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salt-clangen · 2 months ago

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Moon 18 interlude

Greenleaf/Leaffall

Welcome to law and order cat edition!

I didn’t want to make this into multiple parts so it’s pretty long.

It only took half a moon for the trial to begin.

Wolfstar attended with Lynxdawn and Dropletpaw, ready to provide evidence. Stoatfang represented all accused parties—except for Thornstrike, who was assigned separate counsel under Greyclaw. Stagtrail, a large muscular tom with short brown fur and piercing yellow eyes, served as inquisitor.

Though the two trials ran concurrently, it was clear Greyclaw held no love for his client; the look of disgust on his face told Wolfstar all she needed to know about his stance. The trial lasted a single day, from sunrise until midnight. Shadowdive arrived after sunset, staying until the end. His sudden presence put the entire camp on edge—the brutal state of Thornstrike’s injuries had already spoken volumes.

Wolfstar gave her account first, repeating her story multiple times under the scrutiny of each code keeper. Lynxdawn followed, detailing the medicines used and injuries sustained. Though it embarrassed her, Wolfstar used the opportunity to press for reparations—SaltClan’s stores had suffered.

Each member of the ambush patrol gave testimony in turn, explaining why they had followed Thornstrike’s lead—even after the truth had come out.

Clearstorm went first. He was forthright, though unable to meet anyone’s eyes. Thornstrike had approached him and Sparkclaw together. He admitted to feeling eager for action against SaltClan and didn’t question the authority of the command. After the ambush failed, he lied about rogue attackers to protect his friend.

Heavybadger spoke next. As Stoatfang’s kit and a caretaker, they had asked to bring their mother on the patrol. Thornstrike denied their request and subtly suggested that Stoatfang had fallen out of favor with leadership. Heavybadger reluctantly accepted that and didn’t press further. They’d wanted to believe in their deputy. Young—just a few moons younger than Wolfstar—this had been their first mission. They looked horrified at their own actions. They had agreed to the rogue lie out of fear.

Blackhowl followed, a large, older tom with shaggy black fur and a stub tail. His stoic demeanor made him harder to sympathize with. He was the oldest on the patrol—even older than Thornstrike—and should have known better, as Stagtrail reminded everyone. He admitted Thornstrike had organized the patrol with him days in advance and held leverage over him. At first, he refused to say what it was, but eventually Stoatfang called his mate, Cinderfur, to the stand.

Cinderfur, a dark grey elder and former camp keeper, hadn’t been at the ambush. Stoatfang and Stagtrail handled her gently. Finally, she revealed that their daughter, Nighthowl, had faked her death to live as a kittypet. Now called Mimi, she had since been abandoned by her twolegs—while pregnant. Cinderfur had been sneaking her food. Thornstrike had caught her and used it as blackmail. Blackhowl accepted full blame and asked that any punishment aimed at his mate be directed at him instead. Jaggedstar stated she would address that after the trial.

Following a brief meal break—most of the morning having been spent on Blackhowl’s testimony—the clan avoided discussing the trial. The accused were kept separate. Wolfstar used the break to introduce Dropletpaw to Ashenstep and the other historians.

Afterward, Scorchvein was called. An arrogant older molly, she had once been briefly mated to Thornstrike. Their son, Grackletail, was the result. Wolfstar had only seen her at gatherings. Scorchvein’s testimony was short—she had joined the patrol because Thornstrike asked her to. Though he had ended their relationship, she remained loyal to him. Still, the pressure of the trial pushed her to turn on him easily. She claimed she’d gone along with the rogue lie to protect her kits.

Grackletail testified next. Recently made a warrior, he admitted to wanting recognition and favor from his father. He was twitchy, anxious, with patchy fur from overgrooming. Despite his strangeness and the general disdain he received from the crowd, Wolfstar felt bad for him. He was unwell, and she hoped the clan would step in.

Gorsejump, older than Wolfstar, was more honest. They admitted to being blackmailed as well—caught exploring the twolegplace, even making friends with kittypets. Though they had no intent to leave the clan or break its rules, Thornstrike had threatened them with exile. They had assisted in planning the ambush, staking out SaltClan patrol routes in advance. When they stepped down from the stand, they gave Wolfstar a tearful, silent apology before returning to their place.

At sunset, the final two apprentices were called: Sablepaw and Shadepaw—Scorchvein’s youngest kits. Likely sired outside the clan, they stood small and nervous before the gathered cats. Stagtrail argued to separate them, but Jaggedstar allowed them to testify together.

Sablepaw was steadier, confident. She explained that their mother and Thornstrike had described the patrol as a simple border marking. When they arrived and were told to wait, she grew suspicious and questioned her mother. Shadepaw agreed, noting that Scorchvein was both his mentor and parent. During the fighting, he had wanted to run—but seeing his siblings in danger, he stayed. He had believed SaltClan had ambushed them. When the truth came out, he was the one who dragged Sablepaw away.

The two were treated gently. Shadepaw apologized repeatedly. Sablepaw defended her brothers, saying they only acted to protect her. They hadn’t known about the rogue lie—only that Scorchvein had told them to stay silent. Once dismissed, they ran to Grackletail, pressing themselves against him. Wolfstar saw Jaggedstar’s gaze soften at the sight, just as hers had.

Finally, Stagtrail called Thornstrike as his last witness. But as Wolfstar rose to her paws, she demanded to know why Sparkclaw wasn’t testifying. Jaggedstar explained she wasn’t required to—but that didn’t satisfy SaltClan’s leader.

As the argument escalated, Sparkclaw burst forward, shouting she wasn’t afraid to speak. Shadowdive stood instantly beside Wolfstar, snarling. The camp took time to calm, but eventually Jaggedstar allowed it—warning Sparkclaw to behave.

She walked with a limp. Wolfstar flinched—recognizing the paw she had bitten. Lynxdawn pressed against her; Dropletpaw tucked herself beneath her mother, trembling.

Sparkclaw’s story mirrored Clearstorm’s: she had been approached, eager to prove herself, eager to stake claim on the contested nest. She admitted she knew the attack was wrong, but fought anyway—driven by her hatred for Wolfstar. When Stagtrail asked why she ran, she hesitated.

