#robinkit

[marmosetpaw]

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 67

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Tempestshade had stopped breathing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scaleripple needed that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We should get him out of camp.”

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

“Scaleripple, it will all be okay.”

“I understand you, Scaleripple!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Weevilkit saw it all.

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

And then it happened again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Weird dream,” he muttered.

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

“You look like Weedfoot,” Anchovykit gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s the normal way?”

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

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

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

“Do I know you?” Tempestshade asked.

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

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

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

“Why?” Anchovykit groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?” Anchovykit said.

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

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

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

“In a sense,” Ripplefern chuckled.

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

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

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

“Oh,” Tempestshade muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Billowkit can’t stop sneezing.

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

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

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

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

[jayfrost-designs]

Up next are the newest pair of apprentice cuties in SkyClan, the new NeedleKite kits. :D First up is Robinpaw.

Robinpaw has no physical description given other than her pattern, so I came up with my own for her. I made her rather lithe, with a sort of short-medium pelt. I imagine she'll look very much like her father when she's grown, but we'll see when we get there.

For her pattern, Robinpaw is describe as a red-brown she-cat. I gave her very similar colors and markings to her father Kitescratch, but with a more saturated undercoat and less saturated darker fade, to more imitate the bird she's named after. She has no canon eye color, so I gave her amber eyes, though I didn't like either of her parents' shade of amber on her so I picked a new one. I imagine she reminds cats a lot of her father (and her brother of what took her father from them - though not in a mean way).

Overall, I'm very happy with how she turned out.

[eggfeather]

robinkit and woodkit

[exocynraku]

mosspelt's tree

[shine-clan]

Moon 10

A new litter is born -- welcome Brackenkit, Robinkit, Lynxkit, and Mistlekit!

Dreampaw graduates, and is now named Dreamflight!

He learned from Vixenwander to use words over claws, and became better at storytelling. He graduated at 11 moons old, and was honored for his wit.

The weather has recently been cold and dry, and Partridgefeather's pawpads have become cracked.

[koolaidcatley]

[dawnmist-designs]

Robinpaw, Robinkit

(2025 version)

[flaxclan]

Moon 73

[gigas-warriors-stuff]

I made a pmv for Starfall. Because like. I had to make something with this song or it would haunt me forever

[talonslockau]

Forest of Secrets - Chapter 43

Chapter 42 || Index || Chapter 44

The journey to Sunningrocks was long, but it gave Fireheart time to think, and to worry. What if Riverclan wasn’t there? The Clan was already close to mutinous without him bringing three enemy kits back to camp. His actions were easily justified by the code, but there were surely those in the Clan that thought they were better off with less Riverclanners. 

And what would Riverclan think? Would they believe that the kits had been stolen? Relations were already tense with them, and while things had eased these last moons now that Graystripe wasn’t crossing the border every morning, evening and night, this surely would complicate matters. Ivyskip, their mother, must be out of her mind with worry, afraid that they had drowned in the river. He knew how fiercely a mother cared for her kits - and how she would fight if she thought they were in danger. If she saw them right now, would they get a chance to explain before Riverclan attacked?

Though he tried not to worry about it, instead focusing on taking the steadiest path through the forest, his mind kept looping back around to it. Images flashed through his mind of Leopardflame yowling at him, of Crookedstar nose to nose with Bluestar, of Graystripe and Silverstream-

Thunderclan couldn’t afford a war with Riverclan right now. There were so few warriors, and he wasn’t sure he could trust all of them - least of all himself - in a battle against the other Clan. There was Bluestar to contend with as well, the once great leader barely leaving her nest without his or Yellowfang’s prodding. If they went to war, Thunderclan would lose, he was sure of it, and it would be just one more criticism that the elders would have of his being deputy.

He slowed to a halt as he reached a familiar clearing - one in which, long ago, he’d seen Riverclan cats for the first time. He gently dropped Robinkit, the other two warriors doing the same behind him. He opened his mouth, about to mew instruction to the other warriors, but stopped when a gray striped tail slapped across his mouth. He blinked, staring bewilderedly at Peppermask, but she didn’t say anything, instead gesturing for him to be quiet.

