#oilstripe

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 95, Part 1

Downstar’s mangled tail takes her final life. Oilstripe journeys to StarClan’s Shrine with Troutpool to receive her nine lives. She doesn’t feel ready, but goes regardless.

[Image ID: Oilstripe sits in front of Downstar, who is curled up in a nest. Troutpool stands behind Oilstripe as the latter says, "I won't leave until she stops breathing, Troutpool."]

Downstar was old. While StarClan had healed her wounds from the SlugClan battle, the shock of it clung to her body. It wasn't ready for the fight with LynxClan. There wasn't much more the clerics could do for Downstar, save give those she loved time to sit beside her and say goodbye.

Sunset bounced off the wall of the medicine den behind Oilstripe as she sat beside her sleeping leader. Downstar laid stretched in her nest, tail tightly wrapped in bandages. Her claws peeked in and out as she dreamed her death dream. She'd barely been able to eat over the last few days, leading her ribs to press against her skin. She already smelled of vigil herbs; lavender and mint. Even though Yarrowclaw had a nest in the medicine den, treating a deep slash along the back of her ankle, she left the deputy to her early vigil.

"Nine lives," Oilstripe muttered. She brushed her tail against Downstar's frail side. "It must have been painful. I hope this feels better." Darkhounds, crazed leaders, humans, blizzards… and she lost her final life to LynxClan cats stealing crabs. Crabs. A leader like Downstar deserved a grander death, deep in the heart of a fearsome battle. Or perhaps a quiet one, where she drifted off in her nest. This was neither. This was… just sad.

"Mom?" Oilstripe looked back to see Troutpool standing just inside the medicine den. Behind her, RippleClan shared tongues, quietly waiting for the moment their first great leader left them for Silverpelt.

"She doesn't have long," Oilstripe sighed, turning back to Downstar. "I don't think she's in much pain."

"I know." Silence itched the back of Oilstripe's neck. "I was talking with the other clerics. It will be dark soon. We think it would be better if you and I… started the trip to StarClan's Shrine. You'll need your nine lives." Oilstripe crouched in front of Downstar's muzzle. Her soft breath stirred the small fibers of the moss underneath her.

"I won't leave until she stops breathing, Troutpool," Oilstripe said. "It wouldn't be right." Oilstripe nuzzled Downstar's muzzle. The tortoiseshell leader did not react.

"She'll go at any moment," Troutpool groaned softly. "You can only get your lives at night. And… I know you've noticed her."

Yes, Oilstripe had seen the spirit sitting just beside the den wall, watching Downstar closely. Duskkit stared at her mother, still as a hunter. With the true dusk shining through the thinnest gaps in the wood, Duskkit seemed not like a glowing spirit, visible only to Oilstripe and Troutpool, but a normal kit, a juniper-wearing black tabby waiting for her mother.

"There are a lot of cats waiting for her," Duskkit said. She moved closer to Downstar's sleeping body, peering at the gray fur lining her muzzle. "I want to be the first face she sees when she wakes up." She turned back to Oilstripe and added "She'll see you there, Oilstripe. It's alright." Oilstripe's throat closed. This was really happening. StarClan, she was going to become RippleClan's leader. Fear tightened her shoulders and pushed out her claws.

"I still need to prepare a travel mixture," Troutpool said softly. "That would give you a little more time." When Oilstripe did not respond, Troutpool slipped around her mother and to her stores. She quietly plucked drying herbs from their shelves and placed them in a stone bowl for grinding, worn to a deep dip over moons of artisanal pressure. As her paw pressed the herbs against the stone, transforming them into powder and paste, Oilstripe moved around Duskkit and Downstar. The ginger deputy placed her chin on Downstar's thin chest. Despite the end creeping close, her fur was as soft as ever.

"Maybe your gift to me will be a soft pelt," Oilstripe muttered. Duskkit giggled and trotted to Oilstripe's side. She placed her paw, half the size of Oilstripe's own, on Downstar's back. To Oilstripe's shock, Duskkit's ghostly paw did not phase through.

"That's a sign that she's close," Duskkit explained softly. She stared up at Oilstripe and asked, "What do you think she'll look like in StarClan? I try to look as old as I can, but I know most cats like looking young."

"I'm sure she'll be like you remember her," Oilstripe sighed.

"It's ready, Mom," Troutpool gently called. She placed a lid back on a small jar of water and put it back on her shelves. The herbs inside the stone bowl floated and congealed in the water.

Troutpool lapped up half of the mixture. Her face curled as she swallowed. Oilstripe groomed Downstar's neck, filling her nose with the scent of lavender. She joined Troutpool as the cream and white cleric stepped back and processed the taste of the mixture. Oilstripe's whiskers curled as she leaned down to the bowl. She tried to imagine it was a bowl of honey. She drank the strengthening slop as quick as she could. She gagged at the powerful taste. Was this what the clerics ate before their half-moon trips? Oilstripe forced herself to drink the rest of the mixture. When she was done, Troutpool placed the bowl back in its spot in the corner and nuzzled Oilstripe's neck.

"We can go if you're ready," Troutpool said. Mother and daughter, living, looked back at mother and daughter, dying and dead. Duskkit's pelt shimmered with stars and anticipation as she stared deep into Downstar's closed eyes. Oilstripe forced her mind to still. Downstar deserved to greet her daughter in private. Oilstripe nodded to Troutpool. The pair walked out of the medicine den and through the dimming camp.

Oilstripe focused on the exit. Troutpool waved off Clanmates as they stood, anticipating an announcement of the end. There were two cats, however, that wouldn't let themselves be ignored. Slushtrail and Tallowheart sat in front of the exit, catching Oilstripe and their older sister before they could leave. Slushtrail adjusted the crown of juniper needles that decorated her head as she hurried in front of Oilstripe.

"Is she gone?" Slushtrail gulped.

"Soon," Oilstripe sighed. "We're going to StarClan's Shrine. Keep Rattlepelt and your mother company while we're out."

"You can count on us, Mom," Tallowheart said, brushing against Oilstripe's pelt. "Good luck." Oilstripe touched noses with her son and youngest daughter. She licked each of their ears, breathed love into their fur, and led Troutpool out of camp.

They were not alone as they journeyed toward the border. As they pushed further and further into the forest, starry figures danced in the red shadows. Oilstripe recognized some of the figures. Ripplefern jumped from root to boulder to hilltop, eagerly racing back and forth. Puddlespeckle's blue eyes watched silently from the crook of a yellow birch. Harvest led Robinkit down a deer path, almost dancing as they went. When the sharp scent of the border hit Oilstripe's nose, most of the figures she saw were cats she couldn't recognize. The whole forest seemed to glow with the presence of a hundred glittering pelts.

"Are you always accompanied like this?" Oilstripe whispered to Troutpool.

"I think this is a special occasion," Troutpool gulped. Her head followed a pair of ghostly apprentices leaping across the branches overhead, daring each other to reach StarClan's Shrine first.

Oilstripe didn't know how to each StarClan's Shrine alone, but StarClan guided her paws in the most literal sense possible. As night overtook dusk, spirits waved her forward, directing her and Troutpool along the WheatClan border until they reached SlugClan. Troutpool's path shifted off the border and along a well-tred stretch of dead grass. The thicker hills and cliffs that marked the harsher, more rugged terrain of SlugClan bloomed around them, giving StarClan spirits more places to look and watch the cleric and deputy on their journey.

When Troutpool was an apprentice, she had eagerly described the cave that housed StarClan's Shrine to Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle the day after her first half-moon meeting. As the cave, emerging from a slowly rising cliff, appeared through the trees, Oilstripe realized her daughter described it perfectly. An unlit fire sat outside the cave. Paint smeared the walls of the cave, depicting daring figures and dramatic shapes. Some of the art was so faded, Oilstripe had to squint, but other areas had fresh paint smearing the rock. SlugClan took their responsibility of maintaining the shrine seriously, it seemed.

The StarClan spirits stopped well before they reached the cave. As Troutpool guided Oilstripe into the thick dark, the deputy couldn't help but look back at her starry companions, wishing they could continue to light the way. But if the stories were true, she would see them again soon enough.

The paintings along the cave wall guided Oilstripe further into the dark, just as the StarClan spirits outside escorted her all the way from camp. Cats ran deeper into the cave while others built the Clans; weaving baskets, hunting, cooking, singing. This was an ode to everything the Clans were, all they stood for, all leading to the end of their lives and the start of their next.

Every kit knew about the stone that sat at the end of the cave. Half of the roof had collapsed over the years, allowing the glow of the night to illuminate the sacred sculpture. A large shape bulged from the farthest wall. While bright paint surrounded this shape, nothing dared touch the symbol itself. It was a large, five-pointed object, a symbol that historians drew in the sand to teach kits about their ancestors. It was a star. Carved by cats or carved by nature, none knew which was true, but did that matter? This was StarClan's Shrine. Their symbol led the living to the dead.

"We sleep beside the star?" Oilstripe whispered, as though afraid to break the divinity of the cave. Troutpool nodded. She settled into a soft loaf on the leather-covered floor. Oilstripe forced her stiff legs to bend and place her body beside Troutpool. Questions burned Oilstripe's throat, but she could not ask them. How could she fall asleep in such a place?

"It's easier than you think," Troutpool said, closing her eyes. "It just takes time. I'll be with you, Mom." Oilstripe copied her daughter and closed her eyes, even though the wind purred along the open roof and Oilstripe's body wanted to run.

Alright, StarClan. What did you truly think of Oilstripe?

[Image ID: Oilstar stands proud and tall with Fennelspot, Mosspounce, Weedfoot, Applepelt, Rustshade, Parsley, Clammask, Locustseeker, and Downstar's ghosts surrounding her. Troutpool and Moonpaw watch from afar. Downstar says, "We hail you by your new name, Oilstar, second leader of RippleClan. You are everything we built this Clan to be. Make it more." Under Oilstar, it says LEVEL UP! OILSTRIPE → OILSTAR, + LIVES: 9.]

Oilstripe's thoughts drifted for a while. Flashes of her Clan danced behind her eyelids. Downstar, dying in her nest. Carnationspeckle, pledging to be Oilstripe's mate as long as she would have her. Rattlepelt, calling her Mom for the first time. Troutpool's birth, then Slushtrail and Tallowheart. In so many ways, Oilstripe had never lost a single friend, while in others, she could never forget them. Perhaps this was why she was given her strange sight, as some supernatural preparation to lead RippleClan. Was Downstar even dead yet?

"Don't worry, Oilstripe. She's here."

Oilstripe startled, rolling onto her side. The cool leather floor of StarClan's Shrine had vanished. Sand mixed into Oilstripe's ginger pelt. A bright, cloud-dappled sky stretched above her, shining with the brilliant glow of the sunrise that burned against the ocean behind Oilstripe. The forest and the steepening cliffs beyond it lined the horizon beyond the ethereal beach. It smelled like every season at once; the warmth of summer, the colors of autumn, the chill of winter, and the growth of spring. It was home, it was RippleClan, but it wasn't. It was RippleClan at its best.

Troutpool stood beside Oilstripe and helped her mother to her paws. A sparkling white molly stood at the edge of the grass and sand, purring. Oilstripe had not seen this figure in many, many moons. Her appearances in the living world dimmed as more and more RippleClan cats quietly watched their descendants. But she had never left them, had she?

"Mom," Troutpool whispered, bowing before the white molly. "This is—"

"Moonpaw," Oilstripe purred. "It's been a long time."

"You've met our StarClan guide?" Troutpool gasped, jumping back up.

"I knew you would be leader some day," Moonpaw laughed, trotting up to the living cats. Stars trailed in her wake. "I don't just mean because I'm RippleClan's guide, either! It just felt right."

"Thank you," Oilstripe sighed, dipping her head. Suddenly, Moonpaw jabbed her nose against Oilstripe's forehead. Her nose was cold, like diving into the ocean.

Oilstripe's life flashed before her eyes. Literally. She saw WheatClan's camp from the eyes of a kit at Sunstrike's side, Rustshade beckoning her close. She saw RippleClan's shipwreck for the first time and spotted the little brown kit waiting within for her mother. She saw Moonpaw for the first time, saving her from an early demise. She saw Troutpool at Carnationspeckle's belly, she saw her Clan grow, she saw Weedfoot's spirit nod in approval, she saw death and battle and birth and love. Her life collapsed into a single moment of unending memories.

Oilstripe's legs buckled as Moonpaw stepped away. Troutpool threw her head under Oilstripe's chin, helping her back to her feet.

"What did you do?" Oilstripe gasped, reminding herself she could still breathe.

"A few things," Moonpaw said with a chuckle. "I'm RippleClan's guide. I have to make sure they have a good leader. Very official." She cleared her throat and stood a bit taller. "I have taken your old life from you, Oilstripe. Your body is no longer breathing. It now has room for nine new lives to guide RippleClan through the seasons to come. I have searched through your life, and I approve of your right to rule." Oilstripe nodded dumbly. She knew this would happen; stories of past leader's ceremonies made up more than a few legends. The process was known, even if the details were kept secret until a leader's final passing. But to actually have that happen…

"What now?" Oilstripe gulped. Moonpaw looked back to the forest.

"Now Troutpool and I settle down and bear witness," Moonpaw purred. Moonpaw bunted Troutpool's shoulder like an old friend. Troutpool stumbled to the side, eyeing Oilstripe as Moonpaw shoved her away. Oilstripe breathed slow as she stared into the trees. Downstar wanted this. StarClan wanted this. It would be alright.

The first life-giver's golden eyes peered from underneath a giant pine. He emerged slowly, eyeing Moonpaw as he stepped into the light. Oilstripe's heart lightened. Even in his afterlife, Fennelspot was a consistent presence in the medicine den, watching the clerics work and standing over patients. It felt not like a long-awaited reunion, but a visit with a good friend.

"Can you believe I thought you were mean as a kit?" Oilstripe laughed as Fennelspot approached. The petals he stuck into his pelt were bright and soft as though they still grew on their stems.

"I had a lot going on," Fennelspot hummed, whiskers twitching in humor. "Now Oilstripe, this will be a lot. You'll feel like you're dying. I won't lie to you. But you can handle it. Trust yourself."

"I do my best," Oilstripe said. Fennelspot touched his pointed muzzle to Oilstripe's forehead.

"With this life," he said, voice echoing with supernatural power, "I give you unity. Unity across the Clans made RippleClan possible. It's your job as leader to foster unity within RippleClan. It can be hard, but the Clan depends on you now."

Oilstripe did not feel very united in that moment as slicing pain ripped through her mind. She could feel herself break apart, her body tearing into large, bleeding chunks. She tumbled away from herself, helplessly reaching out. Yet before she could lose herself, mental twine latched itself to her soul. Stitches pulled her pieces back together. She would not let herself fall apart. Disjointed parts slipped back together, their bonds stronger than ever before.

Oilstripe's legs shook as Fennelspot stepped back. Oilstripe laughed weakly, licking her dry lips. Fennelspot wasn't lying. The dead cleric peered at Oilstripe like he was ready for her to fall over. Oilstripe sat and swallowed vomit that crawled up her throat. Fennelspot still studied Oilstripe like a good cleric should, but he moved to the side for the second life-giver.

This life-giver marched out of the forest like he ruled it all. Oilstripe couldn't help it, she startled at the sight of black and gray fur and earthy green eyes.

"Mosspounce?" she gasped.

"Congratulations, Oilstripe," Mosspounce chirped, sitting with a plop in front of the ginger molly. "I'm really excited to give you your second life."

"I have to be honest," Oilstripe said, chuckling at the shock of it all, "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Think about it," Mosspounce chuckled. "I was born… under not so good circumstances. I mean, my father had me in some strange attempt to connect with your mate. It's disturbing." Mosspounce's tail curled around his front leg. "Still, Carnationspeckle nursed me. And you, you didn't treat me bad. You always treated me like my own cat."

"I tried my best," Oilstripe explained with a lick to her chest. "I can't say it didn't feel strange, but you were a kit. It wouldn't have been right to treat you poorly. You aren't Shadowdrop's mistakes."

"That's why you'll be a good leader," Mosspounce purred. He touched his nose to Oilstripe's forehead and said, "With this life, I give you the gift of adventure. Don't be afraid to reach far and go where the wind takes you. Risks have the best rewards."

Oilstripe was flying. The world bent below her. Trees and mountains and oceans curled in on each other. She hovered in a black void, stars twinkling far, far away. A blue and green ball, sprinkled white, danced before her. There was no limit to what she could do. She never wanted to come down.

Yet come down she did as Mosspounce stepped away. Oilstripe's eyes blurred from the leftover effect. Mosspounce's form rippled like a reflection. Oilstripe rubbed her eyes. It was like clearing out sand and salt. By the time her vision returned, the figure standing in front of her was no longer Mosspounce… but Weedfoot. She had made only a few appearances in camp since her passing; Oilstripe hadn't realized how young her former mentor truly looked in StarClan.

"I am so, so proud of you, Oilstripe!" Weedfoot cheered. She rubbed against Oilstripe. She smelled like dandelions and salt. The smell grounded Oilstripe against the sand of Silverpelt. She licked Weedfoot's neck, purring in return. "James wanted me to tell you not to let the power go to your head."

"What's it like to have Paleshade and James in StarClan together?" Oilstripe asked as Weedfoot moved back.

"Let's just say they keep me busy," Weedfoot hummed. With that, she touched her nose to Oilstripe and declared, "With this life, I give you courage. By StarClan, you'll need it."

Oilstripe was afraid. Her body ached and burned. Darkness intensified the pain. No one was coming. No one would help. It was forbidden. But that wasn't the worst pain. The worst was the cooling body pressed against her own. She could have lived, you foxhearts. She wouldn't cower before them. Even if she died right then and there, Weedfoot would not let AshClan win.

Oilstripe reflexively sobbed when the pain ended and she returned to the present. Troutpool hurried forward, but Moonpaw stepped in front with a soft shake of her head. Weedfoot licked Oilstripe's cheek as she shook. Just that simple touch, both dead and alive, rekindled the newfound strength left within Oilstripe's bones. Her mentor had faced that horror and live. Oilstripe would be honored to carry that courage with her.

Weedfoot joined Fennelspot and Mosspounce, who sat to the side with Troutpool and Moonpaw. Oilstripe peered into the forest. Who would visit her next? She couldn't see any iridescent eyes or sparkling pelts—

Something slammed into Oilstripe's shoulder. Oilstripe fell on her jaw. Sand flew into her nose. A mad cackle clued her into her next life-giver.

"I can touch you, I can touch you," Applepelt sang as their soft paws batted Oilstripe's exposed belly. Fennelspot groaned and Troutpool's eyes went wide. Everyone else just laughed.

"You're bird-brained, Applepelt," Oilstripe laughed, getting back to her paws. She snorted like a horse, blowing out sand.

"Aww, but didn't you miss this?" Applepelt cooed. She thrust her head into Oilstripe's chest. "I mean, I know I talk to you all the time, probably more than I'm supposed to if I'm honest, but isn't it nice to actually do this?" Applepelt suddenly reared up and nibbled Oilstripe's ear. Oilstripe laughed like an apprentice and headbutted Applepelt off.

"You'll get in trouble with Carnationspeckle if she hears about this," Oilstripe giggled.

"Well when I get the chance, I'll flirt with her, too!" Applepelt declared. "You can't stop me."

"The life, Applepelt," Fennelspot snapped. Moonpaw shushed the (ironically) younger StarClan cat.

"I'm getting to it," Applepelt scoffed as Oilstripe tried to dam her giggles. "Alright, alright, time for the serious stuff." Applepelt purred as they touched Oilstripe's forehead. "With this life, I give you confidence! I've always cheered you and Carnationspeckle on, and I've always tried to make you as confident in yourselves and each other as I am. Now you have to be confident!"

If Oilstripe thought the life for adventure was intoxicating, Applepelt's life was something else entirely. Oilstripe's body floated. She was on fire, but the fire did not hurt. She could do anything. She could face an entire enemy Clan. She could feed all of RippleClan. She could, and would, do it all! Everything would be okay, because Oilstripe was the one in control. She was the Clan leader, and she could do it!

The release was not as painful as

Oilstripe expected. Instead, as Applepelt trotted over to the other StarClan cats, Oilstripe felt refreshed. The horror of Fennelspot and Weedfoot's lives seemed distant, echoing against the trees. Oilstripe breathed deeply, throat stinging with salt. She waited for her next visitor, glancing along the beach and through the trees. Her pelt prickled as every moment passed without sight of a new life-giver.

