of herbs he had begun cultivating in the southern half of the territory, but with caretakers, Fennelspot could focus on his medical and spiritual duties while they made sure the herbs grew well. Yes, it was the last moon of winter, and most of the growths wouldn’t begin showing up until the next moon, but it was the perfect time to plant some of his seeds. Besides, James and Graythroat hadn’t had much experience with the garden, so this was as good a time as any to introduce them.

“Humans have their farms and gardens,” Fennelspot explained as Graythroat and James walked behind him with baskets of thyme and sage seeds. “That taught us how to start our own fields and rise a step above herbal scavenging. There are a lot of plants we let grow wild, but some, like the sage and thyme seeds I’ve kept in storage all winter, grow well in gardens. I found the areas near the southern edge have better conditions for maintaining a garden.”

“Do you expect me to dig?” James scoffed, his words muddied by the basket in his mouth. “I don’t dig. I can barely tolerate the constant sand between my paws, I will not willingly coat myself in mud.”

“We’re caretakers, that’s our job,” Graythroat grunted.

“The mud’s not as bad as you think it is, James,” Fennelspot said, some of this enthusiasm seeping out. “It reminds me of SlugClan. It’s nice. At least I won’t ask you to help smoke out beehives. I don’t think you’d stay in RippleClan if you had to do that.” Fennelspot chuckled awkwardly as James tilted his head. The face Graythroat made told him all he needed to know on the subject.

The gardens were a section of an open field west of the RippleClan graveyard. At first glance, it seemed like any other field, but the grass was only half-grown and the remnants of plants that did not survive the winter sat in rows that would never have formed without an intelligent paw to guide them. A dusting of snow covered the gardens, but it wouldn’t stop the patrol.

Fennelspot was about to direct Graythroat to tear up the dead plants while he explained planting to James, but a gray shape on the other side of the gardens made him pause. It was a silver fox; its black fur was dusted white as though it had been caught in the snow. Brilliant orange eyes stared at Fennelspot. It stood in profile, watching the three cats, completely frozen.

“It’s likely passing through,” Fennelspot whispered as his companions noticed the fox. “We’ll wait for it to leave and come back later.”

“No,” Graythroat huffed, dropping her basket. “This is our territory. No fox is going to steal our prey.” Graythroat bolted past Fennelspot and James before either could respond. Graythroat hissed and screeched, catching the fox’s attention. The fox screamed at Graythroat, ears pulled back as far as they could go. Graythroat launched at the fox and dug her claws and fangs into its silver coat.

“Graythroat!” Fennelspot yowled. “It’s done nothing to us. Leave it alone!” StarClan, he wished there was someone in the Clan who could speak to foxes. James set his basket of sage seeds down and stood in front of Fennelspot, ready to defend the cleric.

Morning light bounced off Graythroat’s pelt. The sun illuminated the fox’s fur, blending the white flecks into its black undercoat. In that light, Graythroat’s pelt looked just like the foxes. Gray fur scrambled over gray fur in a shiny mixture of rage. A sudden sense of familiar clarity flooded Fennelspot’s mind as the fox scrambled out from Graythroat’s clutches and bolted toward the trees, barking madly. This was a sign. No, not a simple sign. An omen. StarClan may not talk to him like they talk to Oilstripe, but by the stars, he was good at his job and he knew an omen when he saw it.

What the omen meant, however, he could not say.

(Fennelspot: 77, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Graythroat: 12, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

James escorts the WheatClan deputy to camp.

[Image ID: James stands in the corner as Valleybrook, a golden tabby with Rustshade’s markings and lavender in his fur, speaks to Rustshade and Oilstripe. He says “I wish we were talking under better circumstances, Rust.”]

---

There were a lot of cats Oilstripe would have expected to walk into camp, but her uncle was not one of them.

Oilstripe and Rustshade were sharing one of their rarer moments of peace, quizzing Shadowpaw on the code so he could catch up to his littermates. They were halfway through the Code of Caretakers when James entered camp. Oilstripe would have paid him no mind if a slender golden tabby didn’t follow him in. The tom was so star-struck by the bulking shipwreck that he didn’t notice Weedfoot jogging his way.

“Valleybrook?” Weedfoot called. Rustshade snapped his head around. 