Then came the silence. Sparkclaw lowered her gaze and spoke of a presence, a dark figure that stood at Wolfstar’s shoulder when she’d delivered her final threat. The crowd stirred with unease until Jaggedstar silenced them.

The code keepers quickly changed topics, asking why she agreed to lie about rogues. Sparkclaw hissed that she didn’t know. Wolfstar suspected it was pride—but said nothing. The crowd glanced her way, unsettled, as if she’d brought something unnatural into their midst.

At last, Sparkclaw was dismissed.

Finally, Thornstrike was called forward. He had remained in the clerics’ den for the entirety of the trial, though well within earshot. As he was led forward by Frostwhisper, Wolfstar noted with quiet unease that his wound dressings had been removed. The full extent of his injuries—raw, misshapen, and violent—were now on display. Whether this exposure was his own decision or someone else’s remained unclear.

Greyclaw stepped forward to deliver the first round of questions. His focus, as expected, was on motive. Why had Thornstrike organized an ambush without Jaggedstar’s knowledge or approval?

Thornstrike answered with a snarl. He did not temper his words, declaring Jaggedstar a coward who had gone soft on SaltClan. He accused her of abandoning DuskClan’s claim to the nest and allowing the enemy clan to take hold of it without resistance.

When asked if he had brought these concerns to Jaggedstar directly, Thornstrike admitted he had. He claimed she dismissed him, saying the clan had bigger matters to tend to than “some crummy, out-of-the-way nest.” None of this improved his position. His answers only reinforced the picture of a warrior acting alone, unsanctioned, driven by personal grievance.

Greyclaw seemed to sense the futility and shifted his line of questioning. He pivoted toward the physical cost Thornstrike had paid. It was an unspoken appeal to mercy: exile for a cat in Thornstrike’s condition might well be a death sentence.

Stagtrail had fewer questions. He asked only whether the other warriors’ testimonies had been accurate. Thornstrike, after a moment’s hesitation, confirmed that to his knowledge, they had told the truth.

The closing arguments from each codekeeper were more substantial than Thornstrike’s own testimony. Stagtrail argued that, despite the blackmail and coercion, each cat should bear some responsibility for acting without Jaggedstar’s approval. Their silence had granted SaltClan the upper paw in both conflict and diplomacy.

Stoatfang, in contrast, urged Jaggedstar to judge each cat individually. She emphasized the role of fear, inexperience, and manipulation in their decisions. The fact that so many warriors had felt unable to come forward, she argued, reflected a broader failure in the clan’s culture—not a personal failing of each accused.

Greyclaw’s remarks were brief. He commended Thornstrike for answering truthfully—if bitterly—and reminded the clan of the severity of his wounds. There was little else to add.

At last, Jaggedstar rose to address the clan. She thanked the assembled cats for their patience and for treating the trial with the gravity it deserved. She announced her intention to deliberate through the night, asking Wolfstar to remain in DuskClan until morning. She would consult with her before rendering a final decision.

A murmur of dissent passed through the crowd—some objected that this broke tradition, that judgment should be handed down before the moon fell. Jaggedstar responded calmly. She had no deputy to counsel her, and all her most trusted cats had served as codekeepers during the trial. Besides, the matter of repayment to SaltClan was yet unresolved.

Wolfstar turned to her own warriors and dismissed them with a low word. Shadowdive hesitated, casting a glance over his shoulder, but Wolfstar was firm. He was to escort Lynxdawn and Dropletpaw back to SaltClan safely and inform the clan of what had transpired. After a final nod, the trio departed into the darkness.

Wolfstar remained, stepping into the leader’s den as the crowd dispersed and the trial came to a close—for now.

Jaggedstar’s den was small and dark—just how she liked it. The gloom wrapped around her like an old friend, mirroring her shadowy pelt and offering a comfort no sunlight ever could. Her body felt leaden as she stepped inside, her paws dragging slightly with the weight of the day. She didn’t bother with dignity. The moment she crossed the threshold, she let herself collapse into her nest, her spine curving with exhaustion. No codekeepers to impress now. No clanmates to reassure. Just her and the daughter she’d once mentored.

Wolfstar followed without a word, settling into a neat loaf near the edge of the nest. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, and for a moment Jaggedstar thought about asking to wait until morning.

Instead, Wolfstar stretched one paw and murmured, “This is a mess.”

Jaggedstar let out a dry chuckle. “Let’s start with the easy ones.”

“The apprentices,” Wolfstar confirmed.

“Yes.” She shifted, her bones aching. “I think the scars from that battle—and from this trial—are punishment enough.”

“That’s two down,” Jaggedstar said, lips curling into something close to a smile. “Grackletail’s next. He’s a warrior. It’s expected that he’d face a more serious consequence.”

“He doesn’t seem well,” Wolfstar said carefully. “How long has he been pulling his fur out?”

Jaggedstar blinked, letting the question roll through her thoughts. “A long time. Since before he earned his warrior name.”

“Have the clerics offered him help?”

“I don’t think he’s asked,” she admitted, wincing inwardly at how hollow that sounded. “Why? What does this have to do with the ambush?”

“I think we both know,” Wolfstar said softly, “that between his mental state and his inexperience, he doesn’t deserve punishment.”

Jaggedstar’s ears twitched. “The clan won’t see it that way.”

“Then don’t frame it as leniency.”

Jaggedstar pondered her next words. “I’ll assign him to assist the clerics. I’ll speak with Frostwhisper—see if they can start Grackletail on something for the fur-pulling. A calming herb, maybe.”

Wolfstar hummed in approval, already shifting focus. “Clearstorm showed integrity during the battle. And Heavybadger showed remorse afterwards. That should count.”

“I’d already planned to let him and Heavybadger mentor some of Mistytail’s kits,” Jaggedstar replied, flicking her tail. “They knew that. I’ll revoke it. Confine them to camp. Have them help the keepers and tend to the elders.”

“That sounds fair.”

“Gorsejump,” Jaggedstar muttered, lying back onto her side, “I’m conflicted. They should’ve come to me when Thornstrike threatened them. But how do I punish a cat for not trusting their leader?”

Silence.

Then Wolfstar offered gently, “Maybe a re-apprenticeship? Or something close. A chance to rebuild trust.”

“Hmmm.” She considered it. “Too humiliating might backfire. But nursery duty, elder care, that would be enough and they can accompany me on patrols. A chance to see leadership in a newer light. Bridge the gap.”