"Rustshade, don't keep her waiting!" Weedfoot yowled into the trees. Oilstripe's heart stopped. Red paws slipped into the light. Rustshade's sharp heather eyes bore into Oilstripe. Oh. So this was what these reunions were meant to feel like.

"Dad," Oilstripe whimpered. Rustshade slowly made his way to his oldest daughter. He looked younger than Oilstripe did. Oilstripe stretched her head forward, shaking. She cried when Rustshade's nose touched her forehead. Oh to be a kit again, the focus of Rustshade's attention.

"With this life, I give you…" Rustshade said, "the gift of breaking the warrior code." What? Oilstripe nearly steppd back to oggle her father, but she feared to break the powerful ritual. Rustshade was considered the Celestial of RippleClan Codekeepers! Oilstripe literally heard cats like Cobaltchaser and Wolfgaze pray to him to pass their assessments! How could he suggest breaking the code in front of his fellow StarClan warriors?

"Do you think you would be leader if we didn't break the code and turn against our old Clans?" Rustshade scoffed. "The right thing isn't always what the code says. It's up to you to recognize that."

Wind buffeted Oilstripe's pelt. She was certain she'd be flung upward, destined for a gruesome landing. Stabbing pain consumed her body. The glare of a hundred righteous faces burned into her. But she burned too, not out of shame, but pride. They could say what they wanted. This was right.

"Don't go!" Oilstripe cried as the connection broke and Rustshade stepped away. She reached for her father's slender tail as he turned, but her claws barely reached his fur. Troutpool's gaze was stuck on her grandfather as he sat beside Fennelspot. Oilstripe's jaw ached. Couldn't Rustshade spare a single comforting word her way?

"Now this is exciting!" A red and gray tortoiseshell trotted toward the beach. The stump that once formed her tail wiggled like an excited apprentice. Unlike the other StarClan cats, who usually looked far younger than they were when they died, Parsley still looked like an elder, with aging gray around her muzzle and thin patches of fur. Oilstripe tried to ignore Rustshade's presence and relaxed at the sight of Parsley. She was around the nursery so much in her afterlife, it was sometimes like she had never passed.

"I am very honored to be giving you a life, Ms. Oilstripe," Parsley chirped. "I hope I can do right by you and Carnation."

"You always did, Parsley," Oilstripe hummed as Parsley touched her forehead.

"With this life, I give you new beginnings," Parsley purred. "That's what RippleClan is all about, and it's what I grew to embody. Give them out whenever you can."

Oilstripe blossomed. Her body grew taller, faster, stronger, shining brighter and brighter with a fire in her belly. The beach was too small to hold her. Her bones snapped under the sudden pressure, yet they rebuilt themselves just as fast. All the while, the sensation of her tail attached to her flank faded, numb and ghost-like. Had Oilstripe not been in extreme pain, she would have laughed.

"Enjoy it, Ms. Oilstripe," Parsley purred. Oilstripe's head spun when the tortoiseshell moved back. Parsley plopped herself in front of her fellow StarClan cats.

Oilstripe barely had a moment to collect herself before the seventh life-giver emerged from the forest. Clammask! She seemed more at ease than Oilstripe could ever recall her being. Her dull golden fur was brighter than ever. She must have been enjoying her time in StarClan, since Oilstripe had only seen her at the vigils of her daughters in recent moons.

"You're almost done, Oilstripe," Clammask promised. Oilstripe had no time to greet her sister before Clammask touched her nose to Oilstripe's forehead. "With this life, I give you strength—strength in mind, heart, and body. I don't think you could ever hope to be a leader without strength."

Heavy waves pounded against Oilstripe. Her paws flew out from under her. She choked on salt and foam. Her eyes burned. She was certain she was about to vomit. Something pushed her up, pushed her to find air, to keep going. She wasn't going out like this. StarClan, was she living through Clammask's final moments? Was this what death felt like?

Oilstripe gagged as the connection broke. She was not about to throw up in front of StarClan itself, especially not her own daughter. Oilstripe swallowed hard as Clammask ran to Rustshade. The pair bunted heads and Clammask settled at her father's paws.

"Oilstripe! Over here!" A cream figure jogged along the beach, racing right at Oilstripe. The ginger molly braced herself to be tackled once more. Yet instead of a violent reunion, Locustseeker simply bunted their head against Oilstripe's side, purring deeply.

"I had to fight Burdockcreek and Twinekit for this spot," Locustseeker laughed. "Hope you don't mind they aren't here. I'm sure they'll visit you later." Oilstripe purred too and licked her lost sibling's head. "Don't be mad at Dad and Clammask, they love it up here. I'm trying to convince them to go see you more."

"Don't get in trouble on my part," Oilstripe hummed as Locustseeker moved in front of her. Even though they died young, they still matched Oilstripe's height, making it easy for them to touch their nose to her forehead.

"With this life, I give you endurance," Locustseeker declared. "Don't give up, Oil. I hope this keeps you going."

Oilstripe's heart beat wildly. Battle yowls pierced her ears. Claws danced through her skin, but Oilstripe returned every blow. Endurance seemed to be the same as strength, but as Oilstripe's body weakened and that strength left her, her endurance remained. It was the force that encouraged her to perform until her body gave way.

Locustseeker's release was like a deep sigh. Oilstripe no longer shook and swallowed bile. Locustseeker joined Clammask and Rustshade, shooting sassy looks to the both of them. Oilstripe heard many stories of leader ceremonies, their details revealed to historians after their passing. She knew how nearly all of them ended. There was only one candidate left to give her her final life.

Downstar emerged triumphantly from the forest. She looked just as she did in Oilstripe's oldest memories. Her soft fur glistened and shined with the newly gained glow of Silverpelt. There was a spark to her amber eyes Oilstripe had never seen before. Cats, both known and unknown, trailed behind her. Duskkit. Shadowdrop. Trumpetspore. Tempestshade. Scrubmask. More and more spirits followed Downstar to the beach, all staring at Oilstripe.

"You look good," Oilstripe said. She was shocked to find a lump in her throat as she spoke.

"I feel better than I have in a very long time," Downstar purred. "Now that I'm here, there's something very important I need to tell you." The lump in Oilstripe's throat grew as Downstar touched her forehead. "I picked a good, good deputy. With this life, I give you leadership in the darkest times. My only hope for you is that you fare better than I did."

The weight and emotion of Oilstripe's eight other lives crashed into her. Battle cries, crashing waves, breaking bones, glaring eyes, intoxication, darkness, flight, falling apart and coming togther again. All of these experiences pulled themselves together in Oilstripe's chest and burned against the shadows of the sunset.

"We hail you by your new name, Oilstar, second leader of RippleClan. You are everything we built this Clan to be. Make it more."

Triumphant yowls filled the land as Oilstar stood before StarClan. The ghosts she so often saw on the horizon now stood proud and alive, bright as the moon. Troutpool joined the cries of the dead, her voice giving way under the strain. Oilstar's new name filled the sky.

"Oilstar! Oilstar! Oilstar!" StarClan cheered.

"Oilstar? Are you Oilstar now?" Dovekit asked.

Wait, Dovekit?

Oilstar woke on the cool leather floor of StarClan's Shrine. Dovekit stared directly into her face, a whisker's length away. He blinked innocently, like he didn't know how wrong this all was.

"Dovekit!" Oilstar snapped, standing on shaking legs. "How are you here?"

"I followed you," Dovekit said as Troutpool stirred behind him.

"All the way from camp?" Oilstar gasped. How in StarClan's name could a kit get out of camp and travel across two territories with no one finding him? "Dovekit, there are dangerous things in the forest, especially at night. An owl could have swooped down and grabbed you!"

"But no one saw me," Dovekit huffed. Troutpool opened her bleary eyes and suddenly startled at the sight of the gray and white kit. Oilstar shook her head, hiding a purr deep in her throat. Now it would be her job to find the chaotic tom a mentor next moon. It would be her job to find mentors for every kit in RippleClan, bestow names on every new warrior. She'd be the one speaking for RippleClan at Gatherings. She'd be the one deciding the fate of her Clanmates.

If she could handle Dovekit in that moment, perhaps she'd handle all of that as well.

(Oilstar: 99, female, leader, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Downstar: 154, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Troutpool: 56, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sight)

(Duskkit: 4, female, kit, troublesome, quick witted)

(Slushtrail: 31, female, mediator, wise, clever, talented weaver)

(Tallowheart: 31, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)

(Moonpaw: 10, female, mediator apprentice, childish, good hunter)

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

(Mosspounce: 52, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Weedfoot: 122, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

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

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

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

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

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

Carnationspeckle and Wildclaw grieve Downstar, but Oilstar still appoints Wildclaw as her deputy.

[Image ID: Oilstar faces Wildclaw and Carnationspeckle. Under Wildclaw and Carnationspeckle, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

(Oilstar: 99, female, leader, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Wildclaw: 87, female, deputy, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Carnationspeckle: 97, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

[rippleclan]

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

Thus, the kitocalypse.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 92

The Witch Hunters find and kill Lemmy, leaving RippleClan in a strange state.

[Image ID: Darkkick, Terracottafoot, and Paleseed face Weevilsight. Paleseed says "Weevilsight?"]

Weevilsight nearly couldn't muster the energy for the Gathering. The last visit to StarClan's Shrine had been exhausting enough; Troutpool nearly cried when Trumpetspore didn't visit her dreams, and Weevilsight forgot her promise to Wolverineheart, to learn if Foampaw approved of her relationship with Mitespark, until just before the tortoiseshell cleric woke up. All the other clerics seemed forgiving of RippleClan's spaciness, yet Weevilsight dug her fangs into her lip and focused on her work. And part of that work was attending the Gathering.

Weevilsight and Honeybuzz were the only clerics accompanying the Clan to the Leader's Stone. Troutpool didn't want to face the official announcement of Trumpetspore's death, and Estherfern had to look after Gingerpaw, who somehow came up with the worst joke possible at Trumpetspore's vigil and was banned from the last winter Gathering. And thus, Weevilsight trailed within the middle of the RippleClan horde, following Downstar and Oilstripe along the SlugClan/WheatClan border. With Anchovystrike, Wolfgaze, and Ravenweaver staying behind, Weevilsight found herself with a duo she rarely got to interact with.

"I don't care how old they get," Paleseed said, adjusting her feather decor as she walked, "Terracottafoot is always going to look like a tiny scared apprentice to me. I can't believe how much they've grown! It's been ages since we had a chance to sit down with them, hasn't it, Darkkick?"

"We talked with them at Harvest Moon," Darkkick scoffed, fluffing herself up against the cold night wind.

"That was five moons ago!" Paleseed pointed out. "Before all… that happened."

"I thought mediators weren't supposed to avoid sensitive topics," Darkkick hummed.

"I'm trying to be respectful," Paleseed said. Even though the gray mediator was on Darkkick's right, and Weevilsight walked on her left, Weevilsight still saw the strained glance Paleseed sent her way.

"Why mince words?" Weevilsight laughed, venom in her voice. "My mom killed our Clanmates, my dad died, my aunt killed herself. I'm sure Terracottafoot can offer you some comfort." Considering Darkkick's short stature, she and Paleseed looked like a stunned, two-headed beast in the moonlight, their gaits evenly matched as they bawked at Weevilsight.

"I'll tell you the same thing I told your friend after the Shardling incident," Darkkick eventually huffed. "You handled that as best you could."

"I know that, Darkkick," Weevilsight sighed, staring at the cloud-lined moon as she walked. "I'm just going to feel like foxdung for a while."

"And that's okay," Paleseed added with a decisive nod. "You do what you need to do to grieve and come to terms with it all. You can always talk to me."

"I think she needs a friend, not a mediator, Paleseed," Darkkick muttered.

"Both work," Weevilsight hummed as the Clan approached the rock wall leading up to the Leader's Stone. It was slick with snow, making RippleClan's approach a slow and methodical process. Rabbitjoy walked along the edge of the path up, guarding Frostpaw from a potential fall. Boughfur took Tallowheart's basket while the rock-footed tom inched up the wall. A clump of snow fell from the grass above and smacked onto Stormjump's head, earning a laugh from her mate. Weevilsight's paws felt lighter. It felt normal, for the first time all winter.

As usual, RippleClan was the last Clan to arrive. Ospreystar, Eelstar, Gentlestar, and Lettucestar waited on the Leader's Stone while their Clans waited for their cue to mingle and share tongues. Downstar climbed to the second-highest platform of the Leader's Stone while Oilstripe took her traditonal place among the other deputies. Weevilsight laid in the half-melted snow and stared lazily at the Leader's Stone. The sooner announcements were done, the better.

The winter had been hard on the other four Clans in more traditional ways. WheatClan lost an overeager apprentice in the cold and an elder to distemper. LynxClan reported on harsh conditions in their rocky territory and gave their neighbors an official plea for hunting assistance. SlugClan and AshClan were a bit quieter, reporting a new litter and a death each, but Weevilsight couldn't help but notice how Eelstar and Lettucestar glanced at Downstar as they spoke.

"Before you begin your report, Downstar," Ospreystar said just as Eelstar finished delivering his news, "I want to say something that I didn't get the chance to last moon, when you announced the death of Mosspounce." The brown-speckled leader stood taller and faced the five Clans. "I want to formally declare LynxClan's gratitude to Mosspounce of RippleClan for killing the cougar that nearly destroyed us moons ago. He delivered the fatal blow, and for that, we hope that his story is honored with the same respect as Cougarstrike, Celestial of Cougars. LynxClan will hold a place in our hearts for RippleClan's brave caretaker."

"Mosspounce! Mosspounce!" the LynxClan cats cheered. Weevilsight sat up. Her ears rang with the sound of her father's name. Some of Weevilsight's Clanmates took up the cheer as well; Carnationspeckle and Asterblaze were particularly vocal. Weevilsight stayed still, unconsciously holding her breath. Her father was a hero.

"Take it with a drop of mouse bile, Weevilsight," Darkkick warned as the cheers began to die down. "I'm sure they are grateful, but this wh ole show is likely planned to win Downstar's favor. I'm sure LynxClan will be asking us for something soon."

"Thank you, Ospreystar," Downstar purred. "It does an old soul good to know that my grandson's fatal wounds were obtained for a good cause. I'm afraid that isn't the end of RippleClan's recent string of loss, however." Downstar shifted and prepared herself for the news. Weevilsight sank back down. Paleseed dipped her head and closed her eyes. "I'm sure some of you have learned of this, whether through meetings at the border or at the historian's gathering hosted by SlugClan this new moon. However, I regret to inform you that Trumpetspore, my granddaughter, took her own life shortly after the last Gathering." Quiet, shocked gasps rippled through the clearing. Eyes pierced the RippleClan delegation. Weevilsight closed her eyes and pretended she was alone.

"I'm sorry, Downstar," Gentlestar gulped, placing a paw on Downstar's platform above her.

"We ask that you respect our privacy surrounding this event," Downstar continued, "and know that Trumpetspore did her best against what can be the worst enemy a warrior fights; their own heart." Mutters of agreement washed over Weevilsight. She prayed no one would pry her for information. "Outside of this loss, we have no Gathering-worthy news to report. I say we get on with the Gathering proper and try to enjoy ourselves tonight." The other leaders nodded along with Downstar's idea. With that, the Clans merged. A wave of friends from other Clans crashed into RippleClan, firing questions of concern and morbid curiosity. Weevilsight wasn't ready; Yellowburst bumped into her flank, knocking her into a WheatClan historian. Weevilsight stumbled back, one of her signature petals fluttering out of her pelt.

"Terracottafoot is over there!" Paleseed called, peering over the crowd. "This way!" Darkkick looped her tail around Weevilsight and gently nudged her toward Paleseed. Paleseed pierced the crowd, leaving a trail for Weevilsight and Darkkick to follow. Questions bounced off Paleseed's pelt. She deflected them with the skill of an expert mediator, offering polite, if not slightly dismissive, answers.

Terracottafoot, as was their habit, prepared a game of moss-ball to the side of the crowd. They set up small "dens", or overturned baskets, on either end of the massive play area and merged loose chunks of moss together. They scented the three RippleClan cats and turned to greet them. Weevilsight tried to imagine what Terracottafoot looked like as a "tiny scared apprentice". Sure, the AshClan cleric carried themself with a constant air of tension; they were always moving, whether through the twitch of their whiskers or the methodical wave of their tail. But they were mature, as well-muscled as a warrior and, much to Weevilsight's embarassment, as handsome as they came (oh how Honeybuzz teased her as an apprentice for that little crush).

"Hi, Paleseed," Terracottafoot chirped, touching noses with Paleseed. "StarClan, I'm happy to see you. I've wanted to say something about your sisters, but I didn't know what."

"I try to focus on the siblings I still have," Paleseed chuckled, licking her chest.

"Keeping out of trouble?" Darkkick hummed, staring Terracottafoot up and down.

"I do what I can," Terracottafoot said. They touched noses with the former AshClan cleric and turned to Weevilsight. "Cleric Weevilsight, you didn't tell me about Warrior Trumpetspore at the half-moon meeting. Is that why Cleric Troutpool was so upset?"

"We didn't want to make the meeting all about us," Weevilsight sighed. Her paw absently snagged Terracottafoot's moss-ball and rolled it under her paw.

"I'm sorry about that, regardless," Terracottafoot said. They glanced past the RippleClan cats and groaned, "Oh StarClan he's already telling Downstar." Weevilsight looked back. Eelstar spoke with Downstar on the Leader's Stone. Both seemed deeply serious.

"Telling her what?" Darkkick huffed.

"I'm not a storyteller," Terracottafoot gulped, "but there were these Witch Hunters at our border and they told us… uh… do you want their story or the summary?"

"Tell us what they told you," Paleseed suggested.

"Well," Terracottafoot groaned. They stared at Darkkick, gaze pointedly refusing to touch Weevilsight. "Apparently Lemmy showed up in the human settlement last moon. One of the Witch Hunters picked a fight with her, and, well, that Witch Hunter ended up dead. The Witch Hunters were really mad at that, I think the dead Witch Hunter just had kits and the humans took them away? I can't remember that part. But, um, the Witch Hunter General ordered them to find Lemmy, and they did… Lemmy's dead now." The words didn't quite reach Weevilsight's ears.

"Say that again?" Weevilsight said, rubbing her ears.

"The Witch Hunters killed Lemmy," Terracottafoot said. "I think their patrol thought we were RippleClan? We didn't get a chance to explain. They showed up a few days ago. I'm really sorry, Weevilsight." Weevilsight's claws pierced the moss-ball. The chatter of the Gathering clawed her ears. Her heart beat faster.

"Weevilsight?" Paleseed whispered. She reached a paw toward Weevilsight, but Darkkick pushed it down.

Lemmy's dead. Lemmy's dead. Lemmy's dead.

Mom's dead.

"Stars damn it!" Weevilsight yowled. She chucked the moss-ball as hard and as fast as she could. It smacked into the basket and sent it rolling toward the treeline. "I want to kill someone!"

"Weevilsight—" Paleseed and Terracottafoot both stammered.

"Shut up, both of you," Darkkick snapped, shoving her tail in front of the pair. "Let her be."

"She made mistakes!" Weevilsight groaned. "Stupid, awful mistakes, it got out of control!" She paced in a circle, as though trying to get comfortable in a nest. "She wasn't a monster! She wanted to keep me safe! They didn't have to kill her! StarClan, she never even knew Dad died! Why did this happen? Why did she have to kill Potterypool? I can't even decide if I love her or hate her! Augh!" Weevilsight sat in a huff, tail thrashing. She stared at the snowy ground, head spinning. Her jaw dug into her head so hard, she thought she'd break a tooth.

Paleseed crept past Darkkick and toward the rolling basket. She put a paw on the basket, stopping its retreat. She plucked the moss-ball from inside and stared at it. Her tail waved gently as she thought.

"Terracottafoot?" Paleseed asked. "Do you have any AshClan cats who'd like to play against RippleClan in a game of moss-ball?"

"I can ask around," Terracottafoot said hesistantly, still inching toward Weevilsight. "Shouldn't we help—"

"I don't need help, Terracottafoot," Weevilsight huffed at the ground, voice monotone.