Valleybrook broke out of his trance and faced Weedfoot, saying with an awkward sigh, “I’m sorry. I’m very impressed by your camp. A shipwreck makes quite the statement.”

“I was enjoying my afternoon when he waved me over from the WheatClan border,” James huffed, scratching an itch behind his ear. “He asked to come to camp.”

“Downstar’s out on patrol right now,” Weedfoot said with a slight cock of her head. “What brings the WheatClan deputy to our camp?”

“It’s something of a favor,” Valleybrook admitted. His gaze shifted to Rustshade and he said, “I was hoping to speak with my brother.”

“Rustshade, you never told me you’re littermates with WheatClan’s deputy,” Shadowpaw said as Rustshade wandered over to Valleybrook, his tail stiff behind him.

“They haven’t talked much since we left WheatClan,” Oilstripe whispered. From what she remembered of the first half of her kithood, Valleybrook had been a loving uncle, encouraging Oilstripe to learn all about WheatClan’s crops. He was always the perfect image of grace at Gatherings, but his soft eyes rekindled Oilstripe’s old memories of him.

“Hello, Valley,” Rustshade sighed, gracefully sitting in front of his estranged kin.

“I wish we were talking under better circumstances, Rust,” Valleybrook sighed. He spotted Oilstripe watching and called to her. “Oilstripe, join us, please.” With a worried glance at Shadowpaw, Oilstripe joined her father and uncle. Weedfoot and James stepped away in a feeble effort to give the group privacy.

“What’s so wrong that we couldn’t talk about it during the Gathering?” Rustshade asked matter-of-factly. “You’d only have to wait a few days.”

“I didn’t want you to be blinded by the news,” Valleybrook sighed. He tucked his tail over his paws and took a deep breath. “Sunstrike came down with some sort of infection. I don’t fully understand what happened. She passed away yesterday.” 

Well that didn’t make sense. Oilstripe would have seen her. She spoke to Sunstrike at Gatherings, they were polite to each other, she knew she cared that Oilstripe was happy. She wouldn’t head to StarClan without visiting her kits. Should she even be thinking of her mother’s death in such simple terms? Should she feel more than she did? Rustshade seemed similarly stunned, at least. His unreadable expression gave no clues as to how he felt.

“I see,” Rustshade said. “Thank you for telling us before the Gathering.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Valleybrook said. “If you two want to share soup together at the Gathering, I think that would be nice.” Rustshade nodded softly. Valleybook gingerly reached a paw out and placed it on Rustshade’s head. Rustshade stayed still. “I’m sorry, Rustshade. I know things haven’t been wonderful between you and your old mate, but I understand what it’s like to lose someone you shared so much of your life with.” Valleybrook couldn’t have been more obvious about what he meant, but Oilstripe couldn’t tell if her father noticed. 

“Do you want me to escort you back to the border?” Rustshade asked.

“That would be nice,” Valleybrook sighed, moving his paw and standing. “I hope it’s alright if I visit your dirtplace first.”

“There’s a path looping around the shipwreck for you to follow,” Rustshade explained, nodding toward the dirtplace path. Valleybrook nodded and his gaze lingered on his brother as he crossed through camp.

“Oilstripe,” Rustshade muttered into Oilstripe’s ear. “Clammask and Burdockcreek will be back from Downstar’s hunting patrol before I get back. Will you tell them about Sunstrike?” Oilstripe nodded absentmindedly, then realized exactly what that would entail.

“You want me to…” Oilstripe gulped, locking eyes with Rustshade. Rustshade sighed and nodded.

“If they haven’t figured it out themselves,” Rustshade explained, “they deserve to know now. They should get a chance to mourn their mother.”

“I’ll tell them,” Oilstripe promised. She couldn’t predict how they would react, but her father was right. It was important for them to know where they came from.

Valleybrook returned soon after and walked with Rustshade out of camp. Oilstripe dismissed Weedfoot’s questions of concern and went off to a quiet corner of camp to think. Well, not really think; look. She scanned the camp and the trees beyond and the humming waves that brought the shipwreck to its home. 

Sunstrike was nowhere to be seen.