Wolfstar nodded, stifling a yawn. “Now as for Blackhowl. Does his story check out?”

“I’ll go tomorrow,” Jaggedstar said. “Have him take me to his daughter.”

“If he’s telling the truth,” Wolfstar murmured, “she’ll need care. Shelter.”

“She won’t come back to DuskClan. I can feel it in my bones.” Jaggedstar glanced over. “Would SaltClan take her? Quietly, outside this trial, of course.”

“If she asks for sanctuary, she’ll have it,” Wolfstar purred, curling onto her side.

A long silence stretched between them, easy and familiar. Jaggedstar let it settle in her chest like warm tea.

“I’ll have Blackhowl serve with Gorsejump in the nursery,” she said at last. “Cinderfur’s an elder, but she can still assist the keepers. Stars above—half my warriors are going to be camp-bound.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the hard ones,” Wolfstar teased.

“Scorchvein,” Jaggedstar growled. “She’s more involved than she lets on. Whatever punishment I give Thornstrike, she’ll take it personally. I can’t have that.”

“She may be the only cat in your clan who’d stand beside him,” Wolfstar said. “And I can’t imagine why. Their fling was brief, or so I’ve heard.”

“Thornstrike can be charming when it suits him,” Jaggedstar said with a scornful smile. “Plus she’s not the type to let go so easily. I already know what I want to do. I’m going to exile her. Just half a moon.”

Wolfstar’s ears twitched. “That seems harsh, given the others.”

“I don’t care,” Jaggedstar snapped. “Stagtrail didn’t press her enough. He was too focused on Thornstrike. I can say it’s because she’s older and risked the lives of two young apprentices. That way I can get her out of the clan for a few days.”

“So when she returns, his punishment will be behind us.”

“Exactly. I’ll reassign Shadepaw to a new mentor. Bluetail would be a good fit, she’s been without an apprentice for a couple moons now im sure she’ll be good with him.”

“What about Sparkclaw? And the repayment for the herbs we had to use?” Wolfstar asked.

“We could repay them,” Jaggedstar said with a sly grin, “or we could say SaltClan demanded full claim to the abandoned nest.”

A beat passed, Wolfstar unsure she heard her right. The guileful look on her mother’s face told her enough.

“You’re devious,” Wolfstar said, eyes gleaming. “And how did that conversation go?”

“Sparkclaw will be exiled for one moon. Scorchvein for half,” Jaggedstar said plainly. “You asked for both to be exiled permanently.”

“I did?”

Jaggedstar chuckled. “Mhmm. And the execution of Thornstrike. Plus repayment for the herbs.”

“Well,” Wolfstar said dryly, “I am demanding aren’t I.”

“You’re within your rights to demand it,” Jaggedstar murmured. “But I can’t afford to lose three warriors. So I offer you this: temporary exile for Sparkclaw and Scorchvein, in exchange for the nest.”

“And Thornstrike?” Wolfstar prompted.

“Execution is too far. Instead, exile him. Leave him in the twoleg place.”

“That’s just execution with extra steps.”

“Maybe,” Jaggedstar said softly, “but it’s also mercy. If a twoleg helps him, so be it. If not, it’s no longer our burden. It sends a message: we’re merciful, but firm.”

Wolfstar’s gaze sharpened. “You’re thinking about appearances.”

“Of course I am,” she said, sitting upright. “I need to walk the line between two extremes—what my dissenters did and what the clan expects. If I kill my deputy, some will think I can’t be trusted to help a warrior who feels threatened. Some may think I only did it because SaltClan was the target. Because you were.”

“But a measured mercy,” Wolfstar said, nodding slowly, “makes you look fair.”

“Exactly. If I gave up the nest without a fight, I’d seem weak. But if I gave it up in return for three lives and a spared herb store…” She paused. “Then I’m a leader who saved her clan.”

Wolfstar smiled, warmth in her eyes now. “Clever.”

“I think we’ve covered everything,” Jaggedstar said with a sigh.

“Agreed.” Wolfstar yawned, her limbs finally slack. “Tomorrow, the verdict. Then we visit Blackhowl’s daughter.”

“You’ll stay?” Jaggedstar asked, already shifting to make space. “It’s too late to head back to SaltClan.”

Wolfstar didn��t argue. She purred as Jaggedstar curled around her, the moss warm between them.

Wolfstar remained in Jaggedstar’s den as the dusk-colored leader delivered her ruling on the trial. She peered out through the hanging lichen, watching the clan’s reactions below.

Jaggedstar began gently, excusing the apprentices and reassigning Shadepaw to Bluetail. A few cats broke the tension with murmured congratulations to the newly named mentor.

Gorsejump and Grackletail accepted their punishments with bowed heads. Wolfstar could practically smell the fear wafting off them — sharp with anxiety, bitter with shame.

Clearstorm and Heavybadger remained out of sight, but the murmurs in the clearing told Wolfstar everything. Disappointment clung to the crowd like brambles. This would have been their first time mentoring — now they’d have to wait, and wait in disgrace.

Scorchvein, by contrast, exploded.

She refused her sentence with fury, demanding to know why her eldest had received a lighter punishment. Wolfstar’s hackles rose. She clenched her jaw to hold back a growl.

A mother throwing her kit — no matter how grown — into the mud to keep her own paws clean…

It sickened her.

The clan agreed. Hisses broke out, sharp as thorns, calling for her silence.

Jaggedstar remained calm, watching the crowd settle with the patience of a mother enduring a kit’s tantrum.

She explained Scorchvein’s exile in even tones: she was older than the others, with more experience. And despite that, she’d risked the lives of her young, untrained kits — a choice that had nearly ended in tragedy.

Shadepaw had nearly lost his eye for starclan’s sake.

Scorchvein balked as Stoatfang and Rainfoot flanked her. She tried to protest, asking to stay at least to hear the details of the others’ sentences. Her voice faded into the distance, growing more shrill as she was led away.

In stark contrast, Sparkclaw said nothing when her punishment was announced — a full moon as a loner.

She didn’t argue. Didn’t speak.

Wolfstar couldn’t even see who escorted her out.