Fireheart perked his ears, suddenly painfully aware of how close they were to the Riverclan border. Had she heard warriors coming? He pricked his ears, expecting to hear cats approaching, but the only thing he could hear was birdsong. He watched, his confusion growing, as she stalked away into the bushes, firmly in their own territory. Had she heard trespassers?

He was about to follow her when he heard a startled squawk, followed by the sound of a dozen wings frantically taking to the air. Peppermask returned with a bright smile, carrying a plump pigeon in her jaws. “I saw them as we approached.” She explained as she dropped it in front of the kits. “I didn’t want you scaring them off. No point in wasting a perfectly good opportunity.”

Though his heart was still racing from the thought of an approaching threat, he had to agree with her reasoning. “That seems sensible.” He admitted, trying to calm himself down. “Hey, have you kits ever-”

He startled as he looked down at the kits, who were tearing into the bird with a ferocious zeal that made him feel a little nervous for his own hide. “Hey, don’t- don’t choke on the feathers, please.” He warned them, though he wasn’t entirely sure they heard him as they continued crunching into the carcass.

He hadn’t noticed before, with too much else on his mind, but he realized now how skinny the three kits were. Between his and Peppermask’s hunting, not to mention Yellowfang’s help, Princess’ kits were pudgy, bordering on fat. It felt unnatural to see these kits, almost skin and bones, now ravaging the prey set in front of them. How long had it been since they ate? Surely they hadn’t starved this badly from a single day of adventure - this was at least a quarter-moon without eating, maybe more. 

When he looked at Peppermask, he expected to see surprise on her face, but she was just watching them with sadness. “I could feel Dawnkit’s spine when I picked her up. That’s why I- I couldn’t let them go back, and find out later that they’d starved to death…” She explained softly to him when she saw him watching.

“The river is Riverclan’s main source of food, and it freezes over in leafbare. Most of the prey in the lowlands goes into hibernation, too.” Graystripe mumbled from his other side. “That’s why they get so fat in leaf-fall; they need all the food they can get to survive leafbare. They try to have kits in newleaf, when the fish return, so that they’ll have plenty to eat.”

Fireheart looked on, his heart aching as he watched the kits devour every last scrap of the pigeon. If the kits were this skinny, the part of the Clan that ate first, how was the rest of the Clan alive? What if they’d all perished in the floods, unable to summon the strength to swim-

No, he wouldn’t let himself think such thoughts. “Come on, you three.” He mewed, nudging them with his nose. They moved from the bones reluctantly, glancing back as though hoping they might spot a spare morsel that they had missed. “It’s time to get you back to your mother.”

They moved through what little bracken remained to look down on Sunningrocks. Just like the rest of the land close to the river, it was flooded, the normal stone floor vanished beneath the water. However, just as they’d hoped, some of the normal stone towers that made Sunningrocks so valuable were still a tail-length or more above the water. His heart soared as he saw cats moving around - dozens of them, an entire Clan’s worth.

He turned to the kits. “You three stay here for a moment.” He nodded the same to Peppermask and Graystripe before, with a deep sigh, wading a few tail-lengths out until the water was lapping firmly around his forelegs. “Riverclan!” He called, watching as the entire Clan’s head turned as one at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. “Is Ivyskip among you? We must speak with her.”

He could see some cats already bristling at him, ready to challenge him. He was technically intruding, although he hoped that they would see it was for a good reason, and he’d expected minor aggression at his appearance. He could hear talking, though not well enough to make out words or who was speaking, before several cats dove into the water and swam towards him, leaving the rest of the Clan on the rocks. They didn’t seem to be a battle patrol, at least, which was a good start.

He flicked his tail for them to follow him, then moved back to mostly dry land. “Come here. Let them see you, all of you. We don’t want them to think this is an ambush.” He mewed, the kits and warriors emerging from the bracken to stand beside him.