"I seem to recall you being good with a moss-ball as a kit," Paleseed said. She tossed the moss-ball to Weevilsight. It rolled to a stop in front of her paws. "Want to put that rage of yours to good use? It would be an insult to Clan pride if we let AshClan beat us."

"If that's the alternative, I'm playing," Darkkick huffed, joining Paleseed's side.

"Should I be offended?" Terracottafoot asked.

"Go get your Clan, kit," Darkkick scoffed. Terracottafoot cocked their head, but eventually sighed, chuckling at the same time. They jogged toward the larger crowd.

"For our players, I think we should recruit…" Paleseed hummed, studying the Gathering. "Boughfur, Stormjump, Yellowburst, Shrewflame, and Wolverineheart." Darkkick nodded along with Paleseed's assessment. "So, Weevilsight? Want to join?" Weevilsight gently snagged the moss-ball in her claws. She held it up to the light of the bonfire by the Leader's Stone. Did the color match Mosspounce's eyes? They had been so scarred at the end, Weevilsight almost couldn't remember…

"Let's kill these foxhearts," Weevilsight growled, tossing the moss-ball back to Paleseed.

"Metaphorically, though!" Paleseed chuckled awkwardly. "I'll go get the others." Paleseed passed the moss-ball to Darkkick and followed Terracottafoot's trail. Weevilsight sat next to Darkkick, unable to stop her thrashing tail.

"I'll help you hide the bodies," Darkkick chuckled.

A short time later, Weevilsight stood with her Clanmates in front of one of the baskets. Somehow, it seemed the whole group managed to escape the fog of grief imposed by Trumpetspore's death and laughed like kits as they prepared for the game. A gaggle of AshClan cats guarded the other basket across the clearing, throwing taunts toward the RippleClan cats. Paleseed and Terracottafoot stood in the middle, moss-ball sitting between them. A crowd of apprentices and warriors from the other Clans gathered to watch as they shared tongues.

"If it's been a while since any of you have played an organized game of moss-ball," Paleseed explained, "let us remind you. You are each on a patrol of seven cats, facing off against another patrol. Your job is to get the moss-ball past the enemy patrol and into their den, in this case the basket, to score points. No holding the moss-ball in your mouth, you have to catch it in your claws and toss it to your patrol members. If the other patrol has the moss-ball, you need to either make them drop it or grab it out of their paws, again, no teeth allowed. And no den guarding, you have to give the other patrol a chance to throw the moss-ball in. For this game, let's say… first to fifteen points wins. Any questions?"

"Do we have to be gentle with the cleric?" a dark red molly asked, nodding at Weevilsight.

"I won't be gentle with you," Weevilsight growled, ears tilted back. An excited bark of laughter and cheering rippled through the bystanders. The AshClan patrol laughed and yowled along with them.

"What about Darkkick?" asked a black and white tom, barely out of apprenticeship. "I feel bad fighting an elder."

"Darkkick fought Autumnstar, in the actual Dark Forest," Boughfur laughed, unweaving the blue flowers from her fur and placing them to the side of the game area. "I don't think you should be worried about hurting her, of all cats."

"Ready to run back to camp with your tails between your legs?" Shrewflame called, his tail high.

"I'm ready to feed you dirt, pretty kitty!" yowled the dark red molly.

"Aww, you think I'm pretty?" Shrewflame purred, wiggling his flank. "Why thank you!" Stormjump and Yellowburst laughed at Shrewflame, starting a wave of giggles across the crowd.

"Everyone go at my command!" Terracottafoot yowled, jogging out of the soon-to-be battlefield with Paleseed, leaving the moss-ball behind. All players shifted into battle poses. Weevilsight copied them as best she could. All eyes were on the moss-ball.

"Darkkick, stay in the back," Yellowburst whispered. "You can catch the moss-ball before it gets to the den."

"And miss out on clawing some AshClan fur?" Darkkick snapped in just such a way that Weevilsight couldn't tell if she was mad or teasing. "There's no chance of that."

As the pair argued, the AshClan patrol sparkled in Weevilsight's eyes. Ghostly doubles of the AshClan warriors launched toward the moss-ball. Sparkling premonitions of Weevilsight's Clanmates charged at the approaching patrol in return. Wolverineheart's future transparent form shoved into the dark red molly's shoulder. Her attack gave the black and white tom just enough time to slip around the charging enemy force and snatch the moss-ball in his claws. Weevilsight hadn't even seen that tom in the mass of cats yet-to-charge.

"Attack!" Terracottafoot cheered. Weevilsight's vision popped like seafoam. History repeated itself; the AshClan patrol ran at the moss-ball like stampeding horses. Wolverineheart led the RippleClan charge. No one noticed the black and white tom, running low against his taller Clanmates. He was invisible in the rush of fire-lit pelts. An afterimage of the tom's future position still flashed in Weevilsight's eyes.

Weevilsight lunged toward the empty space. Just as she neared it, just as she began to doubt her sight, there he was; the black and white tom, swooping past Wolverineheart to grab the moss-ball. Weevilsight smacked into him a whisker's length from the moss-ball. Weevilsight and the black and white tom tumbled back into the mass of swarming cats, each shocked at the other's appearance.

Stormjump rolled behind Weevilsight and snatched the moss-ball. She flicked her paw and sent the moss-ball soaring across the clearing. Shrewflame darted alongside the flying object. He jumped as though catching a bird mid-flight. Both front paws wrapped around the moss-ball.

Another premonition flashed within the mass of playful warriors. Shrewflame's ghostly paw launched a purple transparent moss-ball toward the AshClan den. A lilac and cream tortoiseshell streaked past her Clanmates and caught the moss-ball against her shoulder.

"Run with it, Shrewflame!" Weevilsight yowled as the black and white tom finally shoved her off. She fell onto her back, staring at the cloud-speckled night while the rest of the group hurried past her. All of the petals that clung to her pelt rubbed off in the snow and grass.

Weevilsight hurried back to her paws, only to see she was too late; the lilac and cream tortoiseshell stopped the moss-ball with her shoulder, just as predicted. But would Weevilsight let that go? Absolutely not. She had to sit by while her mother was exiled, while her father died, while her Clan suffered not under the claws of some Spirit of Shadow, something Weevilsight was born to fight, but mortals and the dangers of the everyday. She didn't have to let this go.

Weevilsight was not going to lose this game.

Weevilsight scrambled as the AshClan tortoiseshell tossed the moss-ball to the dark red molly. Darkkick thundered past Weevilsight, catching the eye of the dark red molly. Weevilsight yowled and sprung at the dark red molly. Weevilsight's sheathed paws batted the dark red molly's head. The dark red molly swung at Weevilsight, but the moss-ball slipped from her claws in the process. Darkkick swiped it from underneath the fighting mollies and batted it back toward the AshClan den. The dark red molly turned to follow, but Weevilsight shrieked and dragged the AshClan molly back by the tail. Her mouth burned with the taste of cat fur, that awful scent of combat that she still despised after so many moons, but the thoughtless rage bubbling in her throat forced her to remind herself, training grip, training grip, training grip.

A cheer ripped through the bystanders. Weevilsight let go of the dark red molly's tail. Boughfur had jumped into the AshClan den, moss-ball stuck to her claws. She looked like a rabbit crawling into a hole. Weevilsight laughed, but it was more like the cauterwaul of a rabid beast than anything funny.

"Clerics are mad," the dark red molly grumbled, hurrying back to her Clanmates.

Mad? Oh that was the right word for Weevilsight at the moment, as her patrol cheerfully regrouped by their den for the next round. Weevilsight was certain the actual grief would hit her when she got back to camp. But in that moment, with the freedom to run and scream and tackle and fight? Weevilsight could be as mad as she needed to be.

(Weevilsight: 27, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)

(Paleseed: 58, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

(Darkkick: 140, trans female, elder, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Downstar: 151, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Boughfur: 24, female, historian, righteous, great climber)

(Shrewflame: 16, female, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)

(Yellowburst: 23, female, caretaker, adventurous, great mediator)

(Wolverineheart: 24, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

(Stormjump: 23, female, caretaker, charismatic, incredible cook)

Midnightkit is scolded for sneaking outside camp.

[Image ID: Midnightkit and Valleykit face Carnationspeckle, both in trouble. Midnightkit says "Why didn't Rattlepelt come get me?" Under Midnightkit, it says + NEW SKILL: ALWAYS WANDERING. Under Valleykit, it says + NEW SKILL: AVID PLAY-FIGHTER.]

(Midnightkit: 1, male, kit, polite,always wandering)

(Valleykit: 1, male, kit, quiet, avid play-fighter)

(Carnationspeckle: 94, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

SlugClan attacks RippleClan in hopes of recovering Icekit and Pearkit for their newest members, Nimblestep and Quickkit.

[Image ID: Lettucestar, a white tom with a scar, and Lighttrail face Downstar, Wolverineheart, Wildclaw, Yarrowclaw, and Leathermask. Lettucestar says, "I'm sorry, Downstar, but I can't take no for an answer. Nimblestep is their mother, not Puddlewhisper." Under Downstar, it says LIVES LEFT: 1. Under Leathermask, it says LEVEL UP! NERVOUS → CONFIDENT.[

---

Downstar could tell it would be a late spring as she stepped out of her den on the last day of the year and into the thick, dry snow. It had snowed from one sunset and through another without stopping, leaving snowdrifts as tall as cats against the rocks and trees. It wasn't a bitter cold, though, like the one that plagued the Clans a few moons prior. This was a cold that energized Downstar's aching muscles and told the whole Clan to have a bit of fun!

The kits were certainly taking advantage of the heavy snowfall. Pearkit and Icekit dug at the snow like dogs while Midnightkit and Valleykit watched, wide-eyed. Stormjump groomed herself outside the warrior's den in a pale attempt to hide her watchful eye resting on the kits. The clerics cleared snow out from around the medicine den, but there was a shine to their eyes that brought a purr to Downstar's throat. Gingerpaw rambled to Weevilsight as the pair dug a path from the medicine den to the bonfire. Weevilsight laughed at one of Gingerpaw's silly faces, further easing Downstar's heart. If the recent heartbreak of the season could be forgotten, even for a moment, there was hope for RippleClan.

There was no hope of telling the time that day, save for the natural rhythm of day and night inside every cat. The sky was an endless silver expanse. Not a single cloud could be distinguished from another. It was as gray as a clear day's sky was blue. The unbroken bright light reflected off the snow stunned Downstar's eyes. Were it not for her nose, she might have bumped into Oilstripe, who trotted toward the leader's den.

"Good morning, Downstar," Oilstripe reported, ears perking up in front of her leader. "We have a few patrols out already. Vervaincough and Darkkick joined Billowhaze, Whitepaw, and Boughfur on an expedition to study the snow, but they promised to mark the southern border while they were there. Carnationspeckle, Tallowheart, and Drumtooth are fishing along the northern coast. Lastly, Rabbitjoy took Mitespark and Frostpaw to trade with WheatClan. They'll be gone the longest."

"Busy morning," Downstar hummed.

"Everyone wants to be out of camp today," Oilstripe sighed, stretching her front legs.

"I can manage the camp if you want to lead a patrol," Downstar said. She flicked her ears toward the camp exit. "This will likely be our last bit of snow until next winter."

"That's alright, Downstar," Oilstripe said a bit too quickly. "We have a lot to clear out of camp. I should manage that." Downstar grabbed Oilstripe's gaze and didn't let go. She studied her deputy's cyan eyes, so strangely blessed. Oilstripe's whiskers twitched uncomfortably, unable to view Downstar's thoughts as easily as she viewed hers.

"It's no good to have a distracted deputy," Downstar said. She sat in the curve of the Shiprock where the snow was thinner. "You're lingering around camp for another reason. Deputies should be open with their leaders."

"I can't tell if you're teasing me or reprimanding me," Oilstripe sighed. She sat next to Downstar, her focus drifting past her leader. The only sign of Downstar's hesistancy was the shift of her tail; she knew when she chose Oilstripe that she'd have to tolerate her ghost sight and the weird, almost blaphemous intrusion into the privacy of the visiting dead. She was good at that by now, and with a hard blink to wipe her mind, Downstar focused back on Oilstripe.

"It's about Rattlepelt," Oilstripe groaned. "I don't want to leave her alone." Downstar eyed the nursery. The snow's reflected light easily showed Rattlepelt and Wildclaw inside the den, still asleep. Wildclaw snuggled deep into Rattlepelt's fox pelt, and Rattlepelt shifted closer to her mate.

"I hope you remember you aren't the only other member of RippleClan," Downstar gently reminded her deputy. "There's always someone in camp."

"I'm not doubting anyone," Oilstripe said. She flexed her paw, poking tiny holes in the snow. The gentle motion gave her time to find her courage. "I'm scared for her, Downstar."

"Do you think she could harm herself?" Downstar asked. She regretted the question as soon as she said it. She never would have thought something like that a moon ago. But then again, a moon ago Downstar still had her granddaughter. Oilstripe caught her breath.

"No," she huffed. "No… but then again, I didn't think Trumpetspore could, either. I don't think I can truly judge what's in someone's heart."

"Blame is a weight I've borne for far too many circumstances outside of my control. Don't let it crush you."

"But don't I deserve some of the blame? We're leading this Clan, Downstar. When someone dies like this, what does it say about us? And what about Lemmy? Could we have stopped her?"

"You're rambling, Oilstripe." Downstar raised her tail to pause her deputy's spiraling thoughts. "I'm going to tell you something that it took me a long time to learn. If you did the best you could with what you knew, then blaming yourself is useless." Oilstripe breathed deep, nodding along with Downstar's advice.

"I'll try to remember that," Oilstripe sighed.

"So," Downstar huffed, getting up, "do you think Rattlepelt needs an extra eye on her?"

"I think she's struggling," Oilstripe said, picking her words carefully. "It's like what happened after the Shardling incident. I don't want this to hurt Rattlepelt's relationship with Wildclaw or their kits. Rattlepelt didn't even leave the nursery to check on Midnightkit yesterday." Yes, Downstar had noted that; out of the two mothers, Wildclaw was usually the one with an eye on Midnightkit and Valleykit as of late, and when she went on patrol, Midnightkit tried to follow. It hadn't been Downstar's place to comment on Rattlepelt's absence, but everyone noticed it.

"As the mother of your daughter-in-code rather than your leader," Downstar sighed, "don't worry about how Wildclaw feels. I'll take her out. Try not to worry. We'll help Rattlepelt as best we can." Downstar touched her nose to Oilstripe's head. Oilstripe gawked at the touch for a moment, eyes widening. She then purred and dipped her head. Her whole body softened. Downstar's work there was done; now onto her daughter.

Downstar left Oilstripe to her thoughts and entered the nursery. Her paws trapsing through the snow quickly woke Wildclaw. The scarred gray tabby lifted her head off her mate and yawned deeply. Her scar-lined tail swayed lazily.

"Wildclaw, I'm taking a sunrise patrol to mark our northwest borders," Downstar explained in a whisper. "I want you to come with. I'll even let you pick out who we bring."

"I'll be right there," Wildclaw grumbled, still yawning and blinking sleep from her eyes. She crawled over Rattlepelt, stretching her hind legs so high they nearly eclipsed her head. Rattlepelt shifted and threw a paw over her eyes. Wildclaw glanced back to her mate and whispered, "Rattlepelt, I'm going on patrol. The kits are playing outside. Do you need anything?"

"I can get it," Rattlepelt mumbled. She squirmed under her red pelt, but didn't get up. Downstar softly padded back out as Wildclaw whispered something else her aging ears could not catch.

Downstar trailed through camp, navigating around the kits' digging, and waited by the exit for her daughter. A few moments later, Wildclaw emerged from the nursery and jogged to the warrior's den, nodding to Stormjump as she passed. She seemed like the reckless young molly Downstar remembered from so many years ago, but there was a wisdom to her step and a thought in her eyes. Yes, Downstar did not need to worry about Wildclaw. The fierceness her named honored was truly something to respect now.

Some time later, Wildclaw joined Downstar at the exit with Wolverineheart, Yarrowclaw, and Leathermask. Downstar wasted no time leading the patrol into the cheerful winter. Wildclaw slipped beside her mother and pranced through the snow like a deer. Soft winds blew powdery snow off the trees, making it look like a second snowfall. The snow retained the memory of the wind in its swirling, smooth edges and gentle dance across the ground. The smell of Carnationspeckle's patrol drifted past, a soft reminder that they were never alone in RippleClan territory.

"You know who Midnightkit and Valleykit remind me of?" Downstar said as the patrol trekked through the forest. "You and Halibutdusk."

"Really?" Wildclaw huffed. "I don't see it."

"Midnightkit is going to be just as troublesome as you were, I'm certain of it," Downstar chuckled. "Valleykit has Halibutdusk's pensiveness."

"Valleykit just learned what birds are," Wildclaw laughed. "I think you might be insulting Halibutdusk there."

"They fit into our family, that's what I mean," Downstar hummed, studying Wildclaw's face. "You and Rattlepelt have done a good job so far. Just like you did with Shrewflame and Whitepaw. You'll all be alright in the end."

"I know, Mom," Wildclaw assured her. Her ears tilted back for a moment as she added, "I just need Rattlepelt to believe that."

"You've been through worse," Downstar reminded her. She stopped to rub an irritating itch on her back against a pine. "If you keep doing what you have been doing, it will work out."

"Downstar!" The whole patrol paused, ears high. Pale gray markings framed the green eyes of the tom who emerged from the depths of the forest. Lettucestar? His deputy, Lighttrail, walked alongside him, all thick ginger fur and confidence.

"Stop right there!" Wildclaw barked. She dove between Downstar and Lettucestar, lips curled tight and her body slithering like a rattlesnake ready to strike.

"This has to be a joke," Wolverineheart scoffed. "I get you're a Clan leader, but you can't just stroll into our territory without an escort!"

"Do you want to get attacked?" Yarrowclaw growled, showing off her fangs.

"Wait, wait," Downstar huffed. She pushed through her protective Clanmates, tail high to still their sudden fury. "Let me talk to him." Leathermask bristled, back arched high as Downstar approached the SlugClan leader. Wolverineheart and Yarrowclaw kept their claws out, but gave Downstar her room. Wildclaw stayed where she was, face curling in and out of battle rage.

"I know I'm intruding on your territory," Lettucestar huffed, keeping his tail low as a show of peace. "Waiting by the border would have been inappropriate. In a sad way, my purpose here isn't much different from the war patrol you brought to my camp almost a year ago." There was a mild venom in Lettucestar's voice that made Downstar's ears grow hot with old grief.

"Except Downstar's not losing her mind," Yarrowclaw grumbled.

"Yarrowclaw, you will not disrespect Gorgestar's memory in front of me," Downstar suddenly growled, turning on the brown and white molly. Yarrowclaw stiffened under Downstar's amber glare. "He was a good leader and my friend. You of all cats should know better than to make a joke of something like that." Yarrowclaw stared down, unmoving under Downstar's assault. Downstar bit back a hiss of frusteration; why in the world did Yarrowclaw have to make a comment like that? Now Downstar seemed like a weak leader! She would handle Yarrowclaw's coldness later; she had intruders to manage.

"It's once again an issue of miscommunication," Lettucestar sighed. "Lighttrail, you're the better storyteller of the two of us. Explain the situation to Downstar and her warriors." Lighttrail stepped forward, clearing his throat. He looked like a kit in Downstar's eyes. Then again, at Downstar's age, most cats looked like kits.

"Recently, SlugClan encounter a loner queen and her kit by the river," Lighttrail said. "The kit was sick with feather-head, so we offered to provide treatment. The queen grew to trust us, and the pair decided to join SlugClan. They are now known as Nimblestep and Quickkit, though you would have known the queen as simply Nimble." Nimble. So much had happened that winter, Downstar almost forgot that Puddlewhisper was not Pearkit and Icekit's birth mother.

"Wait," Leathermask grunted. "Nimble joined SlugClan? No, she hates the Clans."

"Her mate hated the Clans," Lighttrail said with the patience of a mentor with their apprentice. Downstar couldn't stop her jaw from tightening at the tone. "Nimblestep supported and followed Achilles, but once she understood we only wanted to help Quickkit, she learned to trust us."

"It's not like we didn't try to do that!" Wolverineheart whined. "She wouldn't listen to us!"