When Jaggedstar called Blackhowl forward, he stepped into the clearing with hesitant paws, his gaze flicking to Cinderfur at the back of the crowd. Jaggedstar addressed the warrior plainly: she would need proof that his daughter was alive and in need of help before she passed judgment.

Blackhowl looked taken aback. “And when I do?” he asked.

Jaggedstar answered without pause.

“Then you will spend the next two moons in the nursery with Gorsejump, assisting the queens. Cinderfur will work with the camp keepers — preparing meals, within reason, given her injuries and age.”

Blackhowl nodded slowly. It was a fair sentence, and one the clan seemed to approve of.

Finally, Jaggedstar called forth Thornstrike.

“You will not be executed,” she said. “I understand that you acted out of pride for your clan. And I cannot fault you for that. But for your lies and your failure, for the pain you helped cause… you are to be exiled.”

Not a single voice rose to protest.

Thornstrike, still scarred and blind, asked bitterly, “How am I supposed to survive like this?”

Jaggedstar turned to Addertail.

“Go to Capri’s post,” she said, “and ask for her granddaughter — Jade. Tell her we need help. Fetch Jade and meet us at the Moon Spring.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd like wind over water.

Jade? Sage? Who were these cats? How did Jaggedstar know them?

Wolfstar dipped her head, hiding a purr behind her paw.

She’d told her mother everything this morning —

About Jade and her kind sister, Sage.

About how moons ago, she and Lynxdawn had found shelter there.

About Nora, Sage’s housefolk — kind, friendly, the sort who might take in a wounded warrior, even one as wretched as Thornstrike.

Jaggedstar had been surprised Wolfstar would go so far to help the tom who’d attacked her and her apprentices.

Wolfstar had only chuckled, dry and cold.

“The longer he lives, the longer he suffers. He may heal, but his eyes won’t grow back. And every day, he’ll remember who beat him — and that it was the clan he hated most.”

Of course, Jaggedstar didn’t say that to the clan.

Instead, she framed it as one final mercy: Thornstrike would be taken to a kittypet and a twoleg who might help him. The murmuring grew louder. Shock, disbelief.

Jaggedstar didn’t wait for silence

She raised her voice and continued, announcing that the abandoned twoleg nest would now be undisputed SaltClan territory.

Some cats argued immediately, but Jaggedstar stood firm.

Given the severity of Thornstrike’s patrol’s crimes, SaltClan held the advantage. If DuskClan pushed too hard, SaltClan could call on OakClan or HoneyClan — and few would blame them for it. A full-scale war was possible.

Jaggedstar wouldn’t allow that.

“SaltClan demanded Scorchvein and Sparkclaw be exiled permanently,” she told them, “and Thornstrike executed.”

Gasps broke out across the clearing.

Wolfstar nearly laughed.

Jaggedstar pressed on, explaining that she would not lose three warriors — not with leaf-bare approaching. And despite Thornstrike’s betrayal, she refused to sentence him to death.

Some cats nodded in agreement, their faces stony and worn.

Then Jaggedstar addressed the clan’s dwindling herb stores, a problem worsened by the injuries from the rogue patrol and a poor harvest.

Wolfstar frowned at that — she hadn’t realized things were so bad.

The compromise, Jaggedstar said, was simple: in exchange for the nest, SaltClan would drop demands regarding the herb use and the full exiles. Jaggedstar mourned the loss of the territory, but she would not risk war — not when the nest was barely fruitful, not when DuskClan was strained.

The dishonor burned, she said, but with the remaining herbs and two strong warriors returning before the end of leaf-fall, they would endure.

By the time she was finished, the clan had shifted. Heads lifted. Spines straightened. A slow ripple of cheers spread across the camp.

DuskClan was hers again.

And Wolfstar, from her place in the den, watched the tide turn.

While Jaggedstar spoke with Blackhowl and Cinderfur, Wolfstar slipped away quietly to return to SaltClan. A few DuskClan cats eyed her, but Bluetail and Shadepaw nodded politely as she passed. Bluetail lifted her tail, motioning for her to pause.

“Wolfstar, Jaggedstar asked me to take you to the border,” Bluetail said.

“Thank you.” Wolfstar nodded, glancing at Shadepaw. “Congratulations on your new apprentice. Jaggedstar mentioned you had one graduate recently.”

Bluetail puffed up with pride, her earlier hostility forgotten. “Yes, I trained Inktail. They’re a fine code keeper.”

Wolfstar smiled, letting the blue molly lead the way.

“Do you mind if Shadepaw joins us?” Bluetail asked, watching her closely.

“Of course not,” Wolfstar replied, nodding to the nervous apprentice. “It’s not a very exciting walk.”

Shadepaw chuckled awkwardly as he followed, head low. “I think I’ve had enough excitement to last a season.”

“Don’t jinx it, kit,” Bluetail huffed, though it was half-hearted. She walked ahead, tail flicking. “When escorting a cat, someone leads and someone follows. That way if anything strange happens, a DuskClan cat will notice first and act.”

Wolfstar didn’t respond, but the lesson made her smile. Bluetail was a few seasons older, a code keeper trained by Jaggedstar. She could recognize a passed-down teaching.

The walk was brief. Bluetail spoke mostly to her apprentice, pointing out landmarks so even if he was half-blind he could find his way. When they reached the border, the trio bowed politely. Shadepaw hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something.

“Go on, spit it out before she’s gone,” Bluetail huffed. His tail puffed at her words. “No one else is listening.”

Wolfstar waited patiently as the apprentice scuffed his paws in the dirt. Neither adult rushed him.

“I’m sorry for the ambush,” he mumbled. “If I’d known… I wouldn’t have gone.”

Wolfstar purred gently and glanced at Bluetail, who gave a small nod. She stepped forward and touched her nose to Shadepaw’s forehead.

“It must’ve been scary—your first battle, protecting your sister and kin,” she said softly. “You did your best. Don’t let it weigh you down.”

Shadepaw didn’t cry, but he looked like he wanted to. Bluetail said nothing, though her silence wasn’t judgmental. He turned away to face her instead, and with a final nod, the warriors separated.

Back in camp, Wolfstar gave a brief update before calling Lynxdawn and asking her to prepare a basket and come along.

Of course, half the camp tried to follow, but Wolfstar firmly told them she was visiting a former DuskClan queen who might need help. Shadowdive and Mallowstripe caught her just before she left, pressing close and grooming her.