It was only heartbeats before the Riverclan cats were upon them, and he was grateful to realize he recognized most of them. Crookedstar was leading them, his jaw twisted up in an ugly scowl, while Leopardflame and Mistyskip flanked him. Behind them was a tortoiseshell queen he didn’t recognize - Ivyskip, if he had to guess.

“My kits!” His thoughts were confirmed as the queen raced past him as soon as she could stand, enveloping them all in her still-dripping embrace. “You’re safe! Oh, Starclan, thank Starclan you’re all safe…”

Crookedstar’s green gaze warmed slightly as he watched the family reunite. “And how, might I ask, did Thunderclan come by three of Riverclan’s kits?” The leader asked, his gaze narrowing to glare down at Fireheart. He steadied himself, not wanting to seem afraid and guilty. They had done nothing wrong rescuing these kits; he would not let Thunderclan be blamed.

He opened his mouth to reply. “They stole them from us! They must have!” Leopardflame spat before he could speak, her spotted pelt rising as she advanced on the three young Thunderclanners. “They’ve been nothing but trouble for us all of leafbare! First with the prey-stealing, and then-”

“We didn’t steal them!” Fireheart snapped back before she could finish. “We were out to survey the extent of the flooding near the Owltree when we heard kits calling for help. The branch they were on broke apart in front of us, so we rescued them before they could drown.”

“Really? You expect us to believe that?” The deputy straightened up to her full height with a hiss, though Fireheart suspected that if he tried he would be taller than her. “As if Thunderclan cats would ever get their paws wet!”

“Leopardflame.” Mistyskip mewed, casting a disdainful glance at her deputy as she stepped up beside her uncle. “Look at their bellies. They’re soaked with water, all of them, which could only happen if they were submerged in water, and not just traveling in the rain. They have been swimming, and recently.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Leopardflame spat back, her eyes blazing furiously at the senior warrior that had dared to talk back to her. “If you’re so smart, then explain how they could find our kits near the Owltree, far upstream from camp!”

The silver molly looked unsettled at the deputy’s retort. Fireheart stepped forward to interrupt them before she could hazard a guess. “I think that might be answered by the kits themselves.” He turned to them, shivering and hugging their mother as tightly as possible. “Go on, then.”

The kits stared at him with wide, anxious eyes, and suddenly he felt fear strike his heart. They had to tell the truth, or Riverclan would be furious with them! After all that the three warriors had done for the kits…

Peppermask crouched down, her belly brushing the wet pebbles below. “Hey, you guys don’t want us to get in trouble for saving you, do you? Just tell them what you told us.” She mewed gently to the three.

Tears welled in Aspenkit’s eyes, but he slowly nodded and pulled away from the tortoiseshell queen. “We- we wanted to see the gorge for ourselves. But Dad wouldn’t take us, and- so we snuck out. We’re sorry! We didn’t know-”

“Shh, darling. It’s alright. You’re safe now.” Ivyskip gently hushed her son and pulled him back against her again. “I believe them. Why would these Thunderclanners steal our kits just to bring them back?” She looked up with warm green eyes, bowing her head to each of them. “Thank you, all of you. You risked your lives to save my kits. I will never forget your kindness.”

Fireheart nodded back, even as exhaustion began to creep over him once again. “I’m just glad we were able to bring them back home. And I’m sure they’re glad, too.” He replied, turning back to the other three Riverclanners. “I’m sorry to have troubled you, but I assure you, not a single Thunderclanner is interested in stealing your kits. We already have enough trouble dealing with our own.”

Crookedstar’s whiskers twitched slightly at his words. “Well, in that case, Riverclan is grateful that you rescued them. I know it is not an easy task to swim in these floodwaters; doubly so for a cat not accustomed to swimming at all.” As he spoke, a spark lit in his gaze. “Say, Mistyskip, didn’t you mention something about rescuing a ginger Thunderclanner from the river a few moons ago?”