"Your Clanmates murdered Achilles in cold blood," Lighttrail scoffed, twitching his whiskers. "Would you listen to yourselves?"

"No more comments, all of you," Downstar hissed, thrashing her tail. This was no time to be debating the details.

"She told us about her other kits, Downstar," Lettucestar finally sighed. "A silver tom and a pale ginger molly. They're Icekit and Pearkit, aren't they?" Wildclaw paced behind Downstar. Her jaw twitched with unspoken words. Her paws crunched heavily into the snow, turning it to slush.

"They are," Downstar admitted. "Nimble ran—Nimblestep ran from our patrol, but only took a brown kit. Quickkit, I assume. She abandoned the rest of her litter."

"A mistake she wants to correct," Lettucestar said, stepping closer to Downstar. "We're here to take Icekit and Pearkit back to their mother."

"Take?" Downstar and Wildclaw yowled in unison. Lighttrail unseathed his claws and crouched into a battle stance. Lettucestar hovered his tail over his deputy's shoulder. Downstar steadied her breath and grounded her paws flat, letting the cold sap her sudden anger.

"Lettucestar, Icekit and Pearkit are RippleClan cats now," Downstar said slowly. "All they've known is RippleClan. Puddlewhisper is raising them. Taking them would be cruel. Nimblestep abandoned them to what she thought would be their deaths. How can we trust she has their best intentions at heart?"

"She's a SlugClan warrior now," Lettucestar said, his words just as slow and restrained as Downstar's tone. "We will help her raise the kits, just as I'm sure your caretakers help Puddlewhisper."

"I'm happy to discuss Nimblestep visiting our camp," Downstar huffed. "If she wants a relationship with Icekit and Pearkit, I don't want to deny her that. But simply taking them? They aren't prey. Do you think they'd ever be loyal to SlugClan if you forced them from their home?" Lettucestar sighed deeply. He closed his eyes and pulled his tail away from Lighttrail. His claws peeked out of his paws. The RippleClan patrol slunk closer to Downstar.

"Warriors!" Lettucestar yowled. The snow behind Lettucestar shifted. Pelts peeked out from the white and gray terrain, shoving off snowy coverings and emerging from behind trees and rocks. The RippleClan patrol hissed and snarled. There was an entire war patrol of SlugClan cats, hiding just fox-lengths away! The SlugClan warriors glistened with snow melting into their fur. Narrow eyes bore into Downstar, ready to tear and bite.

"I'm sorry, Downstar," Lettucestar sighed, shifting into a battle stance, "but I can't take no for an answer. Nimblestep is their mother, not Puddlewhisper. You can't claim her kits. I wanted us to agree on this, but if you won't take us to your camp, we'll just go through you."

"Yarrowclaw, warn camp, now!" Downstar yowled. Yarrowclaw leaped over Leathermask and skidded across the snow. She raced like a rabbit along the patrol's snowy prints, tail weaving between the trees.

"Don't let her get reinforcements!" Lettucestar ordered. Half of the SlugClan patrol bolted after Yarrowclaw, stomping and kicking their way through the snow. Leathermask yowled and launched himself into a lilac tortie, the war-hungry Carvingfur. The pair rolled back behind an ancient pine.

"Wolverineheart, help Yarrowclaw!" Downstar ordered as Lighttrail lunged for her. "We'll hold them back!" Wolverineheart ran after Yarrowclaw's hunters as Lighttrail smacked Downstar into the snow. Downstar raked her claws along Lighttrail's white chest. Blood immediately dripped from his pelt onto Downstar's face.

Lighttrail stumbled off, shrieking, as the rest of the patrol converged on Downstar and Wildclaw. There were three or four SlugClan warriors for each remaining RippleClan cat. At least Lighttrail wouldn't be a problem; he stumbled against a pine trunk and pressed his bleeding wounds into the snow.

"I'd like to see you take me, foxhearts!" Wildclaw cried. She hooked her claws into Carvingfur as she and Leathermask rolled back into the crowd. Wildclaw ripped Carvingfur off Leathermask and dug her teeth into the tortoiseshell's soft ear.

Sharp claws slashed Downstar's ankle. She tumbled forward into a black molly. A cream-colored tom pounced on Downstar's back. His claws tore into her ginger patches. Blinding pain ripped through Downstar's blood.

Lettucestar crouched by Lighttrail as the SlugClan warriors beat Downstar into the ground. The leader and deputy whispered to one another, mute under the screech of battle. With a decisive nod from Lighttrail, Lettucestar hurried past the fight toward the unseen coastline and RippleClan's camp.

Leathermask and Wildclaw fought back to back against Carvingfur and the other SlugClan warriors. They spun to face every blow. Nicks and scratches riddled their faces. Neither could get to Downstar.

The black molly and the cream-colored tom stepped off Downstar, blood staining their paws. Downstar's ears rang. She stared into the now pink snow. Her legs shook. The pain coursed through her back and toward her paws. Downstar couldn't get up. She couldn't help her daughter. Yarrowclaw and Wolverineheart had to get to camp. They had to protect the kits. That was what mattered.

A brown and white mass of long fur flew past Downstar's blurry vision. The figure landed on Carvingfur just before the tortoiseshell could claw at Leathermask's eyes. Carnationspeckle! Her hunting patrol! Drumtooth and Tallowheart dove into the fight behind their patrol leader. Tallowheart pulled Wildclaw and Leathermask out of the mess. Drumtooth whipped around the SlugClan warriors like a fish. He'd land one blow, then kick back at a sneaky warrior.

"They're going for camp," Wildclaw yowled over the ringing in Downstar's ears.

"Yarrowclaw got there first," Tallowheart gulped. The fighting in front of Downstar blurred. Downstar rested her chin on the cold, stained snow.

"Mom!"

It took a while for Downstar to die. From what she could tell, she drifted in a melting mass of dreams and noise until her strength finally left her. She couldn't tell how much time had passed, and could barely hold on to a single thought. The sounds of the battle rose and fell. They blended into orders and questions, making the line between war and peace impossible to see. Were the clerics there? They should focus on the camp. SlugClan would not have those kits!

Summer warmth licked Downstar's pelt. That oh-so-familiar ocean hum replaced the ringing in her ears. Her back no longer burned. Downstar rubbed her cheek on the sand. Oh Downstar had missed the summer. RippleClan needed that light and warmth once more.

StarClan's coastline was the same as ever; mountains far behind the forest, pure salty water nuzzling the shore. Sunhigh glistened at the top of the sky, honey-bright and as welcome as a warm nest at the end of a cold night. Now Downstar didn't want to get up at all. For now, she could breathe.

Yet who would greet her this time? She was never alone on that lovely beach. Locustseeker, Duskkit, Fennelspot, Rustshade, Scrubmask… someone always had a kind word to say. Who would be there this time? Maybe Downstar had to go find them.

Despite the tempting warmth of the sand, Downstar got to her paws. She stood quicker than she expected. Old age didn't plague her in the strange land of Silverpelt. Downstar scanned the shore. Down the coast, paws dipping into the slowly rising tide, a black tabby sat, waiting. Downstar's granddaughter was unmistakeable, even with the newly gained glimmer in her pelt.

"I shouldn't be surprised it's you," Downstar called. Trumpetspore turned at her grandmother's voice. Her ears pressed backward. She snapped her eyes down.

Downstar strolled down the beach. Her heartbeat matched the gentle pull of the waves. She slowed the closer she got to Trumpetspore. Trumpetspore's head dipped lower and lower.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm sorry, Downstar. I should have talked to you. I missed them so much, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to hurt anyone."

"Oh, Trumpet," Downstar cooed. She placed her chin on Trumpetspore's warm head. She wrapped herself around Trumpetspore as the ageless black warrior shook. The hum of the ethereal ocean hid Trumpetspore's whimpers.

"I should have hung on," Trumpetspore whined.

"I know, I know," Downstar whispered. "It'll be alright now. I know, you're sorry."

Downstar wasn't sure how long she sat with her granddaughter. Those visits to StarClan rarely aligned with time in the living world, after all. Downstar just let the salt water soak her flank as she offered Trumpetspore a familiar shoulder.

"There are things I need to say," Trumpetspore eventually croaked, "before you go back." The pair pulled away, leaving imprints of each other in their pelts.

"I understand," Downstar sighed. "Tell me first, though. Did Lettucestar take the kits?"

"No," Trumpetspore said, clearing her throat. There was a shift in her starry eyes, a soft dance of light cascading across her glittering pelt. Her gaze drifted to something Downstar could not see. "Puddlewhisper hid them in the medicine den when Yarrowclaw got to camp. She pretended they were in the nursery until Lettucestar's patrol had to retreat."

"As clever as her mother," Downstar purred. Good, the kits were safe. For now, at least.

"Happier moons are ahead," Trumpetspore promised as her focus returned to Downstar. She stiffened and glanced down as she added, "If I had known that earlier…" Downstar had no comforting words for that. Trumpetspore breathed deep and stood taller.

"You're on your last life, Downstar," Trumpetspore said. Her voice gained the sort of regal, knowing tone Downstar had grown used to hearing from StarClan cats. "The next time you wake up on these shores, you will not return to RippleClan."

"I understand," Downstar said. She could feel her body pulling her down. The weight of her many moons flowed back through her muscles. She laid on the sand, which now felt more like moss and leather. Downstar's body was likely in the medicine den. "One thing before I wake up. Can you pass a message to Shadowdrop and your siblings?"

"Anything," Trumpetspore gulped. Downstar purred at the light in Trumpetspore's eyes.

"Tell them I love them."

(Downstar: 151, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Oilstripe: 96, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Wildclaw: 84, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Rattlepelt: 75, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Wolverineheart: 24, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

(Yarrowclaw: 27, female, warrior, cold, fire master)

(Leathermask: 40, male, warrior, confident, good fighter, eloquent speaker)

(Carnationspeckle: 94, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Tallowheart: 28, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)

(Drumtooth: 40, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Trumpetspore: 52, female, warrior, nervous, makes the best pottery, good storyteller)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 90, Part 2

Despite fighting his infection, Waspdawn puts the pieces together regarding recent events and confronts his culprit.

[Image ID: Waspdawn says to Oilstripe "Before we do anything, I need to talk to her. I need to understand. Can you be my backup, Oilstripe?"]

Potterypool killed Achilles. At least, she helped, if what Vervaincough and Venturedapple reported was true. It would explain the long brown fur found in her wounds. But Achilles could not have killed Potterypool or Lightningrunner. There was someone else involved. And as Waspdawn thought it through, the faceless spirit that haunted RippleClan over the course of an entire moon began to speak its name.

"I'm not sure you're well enough for this, Waspdawn," Oilstripe muttered as Waspdawn bit an itch just under his bandages. It hurt whenever the tip of his tail touched anything, and his fever came and went, but he still stood in the leader's den with Oilstripe, explaining his theory as night began to fall.

"It's a conversation," Waspdawn huffed. "If she puts up a fight, there are plenty of souls in camp to help me."

"We should just send Wolfgaze to fetch her," Oilstripe sighed, peering around Waspdawn and into the snowy camp. "She can freeze her and bring her for questioning."

"I need to be sure," Waspdawn grunted, moving back in front of his deputy. "Before we do anything, I need to talk to her. I need to understand. Can you be my backup, Oilstripe?" Oilstripe stared at something to Waspdawn's side. A spirit? He could only guess when Oilstripe's eyes wandered. If it was Potterypool or Lightningrunner's ghosts, maybe they could just confirm Waspdawn's accusations and they would all be done with it. But that wasn't how Oilstripe's powers worked, was it?

"She's on Downstar's hunting patrol," Oilstripe finally sighed. "It's nearly last light. They should be back soon. I'll let you have your confrontation, but I'm stepping in the moment she tries to run. Do you understand?" Waspdawn nodded deeply, chin touching his chest. Oilstripe sighed again, shaking out her inner fury.

The two cats left Downstar's den, eyes sharpening with the brilliant glow of the camp's bonfire. Oilstripe paced around the Shiprock, but Waspdawn lingered close to the nursery. Deep within the warm den, Puddlewhisper laid with her back to the world. Waspdawn could hear the gentle sniffles and shuffles of his new niece and nephew inside, hidden at his sister's belly. Barely a day together, and Puddlewhisper seemed perfectly content with the pair. Try as he might, the same warmth that filled his chest when Gingerpaw and Frostpaw were born simply wasn't there this time. These kits were meant for a different life, a life stolen from them by not just their selfish mother but by Potterypool and the culprit that would soon return home. Those kits deserved an answer to the question of their lives.

As the last creeping vines of sunlight snaked deeper into the forest and out of sight, Downstar entered the camp, a large fish in her jaws. Her fluffy pelt stuck up at odd angles, damp from saltwater. Oilstripe and Waspdawn jogged to meet her.

"Remind me to bring Drumtooth on more rafting patrols," Downstar purred, gently setting her salty catch down. "He's a natural diver." Drumtooth and Asterblaze, both as damp as their leader, whipped around Downstar, Oilstripe, and Waspdawn with their own catches, quickly placing them on the fresh-kill pile and racing for the bonfire. Downstar's good mood dimmed as the expressions on Oilstripe and Waspdawn's faces sunk in.

"I'll explain over here," Oilstripe muttered as the culprit crept between the thorns lining the camp entrance, her pelt perfectly dry, her yellow collar standing out like a sunbeam with the fire's glow. Waspdawn forced his eyes to soften as Oilstripe guided Downstar to the side of camp.

"Lemmy," Waspdawn said casually. "Good hunting?"

"You'll have to thank Drumtooth, not me," Lemmy sighed with a dismissive twitch of her whiskers. "I stayed on shore and made sure the raft didn't capsize." She moved as though about to walk past Waspdawn, but paused and stared closer at him. "You seem tense." Her own face dropped, ever so slightly. "Something happened to Mosspounce."

"No, no," Waspdawn stammered, quickly shaking his head. "No, Mosspounce is alright, he was sharing tongues with Washington when I last saw him." Lemmy's prickly fur relaxed. "No, I just wanted to talk to you, in private. Can we sit at the Resting Place?"

"If you need to," Lemmy hummed, stretching her back out. "Let's make this quick, though. I'm ready to sleep." Lemmy strolled back out of the camp. Waspdawn glanced at Oilstripe and Downstar. The former whispered in the latter's ear, relaying everything Waspdawn had told her. Downstar's mouth drooped open, ears twitching in tiny movements as she absorbed the truth of it all. Waspdawn left them to their revelation and followed Lemmy to the log outside of camp.

The Resting Place was covered in snow, but imprints of lounging cats marked its surface. Lemmy sat with her tail dangling off the log, waiting for her fellow codekeeper. Waspdawn jumped up and sat beside her. He grit his teeth when his tail rested against the decaying wood.

"Should you be out here with your tail?" Lemmy asked.

"Like you said, this will be quick," Waspdawn said, swallowing the pain. He settled his gaze on the dark sea. "We learned that Achilles is dead today. I don't think you've had a chance to hear." Lemmy flicked an ear.

"It's better for all of us that he's gone," Lemmy said. "I knew him well. You would never have convinced him you weren't a threat to the Other Side. He could have attacked us at any time."

"I won't deny that," Waspdawn said. "Do you want to know how he died, Lemmy?" Lemmy flicked an ear again. She matched Waspdawn's cold stare into the freezing ocean beyond. "A witness told us Potterypool killed him. Not alone, though. We didn't get to hear much else, but do you want to hear my theory?" Lemmy stayed still this time. Waspdawn shifted his gaze to the tortoiseshell killer. "I think Potterypool did kill Achilles. She killed him because you asked for her help. And then you killed her."

Lemmy said nothing. Her tail dusted snow off the Resting Place. A boreal owl hooted somewhere in the forest. The wind echoed in Waspdawn's ears. His tail was no longer his biggest source of pain.

"Here's what I think happened," Waspdawn said. "You were out of camp at the same time as Potterypool. You met along the river, likely by coincidence. At that time, you saw either Nimble or Achilles. If Venturedapple knew who Nimble was, I assume you'd know her from stories at least. Nimble built her kitting nest not far from the river, and she was close to her mate. It would make sense for both of them to make camp and hunt along the river. Regardless of which cat you saw, you decided it wasn't safe for the Clan to have Achilles at our border. Potterypool agreed. So you both crossed the river and hunted Achilles down.

"Potterypool took the brunt of Achilles' attacks, as her wounds tell us. Eventually, though, you both killed him. But Nimble was watching. I think Potterypool realized Nimble was pregnant and regretted taking a father from his kits. She was going to confess your shared murder, but you disagreed. You argued, and it escalated until Potterypool was dead at your paws." Waspdawn sneered as he talked. "You buried her in hopes no one would find out, and you cleaned yourself off before you returned to camp, as though nothing happened.

"But you still weren't safe. Lightningrunner was out of camp too. I think she saw something, likely the burial. She didn't realize what she saw until later, she may not have fully understood, even then. That's because I believe she spoke to you about it in private, and you knew you had to silence her. So you tracked her to Battle Beach and ambushed her when she was alone! Tell me I'm wrong, Lemmy!"

Lemmy didn't respond for a while. Waspdawn's claws poked through the snow.

"You're wrong," Lemmy said. Waspdawn held his breath. "I didn't kill Lightningrunner. I had no part in that. But Potterypool…" Lemmy sunk off the Resting Place. She sighed deeply. "I couldn't let Achilles hurt anyone else in RippleClan. He nearly killed your brother. His death was justified, but Potterypool didn't understand. It all went too far. I'm… sorry, Waspdawn."

"If you're sorry," Waspdawn growled, voice struggling not to spike, "then you'll come with me and face trial for both of their murders. You don't get to deny Lightningrunner's death. You can't hide your ruthlessness."

"You're an intelligent cat, Waspdawn," Lemmy huffed. "You figured out nearly everything that unfolded with Potterypool. But Lightningrunner? Your story is just that. A story. You have no proof she and I ever interacted."

"She had a conversation with Mosspounce, it stuck with her," Waspdawn snapped. "She realized what she saw."

"You're searching for an easy way out," Lemmy snapped back. "If I killed Lightningrunner, where was my scent? I was hunting that day. Do you think I found the time to catch a fish and kill Lightningrunner, all the while escaping her patrol?"

"If you're sorry for Potterypool's death," Waspdawn hissed, jumping off the Resting Place, "then why aren't you sorry for killing my sister?"

"Take me prisoner," Lemmy growled, sitting with her tail over her unseathed claws. "You found me out, and I won't run from it. I'll tell the truth. I'll take my punishment. I know what I did was wrong. I'll tell it all at my trial, whether you like what I have to say or not."

The moments after that blurred in Waspdawn's memory. Escorting Lemmy to the quarantine den, gathering her family, informing the codekeepers… it all happened in a flicker of light, the flap of a wing. Had Waspdawn done it? Had be outed the Clanmate who had his sister's blood on her paws?

Or was Lemmy, for the first time in a moon, telling the entire truth?

(Waspdawn: 56, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Oilstripe: 94, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Puddlewhisper: 56, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, keen eye, ghost sense)

(Downstar: 149, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Lemmy: 66, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond, good mediator)

Honeybuzz and Estherfern ask Lemmy for a favor.

[Image ID: Honeybuzz and Estherfern approach Lemmy.]

---

Lemmy asked for no visitors. One of the few things she dared to ask of RippleClan now. What could she say to her mate, to her daughters and her friends? She would say it all at her trial and face her execution with dignity.

It had been a few days since the truth came out, at least what Waspdawn declared to be the truth. She had been caught, that was true, but Lightningrunner's blood did not stain her fangs. That murderer was still out there. She owed it to RippleClan to make them see that. For now, though, in the late night before her grand trial, she stayed under guard in the quarantine den, eyes closed, yet not asleep. Simply waiting.

Soft voices outside the den stirred her from her few thoughts. She opened one eye. Honeybuzz and Estherfern stood outside, speaking with Rapidleaf and Brightreed. Lemmy couldn't hear their words. She turned with her back to the newcomers, tucking her face into the worn moss of her prisoner's nest.

"How is this den so cold?" Honeybuzz asked, shivering as he and Estherfern entered the den. "We keep patients here! We can't let it get this chilly!"

"Focus," Estherfern huffed. Their pawsteps grew closer. Lemmy could feel their breath on her back.

"Is this some sort of death rite?" Lemmy sighed, giving into their presence. She sat up, her collar twisting against her neck. To her surprise, she could no longer see Rapidleaf and Brightreed's vague forms outside.