“You smell like a pine tree,” Shadowdive muttered under his breath.

She laughed and almost dunked herself in a tide pool before setting off.

Lynxdawn instructed Ripplepaw and Otterpaw to help Mallowstripe prepare hot water for a bath. She told Snowspeckle to make a nets in the nursery. Then, basket in tow, she and Wolfstar returned to the abandoned nest, pausing along the way to refresh the border.

“Wolfstar,” came Jaggedstar’s voice before the patrol was even in view. “We’re ready.”

Flanking her were Blackhowl and Cinderfur. The older molly hobbled stiffly but kept pace.

“Lead the way,” Wolfstar said with a nod to Blackhowl.

The group set off in silence, crossing into Twolegplace. The outer edges of the neighborhood were overgrown and crumbling, the fences sagging. The scent of prey lingered alongside that of other cats—likely a favored hunting spot.

They approached a peculiar structure that looked half-monster, its body fused to large black wheels. It hadn’t moved in moons; grass grew thick around its base. From beneath a brush pile, a pair of wide eyes blinked.

“Mom? Dad?” Nighthowl’s voice was hoarse, startled.

She bolted—but barely made it a few fox-lengths before Wolfstar stepped in front of her. Face to face now, the younger molly dropped to the ground, belly pressed to the dirt.

Once, she might’ve been the mirror of her father. Now, Nighthowl was a wraith. Her black coat hung like loose leather over sharp ribs, her belly swollen—was it pregnancy, or worms?

“Nighthowl, it’s alright.” Cinderfur limped forward, draping her tail over her daughter.

“I’m Lynxdawn,” the cleric said gently, placing the basket down. “This is Wolfstar, SaltClan’s leader.”

Wolfstar offered a warm smile, though Nighthowl’s eyes darted frantically.

“We brought supplies,” she said softly. “Cinderfur told us your Twolegs left you.”

Nighthowl trembled, glancing to her mother. Blackhowl stepped in to nuzzle her cheek.

“They left last moon,” Nighthowl whispered. “I found out I was pregnant a few days after.”

“Here, have some minnows,�� Lynxdawn offered, pulling a pawful from the basket. “I brought chamomile, burnet, and raspberry leaves too. Are you feeling sick?”

Nighthowl looked to Jaggedstar. “What’s going on? I’ve never heard of this clan.”

“They’re new,” Cinderfur explained. “Wolfstar is Jaggedstar’s kit. They want to help.”

The queen fluffed up, anxiety thick in her scent. Wolfstar leaned close, touching noses. From here, she could see bald patches, dull fur, a faint stink of infection.

“We have a place for you, if you want it,” Wolfstar said. “SaltClan would welcome you.”

“No, no—I can’t hunt, I can’t fight.” Nighthowl’s eyes misted. “I’m useless!”

Her parents pressed close.

“You’re not useless!”

“There’s plenty you can do!”

Wolfstar snorted, startling the group. Her ear flicked.

“I don’t care,” she said simply.

The others froze.

“I don’t care if you can’t contribute a single thing to the clan,” she continued. “You’re pregnant. You’re starving. You need help, and we can help you. That’s what matters.”

After a long moment, Nighthowl nodded.

Lynxdawn gave her strengthening herbs and more minnows. On the walk back, it became clear how weak she was. She stumbled often, bumping into everything. Her nerves were obvious, but eventually, they reached the SaltClan border.

Jaggedstar and the Saltclan pair sat on opposite ends of the crumbling nest, waiting as the family spoke privately. Once goodbyes were said, the trio set off.

SaltClan’s camp overwhelmed her. She trembled, watching each cat approach with curious stares. One by one, they came to greet her. Lynxdawn never left her side as Wolfstar introduced her and gave orders for the day.

“Oh, you must be exhausted! I’m Snowspeckle, deputy and artisan. This is my apprentice, Kelppaw,” she said warmly. “And this is Coralpaw, our mediator apprentice. We’ve made you a nest in the nursery.”

“Th-thank you.” Nighthowl ducked her head.

“We’ve prepared a bath,” Lynxdawn added. “We’ll need to treat you for fleas and worms.”

She gestured to Mallowstripe and Otterpaw. “Bring the large tub we got from Capri’s,” she told Otterpaw. “And we’ll start filling it.”

“To feed her,” she added to Mallowstripe, “offer small, frequent meals. Soup and stews, nothing too heavy or chunky. No mash yet—we’ll ease her back into eating.”

Nighthowl stayed silent, taking in the camp. She didn’t recognize anyone from her past, though she noticed a few suspicious stares. The black molly near the deputy looked wary, as did a large brown tabby. But Wolfstar’s warm gaze and gentle touch were enough for now.

The tub was large—too large for clan-made tools. Wolfstar explained it came from the trading post. Jade had called the material “plastic.”

Several cats worked to fill it with hot water, mixing in sea water from the tide pools. Lynxdawn stirred it with her paw, ensuring it was the right temperature.

A smaller black molly approached with a basket. “Here’s what you prepared earlier.”

“Thanks, Thistle,” Lynxdawn chirped.

She poured in lavender oil first. “Good for fleas,” she explained. Then yarrow oil. “It helps clean and loosen mats.”

Thistle nodded along to the explanation, taking the empty jars and bowls as the cleric worked.

The bath wasn’t exactly comfortable, but the warm water soothed Nighthowl after the long journey. Wolfstar stayed close, helping work the oils into her tangled coat.

Otterpaw returned again, a bundle of herbs clenched in his jaws. He dropped them by the bath with a soft thump, then quickly sat back as if unsure whether to stay. Lynxdawn nodded gratefully, already sorting through the bundle with her paws.

Nighthowl sat hunched in the water, her body rigid. Her tail had uncoiled, hanging limp in the bath, and the mats of her fur sagged now that they were wet. Her eyes stared ahead, fixed on nothing. She didn’t flinch when Mallowstripe padded into view with a bowl of thin broth, or when Ripplepaw brought over a pale, sand-smoothed shell.

The younger apprentice dipped the shell in and carefully let water run over Nighthowl’s shoulders. She didn’t react. She breathed. That was all.