Fireheart’s ears flattened bitterly at the memory, and he was sure Graystripe was doing the same behind him. “Yes, Uncle. Him and the tom behind him were the very two Silverstream and I rescued.” Her blue eyes met his with a mischievous twinkle. “I’m glad to see that you two have learned how to swim since then.” 

He growled wordlessly in response, but she didn’t seem to take heed as she trotted past him to where Ivyskip was still holding her kits tightly. “Let’s get them up on the rocks. Leopardflame, if you would?”

The spotted deputy’s scowl worsened as she moved past the Thunderclan cats, gingerly picking up Robinkit before turning and leaping gracefully into the floodwaters. The three mollies were gone in mere moments with their charges, leaving only the Riverclan leader and the Thunderclan cats standing on the shoreline.

As Crookedstar turned away, presumably to follow them, Fireheart noticed how visible the leader’s hips were - not unlike, he realized, how Tallstar had been when they had led the Windclanners back home. He felt Graystripe and Peppermask tensing up beside him, and he knew they were thinking the same. “Crookedstar, may I speak to you for a moment?” He mewed quickly.

The normally muscular tabby turned back, his eyes wary but not hostile, as he regarded them with suspicion. “You have my attention.” The leader replied with a small courteous dip of his head.

“Let me be honest with you, Crookedstar.” The tabby’s tail tip twitched slightly as Fireheart spoke, but he nonetheless inclined his head slightly in agreement. “On the way here, Peppermask happened to catch a bird. She’s a good hunter; one of our best.” He glanced slightly to see her whiskers twitch as she acknowledged the praise, but he could see the worry etched clearly on her face. “We didn’t get a chance to decide what to do with it when the kits devoured it.”

Crookedstar sighed heavily and sat down, unbothered by the water that lapped around his paws. “I apologize for them. Kits can be impulsive, sometimes, and they must have been hungry from their little adventure. I promise you-”

“This wasn’t a matter of simple hunger. Those kits were starving. They cleaned those bones faster than a cat can lash their tail.” He could see the large tabby’s muscles tense up as he spoke. “You and I both know the warrior code says that kits must be fed first, and I don’t think those kits had eaten in the past quarter-moon. If they haven’t eaten, what about the rest of your Clan?”

The Riverclan leader’s scowl had returned as he glared at the presumptuous young Thunderclanner. “Perhaps you’re still unfamiliar with how the Clans work. Most warriors would consider it a grave offen-”

“I know that pointing out such weaknesses in another Clan is considered the highest of insults. But I also have to think that if those kits had had enough to eat, that they might not have needed our rescuing at all.” Fireheart took a deep breath to steady himself. He knew what he was thinking was essentially breaking the code. He also knew that if he didn’t speak up, he would never forgive himself. “If we hadn’t given them food, I’m not certain they would have lived through another quarter-moon. And now your lands are flooded, and you’ve admitted yourself that flood waters are difficult to navigate. You won’t be able to hunt until the flood subsides, and who knows when that will be?”

He could see Crookedstar’s lip curling as he listened to Fireheart speak. “Is there a point to this?” The other tom growled.

“There is, Crookedstar.” He dipped his head respectfully, though he was sure it didn’t feel like it to the tabby tom. “Now that newleaf has come, prey is returning to the forest. Many in Thunderclan have full bellies. Even though some of our best hunting territory is underwater, we can still spare prey, if it will ensure your Clan’s survival.”

The Thunderclan deputy and Riverclan leader stared at each other, gauging each other’s moods. Fireheart didn’t shy away from the other’s gaze; he meant every word he had said, even if it was tantamount to treason. “You claim that you are familiar with how the Clans work, and yet what you’re suggesting to me is antithetical to the very foundation of the Clans.” Crookedstar’s tone was carefully measured as he regarded the flame-colored deputy. “What will you ask for in return, hmm? Nothing comes without a price, and I will not indebt my Clan to yours when we are-”

“We ask for nothing. It was us, as you’ll recall, that traveled to bring Windclan home. We did not ask them for territory or prey then either. I don’t want Thunderclan to gain territory by exploiting the weakness of the Clans around us; if we are to expand our borders, it will be through battles with honorable warriors, as Starclan intends.” Even as he said it, he could tell Crookedstar was still skeptical. He wasn’t able to hold it against the other tom; he was certain that if Tigerclaw was speaking the same words, that he would absolutely intend to eventually use the favor against Riverclan. “Be honest with me, and with yourself, Crookedstar; if you cannot find prey by tomorrow, how many in your Clan will die of starvation?”