"You're not going to be executed," Honeybuzz insisted, sitting beside the damned molly's nest. "Downstar just brought it up because—"

"Because I won't admit to a murder I didn't commit," Lemmy huffed, lips curling. "My story will be the same at the trial. I am not Lightningrunner's killer."

"We're trying to help you, you stupid kit," Estherfern suddenly spat, matching Lemmy's expression.

"Do you care about justice or a simple solution?" Lemmy snapped. Her whiskers nearly touched Estherfern's as the two mollies growled at each other.

"You're not the only cat we're trying to help, Lemmy," Honeybuzz hissed, forcing himself between her and Estherfern. Estherfern huffed and sat in the remnants of an old nest. Honeybuzz's cicada wing necklace bounced against his chest as he settled back down. "Now, can you please listen to us? The rest of the Clan thinks we're here to help you clear your conscience. We know you didn't kill Lightningrunner, but we need you to admit to it anyway." Lemmy stared unblinking at Honeybuzz. Honeybuzz met her intensity and raised it, desperation mixed into his natural confidence.

"The Clan is in danger so long as her true killer is out there," Lemmy growled. "Lightningrunner was killed from behind, without mercy. Why would I protect them?"

"You don't know the full story," Estherfern muttered.

"The Clan thinks you're guilty now," Honeybuzz explained before Lemmy could probe Estherfern's ominous statement, "but if you insist on your innocence with Lightningrunner's death, eventually cats will start asking questions again. For the good of the Clan, we can't have them ask questions. It would shatter families. I don't want anyone else to go through what my family is feeling." While it was far from the first time guilt gripped her guts, a new regret itched inside of Lemmy. She stole Honeybuzz's sister from him, yet Honeybuzz didn't call for Lemmy's blood to stain the forest floor like Vervaincough and Halibutdusk had upon the reveal.

"Who killed her, then?" Lemmy asked softly. Honeybuzz glanced at Estherfern. The old brown cleric nodded. Then Honeybuzz said a name, the last name Lemmy could ever imagine tearing into the back of Lightningrunner's neck.

"Whitepaw."

(Lemmy: 66, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond, good mediator)

(Honeybuzz: 38, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Estherfern: 124, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 78

The Clan collectively celebrates Weedfoot as everyone finds a way to move on. Potterypool, Wolfgaze, Currentsmoke, and Yarrowclaw join their littermates in the warrior’s den.

[Image ID: Potterypool, Wolfgaze, Currentsmoke, and Yarrowclaw are adults and graduates. Under Potterypool, it says LEVEL UP! POTTERYPAW → POTTERYPOOL, INSECURE → SNEAKY, LOVES TO SING → GREAT SINGER. Under Wolfgaze, it says LEVEL UP! WOLFPAW → WOLFGAZE, CURIOUS ABOUT STARCLAN → CONNECTION WITH STARCLAN, CONFIDENT WITH WORDS → GOOD SPEAKER. Under Currentsmoke, it says LEVEL UP! CURRENTPAW → CURRENTSMOKE, CONSTANTLY CLIMBING → GOOD CLIMBER, HAS LOTS OF IDEAS → SKILLED TOOLSMITH. Under Yarrowclaw, it says LEVEL UP! YARROWPAW → YARROWCLAW, THOUGHTFUL → COLD, STARES AT FIRE → TALENTED FIRE-STARTER.]

"Wolfgaze… Wolfgaze… Wolfgaze, Wolfgaze, Wolfgaze!"

"I'm still awake, I promise," Wolfgaze yelped, blinking wildly and shaking the exhaustion from her thick fur. Thank StarClan she didn't fall over. She'd claimed a spot on the Resting Place immediately after her ceremony, providing a great vantage over the camp. Yet the lulling waves behind her and the empty, clouded sky above were the perfect recipe for a long nap. Weevilpaw stood with her front paws on the log, her entire body standing straight with excitement.

"Downstar said I could fetch you," Weevilpaw chirped. "You made it! Your codekeeper's vigil! How did it feel?"

"Long," Wolfgaze yawned. She stumbled off the Resting Place, licking her lips. "Where are the others?" Potterypool, Currentsmoke, and Yarrowclaw had been sitting outside the camp the last time Wolfgaze looked. Now the entrance was barren, all thorns, brambles, and stones.

"They already fell back into camp," Weevilpaw chuckled. "Currentsmoke was so tired, I thought he would fall on his face!"

"I'm ready to see my graduation gift," Wolfgaze sighed as Weevilpaw rubbed against her. The tortoiseshell cleric helped her sister into camp, laughing as Wolfgaze's eyes drifted shut. With the sun peeking over the sea, Wolfgaze expected the Clan to set out for the day's patrols, but to her surprise, she found most of RippleClan gathered in the center of camp. Downstar sat on the Shiprock, gazing down at the activities below her. Potterypool, Currentsmoke, and Yarrowclaw stood at the edge of the crowd, trying to see what caught their kin's attention.

"What's going on?" Wolfgaze asked, morning clarity clearing her thoughts. She and Weevilpaw joined the newly graduated cats, who were all largely ignored by the rest of the Clan.

"The artisans are doing something," Yarrowclaw explained.

"I think it has something to do with that big chunk of wood they brought in last night," Currentsmoke pointed out. "Remember? Elmsprout and the artisans pulled the sled out and came back to camp with a huge piece!"

"It was a slow night, Currentsmoke," Potterypool hummed, gently nudging her friend. "I think she remembers." Wolfgaze did not, in fact, remember, but she pretended she did.

Wolfgaze braced herself and squeezed between Splashtuft and Wildclaw. She weaved around her Clanmates until she broke into the center of the circle. Mitespark, Elmsprout, Rabbitjoy, and Rattlepelt stood around a wooden sculpture. Ravenpaw sat near them, listening carefully as Rattlepelt explained what they were doing. They picked at the wood with their claws, their teeth, and a few specialized tools; sharp stone picks that could be wrapped around the paw with leather straps, perfect for detailed work on pottery and woodwork. Elmsprout was the first to notice Wolfgaze.

"Wolfgaze!" she called, gently stepping back from the sculpture. "You finished your vigil! Congratulations! Your sisters made your nest in the warrior's den. I'm certain you'll like their gift."

"What are you doing, though?" Wolfgaze asked.

"Oh, that's right, no one told you," Elmsprout gasped softly. "Mitespark, let her see!" Mitespark carefully pulled her carving pick from the wood's surface and moved to the side. It was a bust, a cat's face from the tip of their ears to their collarbone. They were a smooth-faced cat with round features, shaped almost like a triangle sitting on its tip.

"We debated whether to carve in her stripes or paint them," Rabbitjoy explained, "but I think we're going to paint them."

"Is this someone I'm supposed to recognize?" Wolfgaze asked.

"We carved it from memory," Mitespark admitted, "but imagine gray fur and deep blue eyes…"

"Weedfoot!" Wolfgaze suddenly gasped. "You carved Weedfoot's face?"

"James and Scaleripple are making paint for her," Rattlepelt explained. "We told James he could rest and enjoy the finished product, but I guess he wanted to lend a paw for once."

"But why carve Weedfoot?" Wolfgaze asked, glancing at the crowd. "Why is everyone so excited?"

"A Clan's leader and deputy carry all of us on their backs," Rabbitjoy said, brushing against the newly named codekeeper. "They affect all of us, and we all grieve them when they pass. It's a part of our history fading away. The whole camp was up last night sharing memories of Weedfoot, and Paleseed came up with this idea. We're thinking of doing the same for future leaders and deputies after they pass."

"We'll find a place to store them where the paint won't decay," Rattlepelt promised.

"It will be lovely," Wolfgaze purred. A yawn slipped through her words, despite her efforts to hold it back.

"It will still be here when you wake up," Mitespark laughed. "Go to sleep!" Wolfgaze bowed her head, her exhaustion flooding back with Mitespark's simple order. She moved back through the crowd, who passed along a few more congratulations.

"Wolfgaze!" Billowhaze stepped out of the swarm just as Wolfgaze breached the horde. His whiskers twitched in casual mirth. "Anchovy and I are planning abig battle-training session with Estherfern's litter this evening. You should join us! With all the Spirits of Shadow out there, those five could practice against that stare of yours."

"I'm not sure," Wolfgaze gulped, her ears suddenly growing hot under Billowhaze's charming stare. "It might be too dangerous to leave camp just for a training session. With what happened to Silverpaw…" Silverpaw should have been sitting vigil with Wolfgaze that night. Wolfgaze shouldn't have had to spend those long moments wondering what happened to her sister, what Spirit of Shadow pulled her under, never to be seen again.

"That's why training will be good for them," Billowhaze insisted. "We can even bring Weevilpaw along if that makes you feel better. The Spirits of Shadow wouldn't match claws with our three star-blessed warriors, would they?" Billowhaze winked and turned back to Weedfoot's bust, trying to gaze upon the former deputy's face. Even through the chaos of recent moons and the overpowering desire to sleep, Wolfgaze still felt her heart flutter at Billowhaze's stare.

It seemed her life as a codekeeper was off to a good start.

(Weevilpaw: 13, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)

(Wolfgaze: 13, female, codekeeper, thoughtful, connection to StarClan, good speaker)

(Yarrowclaw: 13, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

(Currentsmoke: 13, male, caretaker, loving, good climber, skilled toolsmith)

(Potterypool: 13, female, caretaker, sneaky, great singer)

(Elmsprout: 45, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

(Rabbitjoy: 115, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Mitespark: 20, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)

(Rattlepelt: 61, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Billowhaze: 13, male, historian, loyal, good kitsitter)

Boughpaw found a forget-me-not flower growing in the frost and decided to keep it.

[Image ID: Boughpaw now wears a forget-me-not flower. Under her, it reads + ACCESSORY: FORGET-ME-NOTS.]

(Boughpaw: 10, female, historian apprentice, righteous, constantly climbing)

While collecting samples of ichor for a banishing ritual with Estherfern, Anchovystrike, and Mosspounce, Foampaw swears she hears Shrewkit crying in the distance. When she and Mosspounce go to investigate, only Mosspounce returns alive with horrified tales of a manykit and a new spirit composed of frost-covered leaves.

[Image ID: Foampaw is a StarClan spirit.]

(Foampaw: 10, female, caretaker apprentice, troublesome, always wandering)

Slushtrail spends time with her family.

[Image ID: Tallowheart, Oilstripe, Slushtrail, Shrewkit, Carnationspeckle, Rattlepelt, and Wildclaw gather together.]

---

Slushtrail knew, as soon as Downstar ordered everyone to stay in camp unless absolutely necessary, Longest Night would truly be a long, long night.

Three torches sat before the main bonfire, separate from the other memorials. A withered dandelion sat in front of the tallest. A silver stone necklace hung from the second. Salt crusted the base of the third, dipped in sea foam. It was a lot like the Longest Night Slushtrail remembered from her kithood. The artisans danced and sang, the historians told stories, the caretakers prepared a late night meal. The fire still roared against the never-ending night, a refusal to bow to the cold and decay. Slushtrail could tell, however, that it hurt some of her Clanmates to keep up the fight. Estherfern ranted to her remaining kits, relaying all she had learned in those last few moons about the Spirits of Shadow and their dangers. Mosspounce laughed a bit too loud at one of Lemmy's comments. Lavendertwist sang just loud enough to hurt Slushtrail's ears. Rattlepelt fought to keep Ravenpaw's attention, trying to demonstrate a special dance. RippleClan was clawing at the edge of a cliff, trying to pull themselves back up, unable to think anything but "it will be okay" when their hearts spoke the opposite.

Honeybuzz brushed his tail against Estherfern's shoulder mid-rant. She paused, and Slushtrail could see Estherfern's breath catch and fog around her. She touched her nose to each of her kits and followed Honeybuzz to the side, where Troutpool and Weevilpaw waited. Slushtrail couldn't hear them, but they sat close and carried torches in their eyes. Best to leave them be for now.

The rest of Slushtrail's family sat in front of the nursery. Tallowheart worked with Oilstripe on an old story; a great war between WheatClan and SlugClan and a friendship that healed their wounds. Carnationspeckle listened closely with Rattlepelt and Wildclaw while Shrewkit hid under Rattlepelt's fox pelt, shivering. With one more look over the rest of the Clan, Slushtrail joined her mothers and siblings.

"How do you like Longest Night, Shrewkit?" Slushtrail asked.

"I don't like the cold," he huffed, pulling his face under the fox pelt. "My mom's probably freezing her flank off tonight."

"I'm sure wherever your birth mother is," Carnationspeckle sighed, lifting the kit's cover away, "she's just happy you're growing up somewhere safe and warm. Can I warm you up?" Shrewkit nodded and crawled closer to his grandmother. Carnationspeckle licked Shrewkit's fur the wrong way, warming his blood.

"So can leaders really give cats whole new names?" Shrewkit asked, turning to Tallowheart and Oilstripe. "Like the warrior in your story?"

"I'm a living example of that!" Wildclaw chirped, gently bunting her son. "Have we told you I used to called Graythroat? Downstar gave me a new name because of how fiercely I defend RippleClan."

"More like because you have a death wish," Oilstripe chuckled. Tallowheart hid a snicker.

"I've outgrown it!" Wildclaw insisted with a laugh.

"Mostly," Rattlepelt hummed, rolling her eyes. Wildclaw batted her mate's muzzle, and Shrewkit laughed.

"Well I never want to lose my name," Shrewkit declared. "My mom named me Shrew, and that's who I'll be, forever. The kit part is extra." When he sat taller, he nearly head-butted Carnationspeckle's jaw into her skull.

"It works well for you," Slushtrail purred.

And for that night, everything was alright.

(Slushtrail: 14, female, mediator, wise, clever, talented weaver)

(Shrewkit: 2, male, kit, bossy, never sits still)

(Carnationspeckle: 80, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Wildclaw: 70, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Oilstripe: 82, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Rattlepelt: 61, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Tallowheart: 14, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)

Troutpool hopes Trumpetspore notices her.

[Image ID: Troutpool stares at Trumpetspore.]

---

Troutpool stared at Trumpetspore from the medicine den as Trumpetspore and Brightpaw showed Shrewkit how to perform a hunter's crouch. There wasn't a lot of room to practice, since almost everyone was in camp, safe under the divine protection Troutpool and her peers summoned. It was the same protective ritual they performed during Harvest Moon. The clerics could only pray it would guard the Clan long enough for them to strike back against the Spirits of Shadow. Yet despite her chronic fear of them, Trumpetspore proved more confident in Troutpool's rituals than the cream cleric was.

"Keep your flank a little lower," Trumpetspore said, nudging Shrewkit's high flank down. "You're doing well." Troutpool didn't care if others laughed at Trumpetspore's nervousness or groaned at her panic. There was a keen-eyed warrior under that blanket of anxiety; a warrior Troutpool wanted to know more. Troutpool's eyes softened as she watched the black warrior move with such ease between Shrewkit and Brightpaw, eager to train despite the danger.

"You're staring." Troutpool startled a bit. Scaleripple stood outside the den, expressionless. He held a paw to his chest. A large thorn jutted out from his pads.

"I was just marveling at how well Shrewkit's adapted to Clan life," Troutpool stammered with a lick of her chest. "Here, that thorn looks awful, I'll help you get it out." That was obviously why Scaleripple was there, why did Troutpool have to say it like that?

Troutpool led Scaleripple into the shadow of the den. She grabbed a few cobwebs from the shelves (no need to waste a bandage on a simple thorn). She held Scaleripple's paw out and gripped the thorn between her teeth.

"You were staring at Trumpetspore," Scaleripple said right as Troutpool ripped the thorn out of his paw. Scaleripple hissed and licked the fresh flowing blood. Troutpool moved his paw back down and placed cobwebs on the small wound.

"Stay here for a while, and keep your paw off the sand," Troutpool said. "I'll take the cobwebs off soon. A wound that size will close quickly." Troutpool licked a strand of cobweb off her paws. Scaleripple stared at her, barely blinking. Did he want to talk about Trumpetspore? Well, if he did, he could just ask. Troutpool had no reason to be embarrassed by it. "You know Trumpetspore well. If I were to ask her on a date—"

"No," Scaleripple said so suddenly that Troutpool once again startled. They both stared at each other, one confused, the other certain in an unknowable, detached way. No? What did Scaleripple mean by 'no'? He wasn't Trumpetspore's mentor. Troutpool didn't need his permission! She must not have been able to hide her thoughts as well as Scaleripple did, for the gold and white warrior continued. "You told Trumpetspore her littermate was an omen. Why would she be your mate?"

"Scaleripple," Troutpool huffed, finding what little confidence she possessed and hardening her voice. "I only reported StarClan's sign. I didn't want to make Tempestshade's life hard. I revealed it at their trial because I didn't want them to be found guilty of murder."

"Instead you made everyone avoid them," Scaleripple said. He glanced at his bandaged paw with a soft huff. He tore off the red-stained cobweb and spat the wad onto the middle of the floor. "So, no. You don't get to ask Trumpetspore on a date. You don't deserve that." Scaleripple licked his paw once more and walked out of the den. It didn't seem to matter that he left Troutpool spinning, a dormant pressure rising in her chest. No, Scaleripple sauntered back into the packed clearing like nothing had happened.

According to him, nothing else should happen.

(Troutpool: 39, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Trumpetspore: 39, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Scaleripple: 31, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

RippleClan prepares a ritual to fight back against the Spirit hordes.

[Image ID: Troutpool, Honeybuzz, and Weevilpaw stand in a circle around Estherfern. Anchovystrike, Wolfgaze, Oilstripe, and Scaleripple watch from the sides.]

---

In Estherfern's faith, there was her God, who did His best to watch over her home, but there were also the Six Predators. The Wolf, The Fox, The Owl, The Hawk, The Rat, The Cougar. These vengeful, vindictive deities loved to toy with catkind, so Estherfern's home developed a dozen ways to combat their influence. Somewhere in the back of her heart, Estherfern wondered if they were the ones who tormented the souls of the Dark Forest, who gave birth to the Spirits of Shadow. Maybe they were the ones to kill Foampaw. Maybe they were laughing somewhere, saying "Look at Esther. Stepping above her station, making friends with the damned. Shouldn't she have known better? It's so fun to watch her destroy her family."

That night, Estherfern would spit in the faces of the Six Predators, of the Spirits of Shadow, of everything supernatural that roamed her new home, because no one got away with hurting her kits. Not even her.

"Estherfern, we don't have to tell anyone," Honeybuzz whispered as the procession trailed toward the beach. Honeybuzz and Estherfern kept to the back of the group, carrying baskets of supplies. Troutpool walked inside a circle composed of Weevilpaw, Anchovystrike, and Wolfgaze. Oilstripe and Scaleripple kept a sharp eye for strange shadows, ready to fight and protect the untrained clerics.

"What sort of justice would that be?" Estherfern huffed.

"The sort that keeps the peace," Honeybuzz said.

"Peace built on lies is no peace at all," Estherfern sighed. "When this is done… we're telling the Clan. May your ancestors and my God forgive me." Estherfern stared at the clouded sky. If StarClan was as strong as her Clanmates claimed, their presence would not be dulled by simple clouds hiding Silverpelt from view.

As the patrol approached the beach, it began to snow. Flakes danced on Estherfern's nose. Wolfgaze rubbed her fluffy pelt against her sister's thin fur as Weevilpaw shivered. Honeybuzz ran into the thicker circle of cats, quietly begging for extra warmth. Estherfern soaked in the cold. The cold meant she was alive. She was free. It was this freedom she sought to protect ever since she escaped the cat-minded human. Yet in seeing her kits as imprisoned in their bodies, had she not denied them freedom? Whenever she spoke with Wolverinepaw, the long-furred duplicate of Estherfern still stared a bit too hard. Thunderpaw still didn't ask Estherfern to repeat herself if she didn't catch what she said. Brightpaw squirmed in Estherfern's company, and Boughpaw stayed silent, forgotten in her normalcy. The truth would be the only thing that could fix their bonds, even if it destroyed them in the process.

"This is the place," Troutpool finally said. The patrol stood where the river met the ocean, dissolving into branches. Sand melted into mud and clay. A salt pool sat in the sand, the artisan's precious system to separate out the water and harvest the pure white crystals. The sea was nothing more than churning shadow. Estherfern and Honeybuzz set their baskets down.