“We’re going to start trimming, alright?” Lynxdawn’s voice was low, calm. “This will help with the mats. You’re safe.”

She didn’t wait for a response—none came—but instead nodded to Mallowstripe. The cook stepped forward and offered her the soup first. “It’s just broth, fish bone stock,” he said. “Soft. Easy.”

Nighthowl blinked. Her head twitched toward the bowl like she had just noticed it. She took one lap. Then another.

The sharpened shell in Lynxdawn’s grip glinted faintly as she worked. Her paws were precise, steady, tracing along the worst of the matting. The wet clumps came away slowly, sliding into the water or landing in little heaps beside the bath.

Mallowstripe crouched by Nighthowl’s other side, ready with a pawful of moss to wipe away each trimmed section.

Still, Nighthowl didn’t move. Her breath was steady but shallow. Her ears were slightly tilted back, her posture frozen between collapse and withdrawal. When Ripplepaw brushed her shoulder with his tail, she flinched so hard the water rippled.

“Easy,” Lynxdawn murmured. “You’re doing fine. We’ve got you.”

A heavy silence fell over the grooming. Only the soft splashes of water and the wet scrape of shell against fur filled the air. A few times, Mallowstripe whispered something reassuring, but Nighthowl didn’t seem to hear.

Finally, when most of the thickest mats had been removed and her fur lay wet but flat, Lynxdawn stepped back. “That’s enough for now. Let’s get you dried and warm.”

She didn’t speak.

Otterpaw helped her step out of the tub, leading her to the oven fire. She kept her eyes downcast as several cats began sharing tongues with her, another small bowl given to her. Raspberry leaf tea, she tried to focus on drinking. She dried quickly, less fur to worry about, Lynxdawn encouraged her to stand again.

They wrapped her in the leathers, guiding her toward the nursery. She walked like a ghost, as if her body was still deciding whether or not it belonged here.

Wolfstar stood aside as she passed. She didn’t say anything either. She just watched.

Snowspeckle and Mallowstripe had already prepared a nest. Briarkit peeked from the far side of the den but didn’t approach. The air was hushed, reverent.

Nighthowl collapsed into the nest without protest. For a moment, she simply lay there, eyes wide, curled up like she was bracing for claws.

Instead, Snowspeckle crouched near the entrance, her voice low as she glanced toward Wolfstar. “She’s quiet, but resting.”

Wolfstar nodded. Her jaw was tight. “Good. Let her sleep.”

Together they left the nursery.

Outside, Lynxdawn leaned close to Mallowstripe. “Can you stay with her tonight? See if she has any meaningful dreams.”

He nodded, tail low. “I’ll make a stew of mushrooms and hare for her in the morning.”

Mallowstripe entered the den quietly, lying by the entrance, Nighthowl didn’t seem to hear him. Or if she did, she gave no sign.

Cat allegiances:

Wolfstar- 24 moons. Leader. Responsible. Compassionate. Natural intuition. Apprentice- Ripplepaw & Dropletpaw.

Lynxdawn- 19 moons. Lead Cleric. Thoughtful. Faithful. Good teacher.

Snowspeckle- 35 moons. Deputy. Artisan. Loving. Thoughtful. Good singer. Apprentice- Kelppaw

Nighthowl- 75 moons. Former kittypet. Insecure. Lonesome. Watches humans. Condition: pregnant. Torn pelt.

Nightleap- 39 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Sneaky. Incredible runner. Apprentice- Coralpaw.

Thistle-29 moons. Warrior. Troublesome. Thoughtful. Keen eye. Condition: Broken back & recovering from birth.

Mallowstripe- 25 moons. Camp keeper. Nervous. Careful. Strange dreamer.

Shadowdive- 23 moons. Warrior. Blood thirsty. Loyal. Good swimmer. Apprentice- Otterpaw & Sandpaw.

Ripplepaw - 11 moons. Warrior apprentice. Troublesome. Adventurous. Fast runner. Mentor- Wolfstar.

Otterpaw - 11 moons. Warrior apprentice. Insecure. Childish. Good swimmer. Mentor- Shadowdive.

Dropletpaw- 6 moons. Historian apprentice. Skittish. Shy. Interested in clan history.

Kelppaw- 6 moons. Artisan apprentice. Charming. Quiet. Plays in mud.

Coralpaw- 6 moons. Mediator apprentice. Noisy. Bossy. Never sits still.

Sandpaw- 6 moons. Warrior apprentice. Impulsive. Noisy. Moss ball hunter

Briarkit- 1/2 moon. Inquisitive. Shy. Picky nest builder.

Moon 0

#clangen #warrior cats #wc #saltclan #saltclan moon update #moon 18.5 #moon 18 #moon 19

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salt-clangen · 27 days ago

Text

Moon 19 pt 3

Leaf Fall

I’ll be honest, I’m not super happy with it but I really just wanted to get this posted.

Wolfstar moved like mist.

The harvest moon still glowed, heavy and gold behind her, spilling light into the gathering place where laughter and stories tangled with the scent of roasted prey. She had waited for the right moment—when the crowd grew looser, the elders half-asleep, and even Archstar wasn’t watching her anymore.

She had only needed a blink, a heartbeat, to vanish.

Now the night forest wrapped around her in silence. Northward, the trees thickened, taller and older than those near the sea. Ferns brushed her sides as she pushed through them, her pace steady. The gnarled roots of the forest floor were strange underpaw—she’d walked this way only once before, lost.

But now she came with clarity.

The point where the Great River split appeared ahead, the current loud in the quiet dark. She approached it without pause. The water was cold, a slap to the lungs as she plunged in. Her limbs churned, the silver water rushing against her as if trying to push her back. But she was not easily turned away.

She broke the surface on the far side with a gasp, claws sinking into clay as she hauled herself ashore.

Red mud smeared her white pelt in streaks, and she welcomed it. She dropped and rolled until her belly and flanks were slick and dull, the russet coating masking scent and shine. When she stood again, she was the color of the forest floor.

Wolfstar climbed the bank and did not look back.

DuskClan’s territory was different, no longer familiar. The air was thinner, sharper like mint, the trees closer together. She passed stone outcroppings and little dens half-lost to moss. Her breath came quieter now, steadier. The cold no longer clung to her—it was the pull of the Moon Spring that carried her forward.