The tabby’s pale green eyes fell to the water he was sitting in, and he knew instantly that Crookedstar was picturing gaunt faces staring at him from the rocks. Had cats already died? “Be that as it may,” Crookedstar admitted with a heavy sigh, “the Clans have always survived independently. Starclan may - there will be those that go to greet them, but that is a warrior’s lot in life. I cannot burden my Clan to change that.”

“Perhaps it is not the duty of a warrior to care what happens to another Clan.” Fireheart answered readily, watching the leader’s proud stature even as his eyes were full of hunger, and his skin clung to his bones. “After all, the code tells us to care for our Clans above all else. But I have watched the code be used to defend driving out other Clans for the sake of one; I have watched the code be used to defend cold-blooded murder. Perhaps the code tells me that I should turn my back on Riverclan now, so that we can take Sunningrocks from the corpse of your Clan once the floodwaters go down. But I believe that being a warrior is about mercy as much as it is about strength, and so I will do what I can to alleviate your suffering, regardless of what the code says.”

They stared each other down for another long moment before Crookedstar’s eyes flicked to the two warriors behind him. “And what of you two? Do you agree with what your deputy says?” The leader asked dryly.

Fireheart didn’t dare look them in the eyes. “The code says that we cannot neglect a kit, no matter their origin.” He heard Peppermask mew behind him. “If we were to leave now to let your kits starve, then I think we would be breaking the code. If hunting for your Clan means that the kits will eat, and live, then it is my duty as a warrior to do so. Fireheart’s offer may be unconventional, but I believe he’s right.”

“Uh, yeah.” Graystripe mewed from his other side. “What my sister said.”

Crookedstar looked unable to believe his ears, his twisted jaw dropping slightly at their words. He looked down at his paws once again, seriously considering everything that had been said. “Perhaps you all have the bold-faced audacity to lie to my face.” He said at last, looking back up into Fireheart’s eyes with a vulnerable honesty he hadn’t had before. “But there is only so much I can do to argue when my Clan is dying. We barely managed to escape the flood when it surged through our camp. Frogleap is still missing because of it. My duty is to protect my Clan, no matter the cost. And whether the cost is Sunningrocks, or the river, or all of our lands; the code says that is a cost I must accept.” He looked away with another heavy sigh. “Very well. If Thunderclan should grant us some of their prey, then I will not - can not - turn it away.”

He wished he could convince the leader that his words were genuine, with no cost attached - but he knew better than to try. “We’ll be in the clearing behind us every day just after dawn. We’ll hunt for you until the floodwaters leave Sunningrocks.” He flicked his tail for the patrol to turn to leave. “Hopefully that day will come quickly.”

“Hopefully.” Crookedstar murmured, turning away from them and swimming back towards the rocks his Clan were huddled on without a further word. Fireheart turned away into the bracken as well, exhaustion from fighting the floodwaters and the task ahead creeping over him.

He had only stepped a few tail-lengths into the forest before Peppermask was whirling on him. “Are you mad?” She hissed - not angrily, he could tell, but from genuine fear. “How are you going to explain this to the rest of the Clan?”

He met her gaze evenly. He was past the point of caring what the Clan thought of him anymore - but he didn’t dare tell her that. “I won’t.” He replied simply, brushing past her to lead them back to camp. “They don’t have to even find out. How long can it be until the floods subside? A half-moon, maybe, or even a quarter-moon? If Graystripe could go moons without being caught having a Riverclan mate, I doubt anyone will even notice.” Even if they did, what would they do? The only cat that could exile him was curled up in her nest and could barely be prodded out. “I’m the deputy, after all. I can arrange the patrols to make sure no one’s ever around to find us. Besides, don’t you two pretend you didn’t want to offer the same thing.”