(Oilstripe: 24, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Weedfoot: 68, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Rustshade: 64, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Shadowpaw: 12, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)

Carnationspeckle finds an abandoned kit while on patrol with Weedfoot.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and Carnationspeckle face a silver kit with a white left ear and copper eyes. Under the kit, it says NEW PLAYER: RATTLEKIT, 3 MOONS, FEMALE, INSECURE, PLAYS WITH PREY. Weedfoot asks, “What happened to your fur, little one?”]

---

“I wish I could say I’m surprised that Graythroat attacked the fox, but I’m not,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “She’s always been more ready to fight than she should be.”

She and Weedfoot were at the gardens, carefully planting some heal all seeds Rabbitjoy traded with SlugClan. The ground kept freezing as night fell, but Fennelspot insisted the frost wouldn’t hurt the seeds. The frost still clung to the grass when Carnationspeckle and Weedfoot arrived. Carnationspeckle found the simple practice of spreading seeds to be a mindful activity, allowing her to connect with the world around her. Weedfoot kept shaking mud out of her paws, but at least she was willing to help.

“If she wanted to focus on fighting,” Weedfoot huffed, “she should have trained as a warrior. Her brothers learned to curb their battledrive, I don’t know why she hasn’t.”

“StarClan only knows,” Carnationspeckle said. She studied the edges of the garden and asked, “Do you suppose there is a way to protect the herbs from rabbits and those sorts of creatures?”

“We would need some sort of wall,” Weedfoot muttered, tilting her small basket of heal all seeds onto the ground. “I don’t know how we would keep other animals out but let ourselves in.” Carnationspeckle hummed softly and shoved dirt over the heal all seeds.

“Mom?” a high-pitched voice called. Weedfoot and Carnationspeckle’s ears shot up. The wild growth beyond the garden was quiet, but distant plants swayed as an unseen figure pushed past them.

“Hello?” Carnationspeckle called into the trees. A soft gasp reached her ears and the plants shifted while the figure hurried toward the garden. Weedfoot tensed up and took a cautious step toward the approaching form. 

A silver face peeked out from the half-alive plants beyond the garden. Dark orange eyes shone in the light of the early morning. Carnationspeckle held back a gasp as she realized the silver coloration was not fur like it should have been, but skin. The kit lacked a single hair anywhere on her face. Wrinkles settled over her body like fluff. Her left ear was shiny and white like a fin sticking out of the water. Her face soured at the sight of Carnationspeckle and Weedfoot.

“You’re not my mom,” she huffed. She stepped back into the trees.

“Wait!” Carnationspeckle yelped. “Come back!” The kit emerged once more, studying Carnationspeckle just as the brown molly studied her.

“What happened to your fur, little one?” Weedfoot asked softly, getting down to the kit’s level.

“I never had any,” the kit said, hesitating. “Who are you? Have you seen my mom?”

“I’m Weedfoot,” the deputy explained. “This is my friend, Carnationspeckle. What does your mother look like, little one?”

“Like me,” the kit explained. “Have you seen her?”

“I’m sorry, we haven’t,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “What’s your name?”

“Rattlesnake,” the kit muttered. As she stepped further into the garden, Rattlesnake shivered violently. Carnationspeckle hurried up to her. Rattlesnake yelped, but Carnationspeckle brought her close and pressed her into her long pelt.

“You’re freezing,” Carnationspeckle gasped. “Stay here, please. I can keep you warm.” Rattlesnake shivered so hard, she almost knocked Carnationspeckle over. The skin of her needle-like tail was red and blistered. 

“She’s no Clan kit,” Weedfoot sighed. She sat next to Carnationspeckle. “Rattlesnake, when did you last see your mother?”

“She woke me up and brought me to the forest,” Rattlesnake explained. She buried her bony face into Carnationspeckle’s fur. 

“So you’ve been out here all night?” Weedfoot mumbled.

“Weedfoot, she has frostbite,” Carnationspeckle said, draping a paw over Rattlesnake. “I can’t warm her up here.”

“Rattlesnake, can we bring you to our home?” Weedfoot asked. “We have some warm leather and a fire you can sit by.”

“Mom said not to go with anyone unless they were a Clan cat,” Rattlesnake gulped, eyeing Weedfoot.