A hush fell over the forest as the path climbed again. The stars blinked down through the trees, brighter now. Sacred.

And then—she saw it.

The Moon Spring lay cupped in a cave between ancient roots and stone. It was small—always smaller than the stories claimed. Just a spring-fed pool, rippling gentle. But moonlight shone off its surface like silver stars, and the air around it pulsed faintly with the breath of something deeper.

Wolfstar stepped forward slowly.

Her paws met the stone ledge, worn smooth by countless pilgrimages. She stared into the water. For a moment, her reflection stared back, clay-streaked and wild-eyed. A cat caught between fear and action.

Then the water shimmered.

Not stirred.

Not rippled.

Shimmered.

A presence brushed her back. Cold, familiar.

Wolfstar turned—and there, standing on the edge of the hollow, shadowed by the great tree roots that curved like ribs around the spring, was Jaggedstar.

Watching her.

As though she’d always been there.

For a moment, Jaggedstar didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

Wolfstar didn’t flinch.

She met Jaggedstar’s gaze across the moonlit spring, her breath rising in quiet clouds. The old leader didn’t speak, but Wolfstar could hear a voice anyway—echoing in the stillness. The Moon Spring shimmered again, and Wolfstar looked down.

She saw her own reflection, younger this time. Kit-soft, eyes wide with wonder.

It was a familiar scene before her now, her and the other Duskclan kits gathered around the sole nurse, listening to the same story. She had begged for this story every night, until even the warriors sighed when she asked. Her nursery mates had grumbled, her sitter had fallen asleep mid-sentence, but Wolfkit never tired of it.

The story of how the forest changed forever.

When the forest was young, it knew only struggle.

Cats lived in scattered families—clinging to survival, sleeping in hollowed logs and burrows dug by badgers long gone. They had no fire to keep the cold at bay, no tools to mend or build. Prey was eaten raw, sickness struck often and stayed long, and no cat had words for what ailed them.

The ancestors were there, even then. Always had been.

But their reach was faint. The world between life and death was thick, like ice on a winter pond. Spirits could only pass through if the living tore holes in it—and tearing came at a price. Rituals. Sacrifices. Moonlit gatherings that lasted until exhaustion. Not every attempt succeeded.

Diviners sought omens. Healers crushed bark and leaves between stones. But most cats died before they could learn enough to help anyone else.

Then came a cat named Oak.

A tom as broad as a tree root and twice as steady. He saw what others didn’t: that survival meant cooperation. He walked from den to den, not with force but with offers—behind him were his supporters, each with a different skill they could teach each other. Cats who could fight, cats who could hunt, fish, weave, heal. He helped teach each cat, in exchange for this he asked that they stayed and helped others.

More than that, he taught them how to listen.

He gathered cats together—not to rule them, but to protect them. Families became neighbors, then clanmates. Healers and diviners began working side-by-side. They called themselves Oak’s clan, and for the first time in memory, more kits lived to 12 moons than died.

But even Oak could not stop the dead from slipping away.

He sought the ancestors constantly, desperate for guidance. For a true bridge. A place where the veil was thinner.

And then came Dusk.

A young molly, born to a family of diviners. Her paws itched from birth, her gaze never fixed on what was in front of her. She saw things others couldn’t: shapes in flame, voices in the rain.

But one night, the ground shook. Trees cracked. And a path split open where none had been before.

She followed a starry cat through the broken earth, into a grove ringed by stone and starlight.

There, she found the Moon Spring.

A natural basin, fed by underground waters, ringed by bone-pale roots. She drank from it—and for the first time, the voices of the dead came not in flickers, but in words. They asked her name.

And she told them: Dusk.

With her, the ancestors wove themselves into the stars.

And with their guidance, Oak returned to the spring.

There, he lay down on the stones.

And gave up his life willingly.

Not in battle. Not to sickness.

He simply gave it. So the ancestors could take it, shape it, multiply it and give it back.

When he rose, he rose not as Oak, but as Oakstar.

Nine lives.

One clan.

Dusk became his first cleric.

And the cats who followed them spread outward like petals on a flower. The Moon Spring remained their lifeline, the one place where ancestors could speak clearly and dreams were more than dreams.

Wolfstar blinked slowly, the memory still warm in her chest.

She’d believed every word as a kit. Still did.

And now, she had come here not to tell the story—but to ask her own questions.

She turned her head slowly, to face Jaggedstar in full.

The older leader stood as she always had: poised, unreadable, her eyes locked on the water.

Wolfstar swallowed hard. “You always said stories were just lessons in disguise. So what’s this one trying to teach me?”

Jaggedstar stepped forward, just enough to cast her reflection into the spring across Wolfstar’s.

“You tell me,” she said.

Wolfstar bristled at the way the dark molly’s voice cut through the sacred silence. She wasn’t here to be tested. Not again.

“Fine,” Wolfstar said stiffly, dragging her paws from the water’s edge. “I’ll start with the first sign.”

She paced the short ledge, the dried clay falling in little clumps. Quickly she relayed each and every sign Saltclan had seen since their conception. Ending with the dream that had shaken her the most, what mallowstripe had seen as well.

“This is like a ghost story the elder’s tell.” She stepped closer, clay crunching underfoot to posture in the older molly’s face. “Don’t say this isn’t affecting all of us.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t,” Jaggedstar said flatly, but then her voice sharpened, teeth beneath velvet. “I’m saying you’ve made it impossible for us to face it together.”

Wolfstar blinked. “What?”

Jaggedstar stepped forward, tears flickering with starlight. “You’ve built something real. Strong. SaltClan should’ve drowned in its first season—but it didn’t. You didn’t. You kept it breathing. And thriving. And you didn’t need me to do it.”

Wolfstar recoiled. “I didn’t have a choice, you made it for both of us, remember.”

“You always had a choice!” Jaggedstar snapped. “You could’ve come back. We could’ve found a way. We could’ve stood side by side.”

Her voice shook now, edged with something bitter. “But you’re out there. With your own clan. With your own confidants. And every time we meet, we’re enemies.”

“I didn’t want to be your enemy,” she hissed. “I just wanted Lynxdawn to be safe.”

“And I wanted a daughter who stood with me,” Jaggedstar bit back, eyes glinting. “Not one who left me behind.”