"StarClan is watching," Oilstripe whispered, head spinning. "There are so many cats. I see Mousesong, and Weedfoot, Silverpaw… Estherfern, Foampaw is here." Estherfern steadied herself. She swallowed the rock in her throat.

"This is for you, Silverpaw!" Wolfgaze called into the dark, still pressed against Weevilpaw.

"They aren't saying anything," Oilstripe said. "I think they're just bearing witness."

"Foampaw, forgive me," Estherfern whispered.

"Oilstripe, Anchovystrike, Wolfgaze, Scaleripple," Honeybuzz said, taking dry mushrooms out of his basket, "you'll patrol around us while we work. Anchovystrike, how do we look?"

"There's ichor everywhere," Anchovystrike groaned, sneering at the sand. "The spirits roam the entire territory."

"It shouldn't be hard to draw them in," Weevilpaw huffed, standing taller. "I'll call out if I predict any of them attacking."

"This will take some time, so stay alert," Honeybuzz said. "Weevilpaw, help me build this side of the circle. Troutpool, Estherfern, take the other half." Estherfern gently grabbed a mouthful of mushrooms, which grew damp in the snow, and started on her side of the circle.

The circle would be far bigger than the one in Estherfern's cursed den. Yes, it was similar to that original circle, composed of the same mushrooms that connected the living world to the Dark Forest. Yet here, the design was not based on those damned traditions, but Estherfern's faith. While the mushrooms formed the curves of the circle, rather than filling the interior with an herbal sludge, Estherfern's basket held a purer replacement; the spirit-rebelling charms from Harvest Moon. In Estherfern's home, the charms would have had the gentle face of God, with tufts of fur representing each of the Six Predators replacing the mushrooms.

"Is this safe?" Scaleripple asked. He sat in the branches of a chokecherry, carefully watching the shore.

"We're summoning Spirits of Shadow and sending them back to the Dark Forest," Weevilpaw scoffed as she set down a few more charms. "There's a lot of risk involved here. But it's what we have to do if we have any hope to get rid of them all."

"I don't mean the spirits," Scaleripple said softly. "These gods that Estherfern fears… are they real?"

"Of course they are," Estherfern snapped, almost knocking a mushroom out of its place. "They may not dwell over your lands, but they dwell over mine."

"What if we summon both the spirits…" Scaleripple said, "and your Predators?" Estherfern's paw clenched over a charm. Was the white-speckled warrior right? Estherfern knew so many tales of the Six Predators and the way they destroyed lives. They did not need to feed, they did not have that excuse for their mayhem. It was fun for them. They spread their domains with no care for each other or any living creature. Was Estherfern repeating her earlier mistakes? Was she, in her effort to fix one problem, inviting something far worse?

"Esther," Honeybuzz said. He met Estherfern's eyes from the other side of the circle. He set the last mushroom in its place. "It's our best option. There are too many." Estherfern nodded. She settled the last of her charms in the circle and turned to Troutpool. The head cleric nodded in return.

"Everyone, stay back, and stay quiet," Troutpool called as Estherfern stepped into the circle. "Honeybuzz, Weevilpaw, are you ready?"

"I'm not a very good singer," Weevilpaw chuckled. She rubbed snow out of her eyes and settled at the edge of the circle.

"You don't have to be," Estherfern said. "Just say the names clearly."

"I've never heard names like these," Troutpool muttered, tucking her tail over her paws.

"You wouldn't have," Estherfern said with a flick of an ear.

Weevilpaw, Honeybuzz, and Troutpool sat equal distance from one another, poised outside the circle. Scaleripple jumped out of the tree and joined Oilstripe. Wolfgaze and Anchovystrike lingered near Weevilpaw. Snow dusted the mushrooms and charms.

"The ichor isn't happy, I can already tell," Anchovystrike muttered. Wolfgaze put her tail to his muzzle.

"Predators of the Great Glowing Lands," Estherfern yowled into the snowy night. "We bind you to this place with your true names!" The four clerics closed their eyes. The song came naturally to Estherfern, embedded into her very being. It wasn't hard to teach it to her compatriots.

Luponthoth

Vulpo Thun

Strigart

But-oro

Rapendazera

Punai'kema

The gentle voices of the clerics rose through the snow in a soft, yet tense melody, like bird song. Estherfern dropped out of the song and opened her eyes. Oilstripe and Anchovystrike's hackles rose, their heads bouncing to sights only they could see.

As Honeybuzz, Troutpool, and Weevilpaw carried on the song, Estherfern yowled, "We know of your appetites! We know of your boredom! This land is filled with wicked spirits! We have formed their path to safety, and they'll think they can escape. Have fun!"

The cleric's song cut off as a violent gush of wind battered their voices, flinging snow into their eyes. Wolfgaze yowled, bracing herself against Anchovystrike. The leaves that decorated Oilstripe's pelt flew off. Estherfern's heart raced as the snow bit her nose. Yet a few moments later, the wind receded. Estherfern breathed deep. Scaleripple shook out his pelt while Honeybuzz shivered. The humming ocean made Estherfern's ears ring.

"Stay where you are," Estherfern warned her companions. Her fur spiked when a sudden realization washed over her. "Anchovystrike, close your eyes."

"Why?" Anchovystrike asked.

"Foxdung!" Weevilpaw suddenly cried, jumping with her back arched. "They're… from the forest! Watch out!"

"Anchovystrike," Estherfern yowled as something tumbled through the trees, "you see the unseen influence of the supernatural. If you see the Predators as they really are, you will go mad! Now close your eyes!" Anchovystrike obeyed just in time.

Terrified howls echoed through the forest. Black sludge dripped from the grass onto the sand. It tumbled faster and faster like a newly formed river, racing toward the circle. Oilstripe and Scaleripple scrambled back as the ichor slammed into the circle. It launched at Estherfern with a steaming, bubbling sound. Estherfern held her ground. The ichor plunged into the sand around her like a fox leaping into snow. It stained the sand black and burrowed deep, deep, deep.

Then the monsters came. They howled and shrieked and cauterwauled, running through the trees as fast as they could. There were darkhounds, thundering along with massive paws and bloody jaws, yipping like pups. There was forsaken prey, decayed and rotten yet moving and squealing just as they did in their final moments. Leatherwaste flopped and flew about, and something new, something without a proper name, some storm-spun bundle of dull brown leaves and glistening frost, slithered toward the circle.

"Stay down!" Weevilpaw yowled, belly dropping to the sand. All except Estherfern mimicked the cleric apprentice. The Spirits of Shadow raced alongside the trail of ichor and into the circle. They dug and clawed at the sand, following their lifeblood back into the depths. But they were the lucky ones.

Estherfern could not see them, but she could see their power unfold. Unseen talons snatched spirits by their backs and flung them into the sky. Eager, invisible jaws snapped and bit into the sticky flesh of the spirits. Something dragged unlucky spirits into the shadows, screaming. They sank into the earth before they reached the circle. They dissolved into steaming piles of ichor with torturous wails.

The world went white. The loudest, strongest clap of thunder Estherfern had ever heard reverberated through her skeleton and stayed singing in her ears. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear. Her skin buzzed. In a moment of clarity tucked within the chaos, Estherfern wondered if this is what her kits felt. A path without sight, without sound, heart pushing out of your chest, is a blessing compared to the fate that awaits the rot.

It took some time for Estherfern's vision to clear. She and her Clanmates were still standing, unharmed. The ichor and spirits were gone. There was no sign they had been there at all, save for a few mushrooms missing from the circle. The other cats groaned, rubbing their ears and eyes. They were alive. The spirits had left RippleClan.

Something drew Estherfern's gaze up. Clear shapes formed within the clouds, backed by a pale glow. Each cloud looked perfectly like its subject; a wolf, a fox, an owl, a hawk, a rat, and a cougar. Where their eyes would have been were balls of lightning, sparking and dancing, glaring down at the Clans in hunger.

The creatures of the glowing sky do not rule this land, but visitors cannot be denied. The stars shall extend their power, and the beasts shall fill their bellies. So it has been for you, so it shall be for all.

"Foampaw?" Estherfern gulped, barely capable of hearing herself.

"Can I open my eyes now?" Anchovystrike gulped. He still had his paws over his face.

"They're gone!" Weevilpaw cried. She ran into the circle and plowed into Estherfern. The old molly looked back to the clouds, but they were now a simple sheet of gray against black. Honeybuzz and Troutpool joined them, pressing against Estherfern.

"Is StarClan still watching over us?" Wolfgaze asked, hopping into the circle.

"They left when the ritual began," Oilstripe stammered, staring across the river, "but they've returned. They're watching from afar. I can't tell what they're thinking."

"They're on our side," Honeybuzz promised, waving the others into the circle. "I petitioned them myself at the last half-moon. We wouldn't have done this if StarClan disapproved."

"They may not have disapproved," Estherfern muttered, "but that does not mean they are proud."

"I think they are!" Troutpool chirped. "It was scary, but we've banished the spirits. We can walk our lands freely again. We wouldn't have saved the Clan without you, Estherfern." Troutpool nuzzled Estherfern, but the old molly still stared at the clouds.

"I don't understand you, StarClan," she whispered, not caring whether the cats pressed into her overheard. "You ask my God to send me here, you stand by while I summon your enemies, you allow me to draw the gaze of something far worse on your descendants. Why?" The stars shall extend their power… the voice in Estherfern's head had been as clear as when Foampaw last stood by Estherfern's side. Was it somehow better for the Clans to attract the attention of the Six Predators? Was it an earnest decision, made for the betterment of the five Clans? Did StarClan desire more power, more control, more souls?

Estherfern sighed. She would find no answers that night. She would be the one providing answers soon enough.

(Estherfern: 112, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Honeybuzz: 26, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Troutpool: 39, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Oilstripe: 82, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Wolfgaze: 13, female, codekeeper, thoughtful, connection to StarClan, good speaker)

(Anchovystrike: 13, male, warrior, playful, deep StarClan bond)

(Weevilpaw: 13, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)

(Scaleripple: 31, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Foampaw: 10, female, caretaker apprentice, troublesome, always wandering)

[rippleclan]

Oh my gosh, I feel like crying, Scrubmask is so pretty!!!!! And the scene!!!! The meme too, so good!!!

This is a reminder that we’ve got a lot of time left on the contest!! I’m so happy!!!

Ripple ripple Part 1

For @rippleclan's art contest!

Tw for the video/art; flickering, flashing, & eyestrain!

Two parter cause tumblr. Everthing under the cut VVV

Category: Scene

Contents: Moon 55, when Oilstripe & Carnationspeckle enter the human settlement, with Oil spotting something peculiar...

Originally, i wanted to draw the first trial. Then i was like "drawing that'll be too hard, what with the shipwreck and cats", and then i chose this. I choose suffering, always

Category: Slay Queen

Contents: Scrubmaskkk <3 <3

She doesn't have anything on her, but shes my fav. Love her to bits.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 77

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Very healthy," Waspdawn chuckled.

"So did his siblings," the queen gulped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're so soft!" Shrew gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 90, Part 3

[Image ID: Lightningrunner yowls at Estherfern, "You took her from me! I barely got to know her! Why do you get to be a mother when she didn’t get to be mine?" Shrewflame and Whitepaw run toward the pair.]

ONE MOON PRIOR…

It seemed like a waste of a skilled cleric's time to accompany an apprentice to his training, but Estherfern supposed she would want someone close by if one of her kits were to injure themselves carelessly. She strolled beside Lightningrunner as Shrewflame and Whitepaw pranced ahead of them, making their way to Battle Beach. It seemed like far too gray and bright a day to spar, but the youth of RippleClan didn't care much for her opinion.

"Mr. Billowhaze said to be careful by the water," Whitepaw chirped, gazing up at his older brother like a Clan oogles a new leader. "Do you think Mom's stories about fish-cats are real?"

"Mom's an artisan, not a historian," Shrewflame laughed. "Her stories are all fake. Don't worry, the only creatures you should worry about in the ocean are poisonous fish."

"I don't think that makes me feel better," Whitepaw chuckled awkwardly. The two brothers left dainty pawprints in the sand.

"If you want to know more about the ocean," Lightningrunner said, "ask me anything."

"I will, Ms. Lightningrunner," Whitepaw promised, turning an ear back to her. Estherfern hummed softly at the young apprentice's strange phrasing. There was something humble about the titles, even though Estherfern had no idea what they meant.

"Battle Beach!" Shrewflame chirped as the patrol crossed into that special portion of the shoreline. To Estherfern, there was nothing particularly special about this portion of the beach as opposed to any other stretch of snow-dusted land. She wouldn't have known of their arrival had Shrewflame not pointed it out. Still, her Clanmates raved about fond memories sparring along the sand, so it was yet another thing she learned to keep her mouth shut about.

"Is sparring at all like that big fight Mr. Tallowheart and Ms. Cobaltchaser had?" Whitepaw asked, kneading the sand.

"That was just a fight, Whitepaw," Shrewflame laughed, running his tail over Whitepaw's head as he walked past. "When we spar with our Clanmates, we're practicing our skills and challenging ourselves. We aren't hurting one another, though. That's why you don't unseathe your claws. You aren't supposed to draw blood when you're training."

"I won't," Whitepaw promised. He ran to catch up with Shrewflame. He glanced back at Estherfern and Lightningrunner and called, "Ms. Lightningrunner, are you going to spar too?"

"I'll let you start with your brother!" Lightningrunner called. Estherfern found a partially dry spot closer to the trees. She sat her bandage down and tucked her paws under herself. Lightningrunner sat beside her, tail stirring the dusting of snow behind her. Shrewflame steadied himself, paws dug into the sand. Whitepaw copied him as best he could. His legs stretched out a bit too far to look comfortable.

"I'll start simple," Shrewflame said. "A lot of the basics of fighting involve the sort of moves cats instinctually use when they're in danger. Paw swipes, grabbing onto your enemy, things like that. Let's start with swipes. Swipe at my face, as best you—" Whitepaw's fluffy paw whipped out from his awkward stance. He smacked Shrewflame across the face. Shrewflame stumbled to the side, blinking wildly.

"Ah!" Whitepaw yelped. "Sorry, sorry! Are you okay?" Whitepaw hovered around Shrewflame, now scared to get too close. But Shrewflame just laughed. He shook out his pelt, letting his laughter ripple through his ginger fur.

"Now that was a swipe!" Shrewflame roared, rubbing his face on his leg. "StarClan, Whitepaw! Who knew you were so strong?" Whitepaw chuckled awkwardly, but his ears perked high and his tail unwound itself from his side.

Shrewflame went on about angling your paw and steadying yourself after a strike, but Estherfern's attention drifted. The forest had grown grayer by the day, and the snow meant approaching death and hibernation to the plants her fellow clerics so valued. She never imagined caring so much about medical stocks, but she never imagined any of this when she first set off west under the orders of her God.

"These two will be fine," Estherfern huffed to Lightningrunner, stretching as she stood. "I'm going to forage. Will you help?"

"Alright," Lightningrunner said, getting to her paws. Estherfern left her bandage behind and led Lightningrunner into the trees as Shrewflame and Whitepaw laughed and batted at each other.

RippleClan would soon turn to bark-based medicine as winter rolled in and vibrant herbs vanished, but it wasn't winter yet. It was the sort of weather where everything looked a bit like Estherfern; brown and tan and earthy. She could see how the world fought to ignore the approaching chill, even though the first frost had settled over the land. Green grass mixed with yellow, insisting on life. The earliest of winter blooms still dared not to show themselves. The land was waiting, preparing, hoping for a peaceful winter, just like all the Clans.

Estherfern brushed aside snow to get a better look at every plant. Not too far from Battle Beach, she uncovered chicory, its leaves almost identical to a dandelion. Artisans and caretakers could roast the root for their meals and strengthen everyone's stomaches. Estherfern carefully dug around the leaves and plucked the root from the frosty dirt.

"Is this something we should collect?" Lightningrunner called. Her paw danced around a large fallen branch, sprinkled with golden-brown mushrooms. Estherfern joined Lightningrunner and looped around the branch. She studied the mushrooms and their round caps, with a name quickly coming to mind.

"Deadly skullcaps," Estherfern warned, shaking her head. "I knew these mushrooms in my kithood. They are some of the most toxic mushrooms any cat has ever seen. They're as deadly as deathberries. Don't touch them."

Estherfern trotted back to her chicory root and picked it up. She glanced back at Lightningrunner, ready for the young historian to follow her to better, safer herbs. Yet Lightningrunner just stood there. She stared at the deadly skullcaps. Her dark blue eyes were slit and sharp. Her unnerving, unblinking glare drifted onto Estherfern.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Estherfern huffed, dropping the chicory root. Lightningrunner looked back to the deadly skullcaps.

"You should eat them," Lightningrunner said. Estherfern's claws instinctually slipped out. Her ears perked high, turning sideways, alert and ready.

"Say that again," Estherfern said. Lightningrunner's whiskers pushed back against her face. Her ears slowly turned backward, fighting not to go back. She looked at Estherfern once more. Her jaw quivered, searching for the path forward.

"You…" Lightningrunner gulped. She steadied herself, just as Shrewflame readied for Whitepaw's initial strike. "You should eat them. You, you should eat them, and you should die."

"By God, Lightningrunner, you're talking nonsense," Estherfern snapped. "What's gotten into you?"

"I," Lightningrunner stammered, "You… Ugh! What sort of justice is it when a killer goes free?" Lightningrunner curled her lips.

"Again, Lightningrunner," Estherfern growled, "you're talking nonsense. Justice? What justice?"

"You know what justice!" Lightningrunner cried. Her voice rose so fast and violent that Estherfern jumped. Estherfern never jumped. "You know what you did! You summoned the spirits. You got my mom killed!" Ah. That justice.

"I was wondering if you would ask me about that someday," Estherfern sighed, smoothing her pelt. "I don't have good answers for you, Lightningrunner. I meddled with forces I thought I could control, and RippleClan suffered for it. I've done what I can to atone."

"No you haven't," Lightningrunner whined. "You got away with it because Foampaw died, but what about Silverpaw? What about my mom? Do you think there's anything you can do to make up for that? I never saw her body, Estherfern! She was my mom! You took her from me! I barely got to know her! Why do you get to be a mother when she didn’t get to be mine?" Estherfern had no clever retort to that. She dipped her head, but her eyes caught a flash of red in the trees. Shrewflame and Whitepaw slowly approached the arguing pair, ears cocked in confusion.

"I'm sorry, Lightningrunner," Estherfern sighed, straightening, "but I'm not killing myself for you."

"Yes, yes you are," Lightningrunner growled, tail curling, voice cracking. "Eat the mushrooms, or… or I'll just kill you myself!" Shrewflame and Whitepaw ran. Lightningrunner's eyes bounced, blind to all but her own vengeance. "Eat them! Eat them, you foxheart!"

Lightningrunner ran at Estherfern. Whitepaw, small Whitepaw, too-strong-for-his-age Whitepaw, launched past his brother and landed on Lightningrunner's neck, a tail-length from Estherfern. Whitepaw's fangs dug into her scruff, but no, it wasn't her scruff, his jaw wasn't in the right spot, it was her neck, her spine, Whitepaw let go right now—

Light sparked in Lightningrunner's eyes as a violent spasm took over her body. Blood splashed in Whitepaw's mouth. Lightningrunner's strength ebbed away. Her claws, tense and ready to strike, relaxed. She grew limp as leather underneath Whitepaw. Lightningrunner didn't even have time to whine before her life left her.

Whitepaw let go. Shrewflame stumbled upon the scene, his body begging to retreat. Estherfern stood over Lightningrunner's body. She no longer looked like a killer. She looked like a kit.

Whitepaw whined, a wordless, painful cry. He fell off Lightningrunner's body. He ran to Shrewflame, burying his bloody face in his brother's red fur.

"How…" Shrewflame gulped. "What… I don't…"

"I was trying to pull her off!" Whitepaw wailed, voice muffled in Shrewflame's pelt. "I didn't want her to hurt Ms. Estherfern! I didn't want to hurt her!"

"White, White, I know," Shrewflame cooed. He slowly wrapped himself around his weeping brother, hiding all traces of blood-stained white fur from the world. Whitepaw shook so hard that Shrewflame struggled to stay upright. "I know, I know. It was an accident. I know, White. You didn't mean it."