“Then you’re in luck,” Carnationspeckle purred. “We’re from RippleClan.” Rattlesnake purred and rubbed her cold nose against Carnationspeckle.

“I’m going to run ahead and make sure the Clan’s ready for her,” Weedfoot explained. “Will you escort her to camp?”

“I won’t leave her side,” Carnationspeckle promised. The pair touched noses and Weedfoot took off, grabbing the seed basket and leaving deep pawprints behind her. Carnationspeckle reached for Rattlesnake’s scruff, but paused. Without fur, would Carnationspeckle’s teeth pierce her gentle skin? She decided against it.

“Rattlesnake,” Carnationspeckle whispered, “have you ever had a horse ride?”

“What’s that?” Rattlesnake asked, peeking out from Carnationspeckle’s fur. Carnationspeckle crouched down so her belly touched the ground.

“Climb onto my back and hold on tight,” Carnationspeckle chuckled. Rattlesnake hesitated for a while, one paw gently reaching toward Carnationspeckle. Eventually she scaled Carnationspeckle’s back. Carnationspeckle gently stood and adjusted her stance for Rattlesnake’s weight. 

“Here we go,” Carnationspeckle chirped. She waddled out of the garden as quick as she could as Rattlekit’s tiny claws poked into her skin.

It was a long walk back to camp, but at least the frost melted underneath Carnationspeckle and Rattlesnake didn’t shiver so intensely. When the shipwreck came into view, Fennelspot was waiting for her outside camp.

“Let me see the frostbite,” Fennelspot gulped as Carnationspeckle ran toward him. Fennelspot walked alongside Carnationspeckle and studied Rattlesnake. Downstar and James tended a fire in the center of camp while Rabbitjoy set out a few soft leather pelts beside it. Weedfoot waited anxiously by the fire.

“Set her down here,” she said when Carnationspeckle got close. Carnationspeckle laid on her belly so Rattlesnake could drop off. She purred as she curled up on the soft vole pelts. Fennelspot examined her tail and ran a paw over the blisters. The rest of RippleClan watched from the sidelines.

“It’s in its early stages,” Fennelspot explained. “I can treat this easily. Put a pelt over her. She needs warmth.”

“I didn’t know cats could be born without fur,” Downstar muttered as Fennelspot jogged to the medicine den. Rabbitjoy set a rabbit pelt over Rattlesnake, furry side up.

“I know a furless cat!” Parsley stepped out of the crowd. “When I lived in the barn, I heard stories of a furless molly the humans kept as a breeder.”

“What do you mean?” Carnationspeckle gasped.

“Humans sometimes keep a molly around so she can keep kitting litters,” Weedfoot explained with a sneer. “They don’t care how exhausting it is.”

“What an awful fate,” Carnationspeckle growled. “Why did her mother leave her out here? If she could leave, why wouldn’t she join her daughter?” Rattlesnake had fallen asleep by this point. Her whiskers twitched peacefully in her dreams. Fennelspot returned with a salve in a small jar and spread it over Rattlesnake’s tail.

“Maybe she couldn’t leave for long,” James suggested. “If humans like the cat living with them enough, they’ll look for them if they leave. You said her mother wanted her to go with Clan cats, didn’t you? Perhaps she thought her daughter would have a better life without her.” Carnationspeckle curled around Rattlesnake and groomed her wrinkly head.

“She will,” Carnationspeckle promised. She met Downstar’s eyes and said, “I’ll raise her. I can’t let her sleep in the nursery alone.”

“I’m not surprised,” Downstar purred.

“It’ll be hard to explain this to her,” Weedfoot sighed, sitting by Rattlesnake and Carnationspeckle. “She can’t be much older than three moons.”

“Do you think she’ll want a Clan name?” James hummed. 

“If she does,” Carnationspeckle purred, “we could call her Rattlekit. That’s what you did with my name.” Downstar and Weedfoot nodded as Carnationspeckle rested her head by her new daughter. Yes, that was what she would be. The decision was as clear to Carnationspeckle as a cloudless sky. The small furless molly would not go through life without a mother.

(Carnationspeckle: 22, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Weedfoot: 68, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Rattlekit: 3, female, kit, insecure, plays with prey)

(Fennelspot: 77, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 79, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)