“And I wanted a mother who didn’t look at a newborn kit and wonder if she should hold it under until the bubbles stopped!” Wolfstar shrieked, heart pounding in her ears.

A long stretch of silence sat between them. The trees seemed to still. The Moon Spring pulsed faintly.

“Why did Starclan show me that?” She asked, eyes locked on the spring. “Why, of all things, did they show me as a kit listening to a story?”

Jaggedstar didn’t answered, her eyes misty as she stared blankly at the rock wall just past her.

“Mother.” Wolfstar wheezed, eyes wide as she stared at the water.

“Yes.” Jaggedstar whispered.

“No, mother. Mothers.” She hissed her eyes were wild as they locked back onto hers. “This is a story about mothers.”

Jaggedstar felt dizzy. “What? What are you talking about?”

“This. Us, what happening now! The story, our story!” She gestured widely to the both of them. “You’re my mother, in the dream I was a tom and you were Lostclaw. You’re my mother, but whose mother is Lostclaw?”

“O-Oakstar!” Jaggedstar gasped, voice hiccuping from her surprise. “That’s why the pool showed you learning the moon spring story!”

“Yes!” Wolfstar felt like her heart was thundering. “It has to be, but I don’t understand how she became Lostclaw… as a kit you told me that every story was meant to teach something,” Wolfstar said eventually. “But maybe it left something out.”

Jaggedstar’s eyes narrowed. “You remember the story of Oakstar’s part in the moon spring. But do you remember the story of Oak the First?”

“…Oak the First?” Wolfstar blinked. “I thought he was the only Oak?”

Jaggedstar scoffed. “I shouldn’t be surprised. That’s what happens when you leave your training at six moons old and run a clan without a historian!”

Wolfstar’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you trying to say this is happening because SaltClan doesn’t have a historian?” she asked, ears flattening. The damp clay had puffed up her fur into a ridiculous halo.

Jaggedstar’s lip twitched despite herself. “No—but maybe you would’ve solved this sooner if you had!”

Wolfstar rolled her eyes. “Well why didn’t your historians know about Lostclaw?”

Jaggedstar didn’t miss a beat. “We didn’t have near as many clues as you did, did we?” she shot back, all smug and sparkle-eyed.

Wolfstar opened her mouth, then hesitated. “….”

“Exactly,” Jaggedstar said, flicking her tail. “So don’t start with me.”

Wolfstar sighed and sat down, tail curled around her ruddy paws. “…Fine. Tell me about Oak the First.”

Jaggedstar nodded slowly. Her voice changed—less sharp, more distant, like she was listening to the words as much as speaking them.

“Oakstar wasn’t born Oak. He was Root. He earned his name by holding the families together like a root holds soil. But his father was Oak. A massive tom, with paws like boulders and a voice like a storm.”

“He was the one who brought families together in the first place. Not through politics, not even through faith. Through strength. He protected them. Hunted for them. Taught them how to sharpen sticks on rock and how to scare predators off.”

Jaggedstar sighed. “But he wasn’t invincible. He died from carrion food, rotten prey. Root—Oakstar—was young. Barely out of apprentice age. And his mother, Moth…” she hesitated, eyes glinting. “Mothsong disappeared soon after. Cats claimed she wandered into the twolegplace and was killed. Some think she ran away. Either way, she was never seen again.”

Wolfstar’s breath caught. “Mothsong.”

“Yes,” Jaggedstar murmured. “That’s why Root was so desperate to speak with the dead. He wanted to know what happened to his mother. To ask her why she left.”

Wolfstar’s heart thudded.

But Jaggedstar went on. “The rest of the story you know. We keep it simple for the kits, but essentially Root led Oak’s clan, even changing his name to Oak to honor his father. When Dusk found the Moon Spring, he gave up his life to receive nine in return. He became Oakstar. The first to ever rise again.”

Wolfstar stared down into the Moon Spring, watching the ripples distort her reflection. The wind tugged gently at her whiskers.

She wanted to ask more, press further, dig—but something held her back.

“Jaggedstar,” she said slowly, “what if… what if Mothsong didn’t die or leave?”

The older molly’s ears turned toward her, but she didn’t answer right away.

“What if she got lost or taken?”

“I think it’s her,” Wolfstar whispered. “I think she’s out there. Watching all of us.”

They stared at each other in silence.

Finally, Jaggedstar stepped forward, eyes sharp with something new.

“Then I suppose the question is what to do next?”

Cat Allegiances:

Wolfstar- 25 moons. Leader. Responsible. Compassionate. Natural intuition. Apprentice- Dropletpaw.

Lynxdawn- 20 moons. Lead Cleric. Thoughtful. Faithful. Good teacher.

Snowspeckle- 36 moons. Deputy. Artisan. Loving. Thoughtful. Good singer. Apprentice- Kelppaw

Nighthowl- 76 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Lonesome. Watches humans. Condition: pregnant & Torn pelt.

Nightleap- 40 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Sneaky. Incredible runner. Apprentice- Coralpaw.

Thistle-30 moons. Warrior. Troublesome. Thoughtful. Keen eye. Condition: Broken back & recovering from birth.

Mallowstripe- 26 moons. Camp keeper. Nervous. Careful. Strange dreamer.

Shadowdive- 24 moons. Warrior. Blood thirsty. Loyal. Good swimmer. Apprentice-Sandpaw.

Rippleclaw- 12 moons. Warrior apprentice. Troublesome. Adventurous. Fast runner. Permanent condition: Partial Hearing Loss.

Ottersplash- 12 moons. Warrior apprentice. Competitive. Childish. Good swimmer.

Dropletpaw- 7 moons. Historian apprentice. Nervous. Lonesome. Interested in clan history. Mentor-Wolfstar

Kelppaw- 7 moons. Artisan apprentice. Charismatic. Responsible. Plays in mud. Mentor-Snowspeckle

Coralpaw- 7 moons. Mediator apprentice. Flamboyant. Confident. Never sits still. Mentor-Nightleap

Sandpaw- 7 moons. Warrior apprentice. Fierce. Confident. Moss ball hunter. Mentor- Shadowdive.

Briarkit- 1 moons. Inquisitive. Shy. Picky nest builder.

Moon 0

#clangen #warrior cats #wc #saltclan #saltclan moon update #moon 19

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