But would the Clan see it that way? Another dead Clanmate, killed, murdered. It had nothing to do with Potterypool, but would anyone believe them? Estherfern barely believed her own senses. An apprentice, barely a quarter moon into training, somehow landing a killing bite on a well-trained historian? Not just any historian, the little sister to one of RippleClan's most unified and beloved families, the daughter of Weedfoot, the Celestial of RippleClan Deputies. The three cats who stood before Lightningrunner's body were outsiders, welcomed into the safety of the shipwreck. Would any of them be allowed to remain after this? Who would believe Lightningrunner, of all cats, would suddenly try to kill Estherfern? Who would see Whitepaw's actions as justified?

No. Whitepaw and Shrewflame were barely out of kithood. They wouldn't suffer for a mess Estherfern caused. This was justice.

"Both of you, listen to me," Estherfern snapped. Shrewflame and Whitepaw snapped out of their shock for just a moment, looking up. Whitepaw looked pink with the blood on his lips. "I'm going to fix this. Nothing will happen to you, Whitepaw. Shrewflame, here, now." Shrewflame slipped himself out from around Whitepaw and crept closer to Lightningrunner's body. Estherfern studied the deadly wound. Even though Whitepaw was close to full-grown, it was clear that no adult cat bit into Lightningrunner. "Shrewflame, I need you to bite into Lightningrunner. You have to cover up Whitepaw's teethmarks."

"But—" Shrewflame stammered, gagging on the thought.

"Shrewflame, we are doing this to protect your brother," Estherfern growled. "Bite her neck, now."

Shrewflame's lips curled, almost prancing in his indecision. But then he looked back at Whitepaw, with wide eyes and his awful, bloody face. Shrewflame hardened. He squeezed his eyes tight and snapped his fangs around the back of Lightningrunner's neck. Estherfern tuned out the squish of flesh and bone.

"Now, both of you, to the ocean," Estherfern ordered as Shrewflame let go and hurried back to Whitepaw. "You're going to wash the blood out of your fur. Don't get out until it's all gone. Then you're going to run to camp and tell the codekeepers that Lightningrunner is dead." Whitepaw pressed against Shrewflame. "This is what happened. While you were swimming, Lightningrunner went to investigate a sound in the forest. When she didn't come back, we went to find her. We found her body. We don't know who did this. We were on the beach. We heard nothing."

"I killed her," Whitepaw whined.

"No you didn't," Estherfern growled, trying to soften her voice. "Not anymore. No one will know. You're not in trouble. You're my hero, Whitepaw, you did nothing wrong. Now go." Whitepaw moved toward Estherfern, but Shrewflame nudged him back. He shook his head, wide eyes glancing at Lightningrunner. He shoved Whitepaw back toward the beach. The two young toms scrambled out of sight.

Estherfern paced around Lightningrunner's body. She brushed the snow with her tail, removing nearby pawprints. No one would be able to tell which way the attacker came from, even if they questioned the patrol's story. With her tail coated in frost and the scene firmly scuffled, Estherfern sat at Lightningrunner's side, like a cleric mourning her charge.

"You stupid child," Estherfern moaned, lowering her head into Lightningrunner's pelt.

No one would know.

(Estherfern: 123, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Whitepaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, nervous, active imagination)

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

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

[Image ID: Estherfern says to Lemmy, "I don't want to ruin her legacy over a moment of weakness. Do you want the Clan to look at Whitepaw like a killer?" Halibutdusk, Scaleripple, and Oilstripe approach from the distance.]

---

At the end of the story, Lemmy could only sit and think it through. Honeybuzz and Estherfern stared at her, silent, squirming. The quarantine den seemed even colder now.

"No one would know," Lemmy muttered, staring at Estherfern. "Yet you told Honeybuzz."

"I have…" Honeybuzz groaned, "let's say experience with issues like these. Do you understand why we can't let the Clan know now?"

"Call me a hypocrite for this," Lemmy huffed, "but if Lightningrunner tried to kill you, Estherfern, wouldn't you want the Clan to know?" Estherfern bristled.

"None of it would have happened if I had not communed with Spirits of Shadow," the old cleric sighed. "Lightningrunner had the right to be mad at me. I don't want to ruin her legacy over a moment of weakness. Do you want the Clan to look at Whitepaw like a killer?"

Pawsteps broke the snow outside. It had gotten brighter in the time Estherfern spent telling her story. Now morning light burned against the trees beyond. Scaleripple, Halibutdusk, and Oilstripe stood outside, stone still. Time for the trial. Lemmy sighed and stood, squaring herself in front of her Clanmates' painful gaze.

"We need a little more time, please," Honeybuzz stammered, getting up and close to Lemmy's escorts. "We want this to be easy on the Clan. We're not done talking with Lemmy."

"I want her out of this camp," Scaleripple growled. Oilstripe cleared her throat, diverting Scaleripple's boiling blue hate away from Lemmy for a moment.

"The spirits in here are agitated," Oilstripe whispered, ears tilting back, ruffling the thick maple leaves stuck to her fur. "We don't want a long trial. If they can make her tell the truth now, the whole Clan won't have to hurt for long."

"Everyone's waiting, Oilstripe," Halibutdusk huffed.

"I know," Oilstripe groaned, "but do you think they'd rather sit there all day or wait a bit longer and be done with all this before sunhigh?" Halibutdusk and Scaleripple both squirmed, but neither confronted their deputy. Oilstripe turned to Honeybuzz and said, "Lead her out into the clearing when you're finished here." Honeybuzz nodded as Oilstripe led Scaleripple and Halibutdusk back around the shipwreck.

"We don't have long, Lemmy," Estherfern sighed. "I know you don't see your actions as strictly right and wrong, so why see this differently? There's no crazed killer living in our Clan. Don't make them suffer more than they already are." Lemmy's neck itched under her collar. Her head ached. Was there any good decision here? Was this any different than Lemmy's own coverup? Did the truth deserve to come to light? Or would the truth hurt worse than the lie?

"If I say I killed both Potterypool and Lightningrunner," Lemmy said softly, "what then?"

"Unless something strange happens at the trial," Honeybuzz explained, "Downstar has promised to exile you. Just play along with Waspdawn's version of events." Exile… not much different from the life Lemmy knew before RippleClan, before the Witch Hunters. And it wasn't as though she would lack purpose. There were still threats to the cats she cared for, threats to her kits and mate. She would do more good alive than dead. Even if it meant never seeing her daughters again. Maybe they would understand, one day.

"Do one thing for me, in return," Lemmy said. "Take care of my family."

"You deserve that, at least," Honeybuzz sighed. "Thank you. Are you ready, then?" Lemmy slowly approached the edge of the quarantine den. She could smell the grief and rage wafting off her Clan, just around the corner. The sun burned the land in brilliant purple and red, yet no warmth pierced the snow that muffled all birdsong. The walls of the shipwreck burned with illusionary fire. A good final view of her home.

"Take me to my exile," Lemmy sighed.

(Lemmy: 66, female, exiled, cold, deep StarClan bond, good mediator)

(Honeybuzz: 38, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Estherfern: 124, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Scaleripple: 43, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Oilstripe: 94, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Halibutdusk: 82, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 94

When the mediators visit SlugClan to discuss the issue with Icekit and Pearkit, Nimblestep asks them to at least tell them about their family if they won’t give them back yet. No one... really knows what to say.

[Image ID: Paleseed, Spikecrash, Sandhollow, and Slushtrail speak with Lettucestar and Nimblestep. Slushtrail has juniper berries tucked by her ear. Under her, it reads + ACCESSORY: JUNIPER. Nimblestep says, "Quickkit and I have been learning how to make pottery… she's so good at it. Do Icekit and Pearkit like art?"]

(Sandhollow: 25, male, mediator, ambitious, lore keeper)

(Spikecrash: 69, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Slushtrail: 30, female, mediator, wise, clever, talented weaver)

(Paleseed: 60, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

Weevilsight is sorry, but she still isn’t ready for a romantic relationship with Anchovystrike, despite caring for him too. Anchovystrike slinks off, rejected. He goes hunting with Currentsmoke, Billowhaze, and Whitepaw to calm down.

[Image ID: Whitepaw, Billowhaze, Anchovystrike, and Currentsmoke speak in a group. Under Billowhaze, it says - CONDITION: RUNNY NOSE. Under Currentsmoke, it says LEVEL UP! SKILLED TOOLSMITH → INVENTOR AND INNOVATOR. Behind Whitepaw and Billowhaze, a gray and white kit with green eyes approaches, yowling "Clan cats!" Under him, it says NEW PLAYER: DOVEKIT, 4, MALE, IMPULSIVE, ACTIVE IMAGINATION.]

---

"Um, Mr. Anchovystrike?" Whitepaw gulped from the back of the patrol. "I don't want to be rude, but…"

"You're making us all depressed," Billowhaze huffed. "You might be taking this a bit too hard."

The mentor and apprentice weren't wrong. As Anchovystrike led the pair and Currentsmoke toward the heart of the territory to hunt, he couldn't help but let his ears dip and his tail slag. Even the bright bird song and glittering glow of early afternoon couldn't uplift his heart. Anchovystrike knew he'd been through worse, but that didn't stop his chest from hurting and his teeth aching with the tension in his jaw.

"We don't have to call each other mates," Anchovystrike muttered, staring at the grass as he walked. "I just want to take her out of camp sometimes."

"You've been best friends as long as any of us can remember," Currentsmoke purred, rubbing against his brother. "Weevilsight obviously loves you, or at least cares! It'll be alright."

"I have to be blunt here, Anchovy," Billowhaze sighed. He looped around his brothers and stood in front of them, his pelt dappled with the light passing between budding branches. "Do you really expect Weevilsight to be interested in mates right now? Her parents have barely been dead a season." Whitepaw stayed at his mentor's side like the dutiful apprentice he was. With bright green colors breaking through tan grass and colorful flowers peeking out from the bases of old trees, Whitepaw's pelt burned against the land like the pale center of a flame.

"I thought it would take her mind off everything," Anchovystrike mumbled as his ears grew red.

"Give her a little time," Currentsmoke said. "Just being her friend can be enough for now, right?" Anchovystrike let our a mrrow of laughter. Currentsmoke and Billowhaze were right. Of course they were. Anchovystrike was just being a mouse-brain about it all. Whitepaw shuffled his paws, uncertain of his place in the brotherly conversation.

"Maybe we can at least catch some birds for her?" Anchovystrike suggested. "She loves—"

"Clan cats!" Whitepaw jumped at the sudden yowl, back arched high. A figure stomped through the young growth behind Whitepaw and Billowhaze, tail high. The wind finally carried the scent of a young tom to Anchovystrike's nose. Shiny green eyes blended into the blooming foliage. A gray and white face plunged into view. Every muscle in the tom's soft face pointed itself toward the RippleClan patrol. He had no Clan scent, but he was certainly younger than any wandering loner Anchovystrike had met. He was likely still a kit!

"Hello?" Currentsmoke gulped. He blinked wildly, laughing as the gray and white tom marched toward the group with huge pawsteps.

"Greetings!" the kit chirped, shimmering in the dappled light. Anchovystrike snorted at the strange choice of words. "I've come to join the Five Clans! Which one is this?"

"Um…" Anchovystrike snorted, trying to hide his laugh by clearing his throat. "You're in RippleClan, kit."

"I've come to join you as one of your fearsome warriors!" the kit declared. "Take me to your camp!" The four older toms stared at the loner kit. The kit stared back, blissfully unaware of the awkwardness choking the air.

"Alright, let us handle this," Billowhaze muttered to his brothers. He nudged them back with his hind leg. Billowhaze and Whitepaw moved closer to the kit. "Where did you come from, then?"

"Why does that matter?" the kit scoffed. "I'm a RippleClan cat now!" The kit's voice broke as he made his dramatic declaration, sounding more like a weasel than a warrior. Anchovystrike couldn't hide his snort at that.

"What Mr. Billowhaze is asking," Whitepaw quickly said, "is where your mother might be."

"I don't know," the kit chirped with a dismissive flick of an ear. "My humans adopted me ages ago. No idea where Mom is!"

"You're like me," Whitepaw muttered, eyes widening.

"I want to be!" the kit said. "All the Witch Hunters were talking about how big and strong the Clans were. You make a lot of stuff and trade it with the Witch Hunters. You must be really smart! I want to big and smart too! I could be a great warrior! That's way better than sitting in a human's lap all day!" Billowhaze hummed, tilting his head at the proud little kit.

"Well, you heard him," Billowhaze chuckled, glancing back at his brothers. "He could be a great warrior."

"Shouldn't we make sure no one's looking for him?" Currentsmoke asked.

"Who would be looking for me?" the kit asked, mimicking Billowhaze's head tilt.

"If he has a mother looking for him," Billowhaze muttered so the kit couldn't hear, "I'm sure the Witch Hunters will come by the border and ask for him. Besides, we should take him to camp. He's only…" Billowhaze paused, a thought catching his attention. He turned back to the kit and asked, "How old are you?"

"I don't know," the kit said innocently.

"Alright," Billowhaze groaned. "Whitepaw! Do you remember age markers? Can you figure out this kit's age?"

"Um…" Whitepaw said, tail twitching back and forth. "Have you lost any of your teeth, little one? Have they fallen out of your mouth?"

"Yesterday I ate the food my human left out," the kit explained in one breath. "My tooth fell out of my mouth but I just ate it with the rest of my food."

"Well," Whitepaw chuckled, "you still have kitten fur, so… I think you're four moons old."

"Good job," Billowhaze purred. "I agree. It's better to take him back to camp."

"I'm still going to ask Oilstripe if I can lead a patrol to the river," Currentsmoke sighed. "I don't want this to be a repeat of our problem with Nimblestep."

"Can we go hunting?" the kit asked, bouncing around Billowhaze.

"You need to see our leader first," Billowhaze said. He stopped the kit from wandering by placing his paw in front of him. "If you really want to join the Clans, there's a few things you'll need to do. What's your name, anyway?"

"I heard what Clan names sound like," the kit said, jumping onto a small root. "I picked my own! Doveclaw the warrior!" The gray and white kit dropped into a playful battle pose, growling.

"That's a nice name!" Whitepaw chirped as Anchovystrike once again laughed. "You'll have to earn that name, though. When you're young, we would call you something like Dovekit. Then you can become Dovepaw, like how I'm Whitepaw!"

"I can't be Doveclaw?" the kit—soon to be known as Dovekit—huffed.

"With hope," Billowhaze hummed, nudging Dovekit toward the rest of the patrol, "you will some day."

Anchovystrike took the lead back home while Currentsmoke, Whitepaw, and Billowhaze walked along Dovekit, prying him for more information and laughing at the kit's strange arrival. Anchovystrike couldn't stop laughing at Dovekit's random comments and insistence he could become a warrior as soon as he entered camp.

It seemed there would always be something to take Anchovystrike's mind off heartache and frustration.

(Whitepaw: 11, male, historian apprentice, nervous, active imagination)

(Billowhaze: 29, male, historian, loyal, good kit-sitter)

(Anchovystrike: 29, male, warrior, playful, unshakable StarClan link)

(Currentsmoke: 29, male, cartakr, loving, good climber, inventor and innovator)

(Dovekit: 4, male, kit, impulsive, active imagination)

A skirmish with LynxClan cats stealing crabs leaves Yarrowclaw with a mangled leg and Downstar with a mangled tail.

[Image ID: Yarrowclaw and Downstar face off against a black masked tabby with blue eyes and a scar across their muzzle. Under Downstar, it says + CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL, while under Yarrowclaw, it reads + CONDITION: MANGLED LEG. Oilstripe runs towards them, yowling, "Get off of my leader!" Under her, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

(Oilstripe: 98, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Downstar: 153, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Yarrowclaw: 29, female, warrior, cold, fire master)

Washington finally passes from his shipwreck injuries, but at least he died in a safe and loving home. Rabbitjoy decides to retire as a result, but since Downstar is weak, Oilstripe’s the one to give Frostpaw to Ravenweaver for the rest of her training.

[Image ID: Oilstripe watches over Rabbitjoy, Ravenweaver, and Frostpaw. Ravenweaver and Frostpaw face each other, now mentor and apprentice, while Rabbitjoy watches, pleased.]

(Washington: 222, male, elder, nervous, good mediator)

(Rabbitjoy: 130, female, elder, charismatic, master weaver)

(Oilstripe: 98, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Frostpaw: 11, female, artisan apprentice, strict, lover of stories)

(Ravenweaver: 29, female, artisan, den builder, very clever)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 85

Although Weevilsight finally recovers from her attack with a scar, Currentsmoke’s infection begins to fester. Currentsmoke starts to lose hope.

[Image ID: Weevilsight looks at Currentsmoke, saying "You won't die while I'm your cleric!" Under Currentsmoke, it says + FESTERING.]

(Weevilsight: 20, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)

(Currentsmoke: 20, male, caretaker, loving, good climber, skilled toolsmith)

Determined to see their littermates happy, Weevilsight and Anchovystrike arrange for Wolfgaze and Billowhaze to confess their love to each other.

[Image ID: Weevilsight and Anchovystrike watch Wolfgaze and Billowhaze. Under Wolfgaze, it says + MATE: BILLOWHAZE. Under Billowhaze, it says + MATE: WOLFGAZE.]

---

Anchovystrike had been so absorbed in his morning stretches that he didn't notice Weevilsight approach until she groaned dramatically and flopped belly-up onto the sand. The rest of RippleClan continued with the start of their day, walking around the noisy cleric. Anchovystrike knew he was in for it; Weevilsight hadn't even tucked her fur with petals yet.

"This last moon may have been the worst moon of my life," Weevilsight grumbled. "Ow, ow, sand in my eyes." She rolled onto her belly and rubbed her eyes.

"I feel like we've had worse," Anchovystrike hummed, arching his back down in one last big stretch.

"From a larger perspective?" Weevilsight scoffed. "Sure. But I spent the whole night with Paleseed and Currentsmoke, promising Currentsmoke he'd beat his infection. Not to mention, Yarrowclaw is still completely crashed from her 'day' cycle, to put it mildly. Sandhollow hasn't cleared her for patrols, and I'm going to have to live with these scars the rest of my life. What sort of cleric has battle scars?" Weevilsight hung her tail loosely overhead, showing off the criss-crossing scars that blended with her ginger markings.

"I thought you were fine with your scars," Anchovystrike pointed out.

"I said that to cheer up Currentsmoke," Weevilsight huffed, laying her cheek on the warm sand. "It feels like everything's gone wrong, again. I wish our lives would calm down."

"We're only a year old," Anchovystrike laughed. "We have a lot more moons ahead for things to be calm."

"You're surprisingly optimistic," Weevilsight said, sitting up.

"Well, you're right, last moon was awful," Anchovystrike scoffed, "but things are getting better! Sure, Yarrowclaw could hallucinate again, but I talked with her, she's starting to feel better, even if she isn't there yet. You'll help Currentsmoke, and the scars? They're pretty on you." Anchovystrike wished Weevilsight could see the scars through his eyes; the eternal glow that surrounded her made her scars look like brilliant rivers swirling down to the tip of her tail. To him, scars on a cleric seemed fitting. How else could they relate to their patients?

"That's a nice way to see it," Weevilsight sighed, studying her tail. "There is one issue you haven't solved, though."

"Now I'm curious," Anchovystrike purred.

"Troutpool asked Trumpetspore on a date," Weevilsight whispered, laughing under her breath. "Trumpetspore's rejection hurt so much, Troutpool told everyone she was busy with Currentsmoke and hid in the medicine den."

"That was three days ago!" Anchovystrike laughed.

"She's still too embarrassed!" Weevilsight giggled. As the two friends laughed over Troutpool's misfortune, a different set of laughter graced Anchovystrike's ears. Over by the artisan's storage den, Wolfgaze and Billowhaze sat around a drum, the latter showing the former different ways she could hit the instrument to make different sounds. Wolfgaze's paws limply hit the leather top, much to both cats' delight. Their eyes shone bright as Billowhaze continued guiding Wolfgaze through her lesson.

"So we both know Wolfgaze really likes my brother, right?" Anchovystrike purred when he realized Weevilsight was watching the pair as well.

"Oh I've known for a while," Weevilsight chuckled. "When do you think they'll make it official?"

"Well," Anchovystrike pured, kneading the sand, "we could give them a little encouragement."