“There’s a difference between wanting to do something and actually doing it!” Still, he could hear her beginning to relax - his points made sense, after all. “Are you really planning on just the three of us doing this?”

“We’re both good hunters, and we have Graystripe to help as well.” Back when they were apprentices, that would have been a teasing joke, but there was no humor in his voice now. “That’s the size of an average hunting patrol. We could recruit others to help, but I don’t know if there’s anyone I’d trust to agree with what we’re doing and keep it a secret. We may not catch enough to feed their entire Clan, but hopefully it will at least be enough to keep them from starving.”

Peppermask was silent, clearly still trying to rationalize everything in her head. After a moment, he was surprised to hear Graystripe speak up. “I- Thank you, Fireheart. You didn’t have to do that.”

He didn’t look at the large tom behind him, keeping his eyes on the forest ahead. “I didn’t do it for you.” He responded.

“I know, but- still.” Graystripe didn’t have to say anything else - he already knew what the other was thinking. Kits, then queens, were fed first amongst all of the Clan. If the kits had been starving, then that meant that Silverstream had gone without food for just as long, if not longer, than they had. It was possible that if they didn’t help, she would have died. 

As much as he told Graystripe it hadn’t been for him, he couldn’t lie and pretend that hadn’t been in his mind when he had first offered to hunt for Riverclan. No matter what he thought of his former friend and his ill-fated romance, some small and sentimental part of him would never let Graystripe’s kits die. And though the task in front of them felt formidable to face down, he wouldn’t let fear stop him from doing the right thing.

At least, he hoped it was the right thing.

[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)

[beetle-clan]

Clan Founders

[rose-warriorcatsrefs]

[elementclangen]

Moon 184-Greenleaf

Poolbounce (20)  just can’t stop adopting kits.  This time, he adopted two kits a loner left to the Clan.  Both of them are water-blessed, which Creekstar (38) is grateful for.  At least one of them will become a mediator.  It’ll be nice to have one again.  The little girl, Swiftkit (2), loves using her water-blessing to get into trouble.  She uses it to make the splashes from puddles even bigger to drench one of Poolbounce’s other kits, Robinkit (1).  He’s not a fan of getting doused with water, and the most his fire-blessing can do is warm him up a little bit.  The other kit, Silverkit (2), makes quite a team with Swiftkit.  Sometimes the two of them will make a wave that completely drenches the nursery.  How fun.   Lightkit (1) seems to be getting along better with Silverkit and Swiftkit than his bio brother.  He has a fun time joking around with Silverkit.  Robinkit is excited to escape his splashing tormentors and dreams about becoming a warrior.  In other family relationships, Gladepatch (60) is feeling a little defensive of his daughter after she got rejected by Wildcave (67).  He doesn’t think the other tom is being completely honest with Creekstar about his feelings.  Pigeonspot’s (53) efforts to get along with Sleepyfoot’s (50) older kits seem to be going well, at least with Astertwist (20).  She appreciates the advice the young Healer gives her.  She’s also been spending time with her younger bio son, Elmroot (14) and wants to explore the whole territory with him.  Primcrest feels the need to keep all of her skills sharp and challenges Elmroot to spar with her.  Frecklepaw (11) is enjoying her Healer training, particularly the parts where she gets to hang out with the elder, Peakspots (153).  She promises she’ll always take care of him. Tornpaw (11) is working hard at developing fighting techniques that take advantage of his disability.  He’s determined that he’ll be just as skilled in battle as any able-bodied fire-blessed cat!

[leafpoolstanblog]

RiverClan-R2-Y6-NL

Podlight and Curlfeather become warriors.

Reedtail retires.

Mudfur and Petalkit die.

Shadepelt and Reedwhisker have another kit; Nettlekit.

Sedgecreek also has a kit, with an unknown father, Copperkit. Pouncepaw is reapprenticed to Otterheart.

Robinkit is born to Grasswhisker and Clawface.