"Ooo, you have a plan," Weevilsight purred, standing.

"Take Wolfgaze to the gardens," Anchovystrike explained, bounding up, "and I'll come by later with Billowhaze on a 'hunting patrol.' We'll push them in the right direction, give them some time alone, and one of them is bound to say something!"

"You know what?" Weevilsight laughed. "I could use something good today. I'm in. I'll go get a basket, make it look like official business. Hope you enjoy having Wolfgaze as a sister-in-code!" Weevilsight trotted back toward the medicine den, all her dramatic melancholy vanished.

The plan would work, but in that moment, as Anchovystrike watched Weevilsight walk away, he realized something. There was a glow to Wolfgaze's eyes, something beyond her natural star-blessed shine, whenever she thought about Billowhaze. It was something Anchovystrike had teased her about more than once. But the young warrior realized as Weevilsight slipped back into the medicine den that his eyes glowed as well.

They glowed for Weevilsight.

(Anchovystrike: 20, male, warrior, playful, deep StarClan bond)

(Weevilsight: 20, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)

(Wolfgaze: 20, female, codekeeper, thoughful, connection to StarClan, great speaker)

(Billowhaze: 20, male, historian, loyal, good kit-sitter)

Spurred by this season of love in the air, Ravenweaver confesses to Brightreed and becomes his mate.

[Image ID: Ravenweaver says to Brightreed "You're strong, and you always try your best… why wouldn't I want a relationship with you?" Under her, it reads + MATE: BRIGHTREED. Under Brightreed, it says + MATE: RAVENWEAVER. In the back, Gingerkit and Frostkit watch in the back, with Gingerkit saying "Bleh!" Under Gingerkit, it reads + NEW SKILL: CURIOUS ABOUT HUMANS. Under Frostkit, it says + NEW SKILL: LOVER OF STORIES.]

(Ravenweaver: 20, female, artisan, nervous, den builder, very clever)

(Brightreed: 17, male, warrior, righteous, student of art)

(Gingerkit: 1, male, kit, charming, curious about humans)

(Frostkit: 1, female, kit, quiet, lover of stories)

Stormjump would spend the whole day with Honeybuzz if she could.

[Image ID: Thundergale and Yellowburst watch Stormjump and Honeybuzz. Yellowburst says, "I bet five sunhigh patrols that I'll be an aunt this time next year."]

(Stormjump: 16, female, caretaker, charismatic, incredible cook)

(Honeybuzz: 33, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Yellowburst: 16, female, caretaker, adventurous, good mediator)

(Thundergale: 17, female, teacher, adventurous, good hunter, good speaker)

A patrol finds a kit who escaped from his humans. He takes the name Whitekit and is adopted by Rattlepelt and Wildclaw.

[Image ID: Shrewpaw, Wildclaw, and Rattlepelt face a white kit with yellow eyes. Under the kit, it says NEW PLAYER: WHITEKIT, 2, MALE, SKITTISH, ACTIVE IMAGINATION.]

---

"Songs help us remember a lot of information on one topic," Shrewpaw hummed, signing as he spoke, "but if you're trying to memorize something more complex, like a story, you need to repeat it over and over." Thundergale nodded enthusiastically as Shrewpaw's confidence soared.

"That's everything I've come up with when it comes to teaching methods," Thundergale signed, purring. "You're doing so well! You'll be ready to help me guide training sessions as soon as tomorrow!"

"Even though I'm the only apprentice?" Shrewpaw asked, playfully cocking his head.

"Someone always wants help learning something," Thundergale insisted, sitting taller. "We just make it easier. Let's go home. It's been a long day." A long day was right. Thundergale took Shrewpaw out of camp at sunhigh, and it was already dusk! Not that Thundergale's lessons weren't extremely fun, though. It was like she knew just what Shrewpaw needed to understand the subject at paw. It hardly felt like learning when Thundergale was in charge.

Shrewpaw trotted alongside his mentor through the warm yellow undergrowth. The sun burned through the trees, draining the color from the land. It was like drowning in sunlight. It made Shrewpaw's bright red fur look ginger and turned Thundergale a tree-like shade of brown. It was hard to imagine living anywhere else but that gorgous forest along the salt-speckled coast. Shrewpaw danced as the grass turned to sand and the shipwreck sat illuminated against the horizon. Thundergale laughed and copied her apprentice a few paw-steps.

Camp was always busy around dusk, but it was especially noisy as Shrewpaw and Thundergale passed through the entrance. Half the Clan gathered around Paleseed, Vervaincough, and Cobaltchaser, who were in the middle of some long-winded explanation. The other half hovered near the nursery, either shooed away by Wildclaw or placated by Slushtrail.

"Did I miss something interesting again?" Shrewpaw groaned. Wolverineheart caught his moan from the edge of Paleseed's audience and joined Shrewpaw and Thundergale.

"Good training session?" Wolverineheart purred, signing with her tail swaying high.

"Don't ignore the bear in the den, what's going on?" Thundergale asked, finishing her sister's cockiness with a decisive bat to the ears.

"Paleseed, Vervaincough, and Cobaltchaser were coming back from WheatClan," Wolverineheart eagerly explained, "they were busy dealing with that little skirmish Wildclaw got involved in a few days ago. They're just about to cross the border when they see this little white kit, just scratching at the trees! At first they thought it was one of WheatClan's kits, but no! It was a kittypet! Poor little tom, he was really hungry. They took him back to camp and, oh, Shrewpaw, you're going to love it, go see your mothers, they're in the nursery!" Wolverineheart waved Shrewpaw toward the nursery crowd.

"Is he here?" Shrewpaw asked. He peered through the crowd, trying to follow the light that poured into the nursery.

"Go see!" Wolverineheart laughed. She whipped around Shrewpaw and shoved him toward the nursery. Shrewpaw almost face-planted on the sand, but stumbled onward. He squeezed between Mitespark and Trumpetspore and popped up at the nursery entrance.

"Ma?" Shrewpaw asked as Wildclaw spun, ready to snap at another nosy cat. She immediately paused as she recognized her son.

"Shrewpaw, sorry," Wildclaw chuckled, licking her chest. "You spooked me."

"Wolverineheart told me about a kit?" Shrewpaw asked, glancing into the nursery. Elmsprout and Lavendertwist kept Gingerkit and Frostkit busy while Oilstripe and Downstar sat beside Rattlepelt, who relaxed in a nest covered by her fox pelt.

"I'm glad you're back," Wildclaw purred. "Go inside, Rattlepelt and I want to talk to you." Wildclaw turned back to the crowd of curious kitties and yowled, "Alright, I'm a little sick of this Clan's lack of privacy, don't you have patrols to go on?" Wildclaw ushered RippleClan back as Shrewpaw slipped into the nursery. As soon as they saw Shrewpaw, Gingerkit and Frostkit tried to squirm around Elmsprout's grasp, but Lavendertwist sat on his children (much to their displeasure).

"From what I know about humans," Oilstripe purred to someone hidden behind Rattlepelt, "they don't care about a queen and her kits. I'm not surprised this happened to you."

"Hello?" Shrewpaw called. Oilstripe and Downstar looked behind them. Oilstripe scooted to the side, allowing Shrewpaw closer. Shrewpaw carefully sat between the ginger deputy and Rattlepelt.

Sitting in front of Rattlepelt was a long-furred white kitten. His big yellow eyes buldged out of his skull as he dug into a quickly cooked mouse. He was the messiest eater Shrewpaw had ever seen, with meat clinging to his teeth and splattering at his paws. He ate like he had never eaten before, breathing in the mouse.

"Don't choke!" Rattlepelt laughed. The kit jumped at her voice.

"Are you feeling a bit better now?" Downstar asked softly, loafing.

"Yes Ms. Downstar," the kit gulped, swallowing a huge bite.

"I haven't heard anyone use terms like that since Parsley was alive," Rattlepelt purred, the surprise rippling gently down her back. "You must have been born quite a ways south."

"I think so," the kit said. He licked his lips as he eyed the last portion of the mouse.

"Who are you?" Shrewpaw asked the young kit, laughing despite the way the kit's rips pressed against his fur with a deep breath. Wildclaw entered and wrapped herself over Rattlepelt, laying on her mate like her signature fox pelt.

"My mom just called me White," the kit said.

"We can tell him what you told us if you want to finish eating," Oilstripe insisted, placing her paw on White's back.

"Thank you Ms. Oilstripe," White said quickly before plunging his muzzle back into the mouse.

"Apparently, Shrewpaw," Oilstripe sighed, leaning down to her grandson, "White and his litter were taken from their mother just as they finished weaning. He's not much older than two moons."

"That's too young, though!" Shrewpaw whined. "Thundergale says most kits share a nest with their mother until they're three moons old at least!" Shrewpaw didn't want to imagine what it would have been like to not share a nest with Wildclaw or Rattlepelt at White's age.

"Some humans don't care what a kit needs," Oilstripe sighed. "They can be cruel. These ones took White from his mother and traveled in a monster, all the way to the southern farms. White left as soon as he could, but he hasn't found his mother."

"If they live really far south—" Shrewpaw started, but Rattlepelt gently batted his muzzle. Oh. If White's mother was as far south as Rattlepelt implied, it seemed next to impossible for anyone to find her, let along a kit who clearly didn't know how to hunt properly.

"While we're looking for her," Downstar said, clearing her throat, "we've offered White a home with us. Your mothers, Shrewpaw, have offered to foster him." Foster…

Shrewpaw barely remembered his littermates. He could remember squirming forms writhing alongside him against a ginger belly. Yet those forms faded, one by one, until Shrewpaw's first clear memory settled in his eyes; tucked deep into a pile with Rattlepelt, Wildclaw, Oilstripe, Carnationspeckle, and Downstar. What was having a brother like?

"It took you a while to understand what happened with your mother," Rattlepelt whispered to Shrewpaw. "We don't want to overwhelm White right now. We'll ask around about his mother, but you already know the chance of finding her is slim." Shrewpaw crept up to White as he finally finished his mouse. He licked the last of the meat off his fangs as Shrewpaw sat next to him.

"When I joined RippleClan," Shrewpaw said, trying to ignore the gushing looks of his mothers, "they added onto my name. I was born Shrew, then they named me Shrewkit, and now I'm Shrewpaw. If you're staying with us, you can have a name like that too! We can call you Whitekit."

"Why would I change my name?" White muttered.

"Well, do you want to know a secret?" Shrewpaw whispered. White cocked his head. "I still call myself Shrew sometimes. The Clans have some weird names, but if you pick a name for yourself, no one can take it from you." White grew taller with Shrewpaw's wise words.

"You can call me Whitekit if you want," said the young tom.

"Good to know!" Shrewpaw laughed, bunting Whitekit's shoulder. Whitekit nearly fell over, but laughed along while Shrewpaw wrapped his tail over Whitekit. "Now, what do you think of having an older brother?"

(Shrewpaw: 9, male, teacher apprentice, competitive, never sits still)

(Thundergale: 17, female, teacher, adventurous, good hunter, good speaker)

(Wolverineheart: 17, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

(Wildclaw: 77, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Oilstripe: 89, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Rattlepelt: 68, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Downstar: 144, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Whitekit: 2, male, kit, skittish, active imagination)

[rippleclan]

I completely forgot she said that. This is amazing!!

remember that one time when oilpaw/stripe (@rippleclan) said "holy balls"

anyway she owns my heart

[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 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 46

Burdockcreek died of greencough.

[Image ID: Clammask, Rustshade, and Weedfoot stand together, each with + CONDITION: GRIEVING underneath them. The ghosts of Twinekit, Burdockcreek, and Locustseeker stand above them.]

Fennelspot asked that Burdockcreek’s loved ones say goodbye to him before he passed. He was asleep, his breath strangled by mucus, but Fennelspot assured everyone that he would be able to hear them. He and Troutpaw moved Wildclaw back into the medicine den to give each member of the Clan their moment alone with the young historian. 

Oilstripe asked to go first and quietly stepped into the quarantine den. Burdockcreek laid curled up in his nest, the symptoms of his deadly condition draining down his face. Oilstripe took a quiet spot beside him.

“Is it okay that I don’t feel too heartbroken?” Oilstripe asked. “I don’t want you to go, of course. You’re my brother. I trained you. I don’t think I’m as close to you as Clammask or Dad, but I’m still your older sister. It’s just that… did you know Twinekit joins you on patrol some days? And Locustseeker watches us when we’re studying the world and telling stories to the kits. I still haven’t seen our mom after so many moons, but our siblings visit so much, it’s like they never left. I forget that’s not how it is for other people.

“What I mean to say is, Twinekit and Locustseeker are in the den with us. Twinekit insists that she’ll be the Fetcher for all of her littermates, it’s rather cute. It’s true, Twinekit! You’re perpetually cute. If you wanted to be taken seriously, you could have waited to die. Locustseeker’s here for moral support, Burdock. They’re excited to talk to you again. You’ll have a good time in StarClan. I’ll see you soon, little brother.” Oilstripe ran her tail over Burdockcreek’s feverish head and left her brother behind.

Weedfoot came in next. Her belly was swollen with her second litter, making her waddle into the den. She pressed her muzzle into Burdockcreek’s neck.

“You were as much my apprentice as Oilstripe’s,” she muttered. “You shouldn’t be leaving before I do. I’m sorry.” Weedfoot lingered in Burdockcreek’s unconscious embrace, unafraid of catching his disease. She only looked up when Clammask’s soft paws padded in.

“I’m sorry,” Weedfoot gulped, sitting up and clearing her throat. “I forgot this wasn’t his vigil yet. I’m taking up your time.”

“No, don’t leave,” Clammask croaked, stepping in front of Weedfoot when she moved to go. “I don’t want to say goodbye alone.” Weedfoot welcomed Clammask into her embrace, letting the golden molly rest her head under her chin. Weedfoot’s warmth covered Clammask. The deputy gently licked Clammask’s ear until she was ready to talk.

“Do you remember the last Harvest Moon,” Clammask mumbled, “when Burdockcreek challenged the LynxClan historians to a climbing competition? StarClan, he lost so bad, he moped behind the Leader’s Stone for… for… I can’t do this. I can’t remember my brother like this.” Clammask turned away from her dying brother. Weedfoot waddled to her side and walked her out of the den.

Rustshade came in a short while later. He stared at Burdockcreek, whose breathing had grown slow in the moments since Clammask left. Rustshade couldn’t keep his claws seathed.

“Are you here, StarClan?” Rustshade growled, looking up into the ceiling of the shipwreck. “You can’t take him. Why do you think you can take another of my kits from me? You don’t get Burdockcreek. You can’t have him.” Rustshade slipped beside his son. He closed his eyes, willing Burdockcreek to claw back from the edge and stay by his side.

Burdockcreek stopped breathing shortly after.

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

(Oilstripe: 50, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Weedfoot: 95, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Clammask: 40, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Rustshade: 90, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

Puddlepaw and Ripplepaw are the first of their litter to earn their names. Ripplefern gets moth wings from Downstar as a gift for graduating.

[Image ID: Puddlewhisper and Ripplefern stand as adults. Ripplefern has moth wings tucked behind her ear. Above Puddlewhisper, it says LEVEL UP! PUDDLEPAW -> PUDDLEWHISPER, ODDLY OBSERVANT -> NATURAL INTUITION, MORBID CURIOSITY -> GHOST SENSE. Above Ripplefern, it says LEVEL UP! RIPPLEPAW -> RIPPLEFERN, AVID PLAY-FIGHTER -> GOOD FIGHTER, SPLASHES IN PUDDLES -> TALENTED SWIMMER, + ACCESSORY: MOTH WINGS.]

(Puddlewhisper: 12, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

(Ripplefern: 12, female, historian, charismatic, good fighter, talented swimmer)

The AshClan cleric, Newtstream, asks for spare thyme. Fennelspot hands some over.

[Image ID: Fennelspot and Darkkick face Newtstream, who says “I really am glad you’re alive, Darkkick.” Darkkick responds, “Where was this concern when you let Autumnstar exile me?”]

---

Newtstream was there. She was there, in RippleClan’s camp, speaking with Fennelspot and Spikecrash like it was the most natural thing in the world. And she would notice Darkkick any second.

With his tail as tended-to as it would be for now, Parsley and Carnationspeckle offered to take Darkkick on a tour of the territory. It was strange to walk through land that Darkkick knew in passing, knowing that it may soon become as familiar to him as AshClan territory once was. With spring weather bringing life to the territory, Darkkick had a lot to say on how the caretakers were managing their gardens and utilizing the ocean. He couldn’t lie, when he had been AshClan’s clerics, he dreamed of the days when he’d lead a patrol to the ocean to collect rare salt, but now, once his tail was healed, he would be able to swim in that glistening water whenever he wanted. Perhaps he should have joined RippleClan earlier.

That simple joy crumbled when Darkkick’s tour group returned to camp near sunset and saw Newtstream sitting in the sand. Darkkick kept his face still as his former apprentice noticed him. As soon as her brown eyes widened, Darkkick strolled across the clearing, ignoring how his tail ached when he held it high.

“The rumors are true then,” Newtstream said softly, studying Darkkick. “You’ve returned to the Clans.”

“So I have,” Darkkick huffed. He refused to break eye contact with Newtstream. He would not break first. From the corner of his eye, Darkkick could see Spikecrash get ready to interject, but Fennelspot put his tail on her worn splint.

“I don’t see any reason AshClan can’t use some of RippleClan’s thyme incense,” Fennelspot said. A movement of his paw broke Newtstream’s stare. Fennelspot rolled an incense stick to Newtstream’s paws. “This bowl is a beautiful offering.” He placed his paw on the lip of a well-carved wooden bowl, perfect for ceremonies or meals for honored guests.

“AshClan thanks you, Fennelspot,” Newtstream said, bowing. “And it was good to meet you, Mediator Spikecrash. I hope your recovery continues as expected.”

“Thank you,” Spikecrash gulped, casting a glance at Darkkick. “It… will be nice to see you and your Clan’s mediators at my first Gathering. With the way my healing is progressing, Fennelspot says I’ll be better by the end of the season!” Spikecrash flexed her back paws. It seemed Fennelspot had done a good job.

“If you’ll speak to Halibutdusk over there,” Fennelspot explained, nodding to Halibutdusk by the oven, “he can escort you back to AshClan.”

“May StarClan watch over you, Fennelspot,” Newtstream said. She reached down for the incense, but paused. She stood back up and looked at Darkkick, her whiskers drooping. “I really am glad you’re alive, Darkkick.”

“Where was this concern when you let Autumnstar exile me?” Darkkick spat. His spit flew onto the incense. Newtstream closed her eyes for a moment. Then she picked up the incense and walked toward Halibutdusk.

“Spikecrash,” Fennelspot sighed, “it’s probably better that you not mention your relationship to Darkkick around other Clans. They may not take it well.”

“Because he was a cleric?” Spikecrash asked.

“Because she’s the reason I’m not one anymore,” Darkkick growled, cocking his head at Newtstream as she left camp. “StarClan told all the clerics that RippleClan was to be founded, and when I told Autumnstar, he called me a liar and exiled me. Newtstream was my apprentice. She said nothing in my defense, even though she saw the same things I did!” He yowled in the direction of the exit, knowing full well that Newtstream would be able to hear him.

“Darkkick may not be a cleric anymore,” Fennelspot explained, rubbing against Darkkick to soothe his shaking pelt, “but it’s better if the Clans get used to the idea of his return before hearing that he stopped keeping his oath.”

“That oath stopped bearing weight when I followed StarClan’s will and they did nothing to protect me,” Darkkick growled.

(Darkkick: 106, male, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Fennelspot: 103, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Spikecrash: 21, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

[rippleclan]

You drew my girl!! She looks so good!!!!! Thank you!!!! I'm starting an official fanart tag for RippleClan now, this was so unexpected!!!

If anyone wants to learn more about Oilstripe, feel free to send in an ask!

While I'm on hiatus, there are plenty of other awesome Clangen bloggers to check out! A recent favorite of mine has been @rippleclan ! Looking for fantastic worldbuilding, a more advanced Warriors society, and unique roles in Clanlife? This will be right up your ally! This is a quick drawing I did of their girl Oilstripe, a young historian who can see ghosts! Can't wait to see what happens next in her story.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 57

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Lemmy knew where they were keeping Carnationspeckle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They had been found out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Blasphemy!” a Witch Hunter yowled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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