#Clammask

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 95, Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is she gone?" Slushtrail gulped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mosspounce?" she gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The release was not as painful as

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oilstar! Oilstar! Oilstar!" StarClan cheered.

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

Wait, Dovekit?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rippleclan]

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

Thus, the kitocalypse.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 75

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

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

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

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

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

Honeybuzz helps the three star-blessed apprentices.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you call?” the spirit groaned.

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

“Explain.”

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

“You are searching for a cure.”

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

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

“Why not?” Wolfpaw whimpered.

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

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

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

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

“Elaborate.” 

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

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

“Offer the dead—”

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

“No?” the spirit spat.

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

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

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

“But they will be cured.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t know,” she said softly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you want to learn?” 

“Thunderpaw makes it fun!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Thunderpaw: 7, female, caretaker apprentice,

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 59

Scrubmask was murdered. The culprit is unknown.

[Image ID: Downstar, Carnationspeckle, and James face Clammask. Under Clammask, Carnationspeckle and James, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING. Clammask says “I don’t… I don’t understand.”]

Scrubmask was scheduled for a border patrol at sunhigh, so she went for a walk in the morning. It was now late afternoon, and she had not returned to camp. For most cats, Clammask would have waited a while, wondering what mischief they got up to in their free time that kept them from their duties. But Scrubmask? No. Something was wrong.

Downstar sent out three patrols. Waspdawn led Tempestshade, Mosspounce, and Darkkick south. Weedfoot took Wildclaw, Elmsprout, and Drumpaw into the heart of the territory. Downstar’s patrol, which included Carnationspeckle, Halibutdusk, and shockingly, James, headed for the river. That left Clammask and the rest of her kits to wait in camp, stomachs twisted and claws itching.

“We should have our own patrol looking for Ma!” Leatherpaw snapped as he paced around the apprentice’s den. “Why does Drumpaw get to look for her, but we have to stay home?”

“Because your mentors are still in camp,” Clammask reminded her son. She sat in Drumpaw’s nest, giving her three sons extra company in the dreadful wait.

“Weedfoot’s on patrol,” Splashpaw pointed out, batting at the purple ribbon he chose to keep around his neck after his escapade.

“You’re still in trouble for disappearing, regardless of who you brought to camp,” Clammask huffed with a hard look.

“Hasn’t StarClan said anything, Honeypaw?” Leatherpaw huffed, turning to his lanky brother in the corner of the den. 

“Troutpool hasn’t taught me how to petition StarClan directly yet,” Honeypaw sighed. He laid on his side, tail flicking absent mindedly. “I’d go out if I could be any help, but I don’t think Ma wants us to see whatever problem she’s in.” 

“That’s right,” Clammask said. “Your mother wouldn’t want all four of her kits roaming the forest looking for her.”

“But Drumpaw gets to go,” Splashpaw muttered, getting to his feet and mimicking Leatherpaw’s pacing. 

Clammask gave up trying to steer her sons away from their doomed thinking. Instead she set her head on the edge of Scalepaw’s empty nest and studied the den. She hadn’t been inside the apprentice’s den since she graduated. She thought back to those first two moons, before Halibutdusk, Shadowdrop, and Wildclaw were apprenticed, the nights when it was just Clampaw, Burdockpaw, and Locustpaw, the first born to RippleClan, ready to make history. How many nights did Burdockcreek keep her and Locustseeker up with a new amazing story about the other Clans? How many pranks did Locustseeker scheme over when Clammask wasn’t looking? How different would it have been if Twinekit made it to that den as well? Oilstripe had told Clammask that all three were watching over her during the birth of her kits… were they there now, reminiscing with her?

A tortoiseshell pelt shifted outside the apprentice’s den. Clammask hurried to her paws. Downstar! She slipped around her impatient sons and joined her leader outside. Downstar, Carnationspeckle, and James all lingered near the entrance, exhaustion pulling at their pelts. Where was Halibutdusk?

“You haven’t found Scrubmask?” Clammask asked. Downstar started to say something, but she swallowed hard instead.

“Carnationspeckle,” Downstar muttered quietly to the brown ticked molly (whose fur had finally recovered from all the mats of her imprisonment), “find two cats to fetch the other patrols.” Carnationspeckle nodded, her stance stiff and paws uncertain as they led her to the warrior’s den.

“You’re stopping the search?” Leatherpaw launched out of the apprentice’s den, lips curled. “That’s our mother out there!”

“Leatherpaw,” Clammask growled, heart aching at the fear in her son’s eyes.

“We found your mother, Leatherpaw,” Downstar said softly. Clammask looked back to her leader. The world became just the two of them alone on the sand.

“I don’t…” Clammask gulped. “I don’t understand.” James whined softly and shook his head, retreating to the elder’s den.

“We found her in the river,” Downstar said. Her tail slipped under her. “She was muzzle-first in the water. I don’t know if someone held her under or smashed her head against the rocks–“

“Someone?” Leatherpaw yowled, his long pelt shaking and standing on end like Downstar was about to attack. “You said someone. You, you think a cat did it. You think a cat killed my mother!” Downstar flinched at the words. Splashpaw and Honeypaw stood in quiet horror in the mouth of the apprentice’s den.

The peaceful and content future Clammask imagined with her mate crumbled around her.

(Clammask: 53, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Leatherpaw: 7, male, warrior apprentice, vengeful, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

(Splashpaw: 7, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still, lover of art)

(Honeypaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

(Downstar: 118, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Carnationspeckle: 61, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(James: 135, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

An injured LynxClan warrior limps into camp, begging for sanctuary.

[Image ID: Leatherpaw, Honeypaw, and Trumpetspore watch a brown tabby enter camp. Trumpetspore yowls, “Spirit of Shadow!” Under the brown tabby, it says NEW PLAYER: RAPIDLEAF, 77, FEMALE, LONESOME, PROPHECY INTERPRETER, + CONDITION: WATER IN LUNGS.]

---

RippleClan had been through hard times; the war with AshClan, freeing Carnationspeckle… Scrubmask’s death, her murder, it was different. The confusion, grief, and rage that covered the Clan was different than anything Downstar had felt since founding the Clan. Scrubmask’s vigil was as noisy as a Gathering, with everyone arguing and debating what exactly happened to Scrubmask and if anyone could have prevented it. Leatherpaw was outright yowling at Trumpetspore, demanding someone, anyone, go out there and find his mother’s killer. Paleseed had to drag him back. Honeypaw was absorbed in weaving a vine necklace with Rabbitjoy, performing his duty as a cleric with unnatural solemnity. Splashpaw, idly rubbing his ribbon against his shoulder, would not leave his mother’s side. Drumpaw could not leave either cat alone.

Downstar didn’t want to think about Clammask.

When Puddlewhisper and Waspdawn returned from their investigation with Scrubmask’s body, they confirmed the patrol’s suspicions. The death blows matched that of a cat, but they were sloppy, lucky strikes. The river washed away the killer’s scent, and Scrubmask had no clumps of fur in her claws to narrow down the killer’s appearance. Both theorized that it was a Witch Hunter, some disgruntled member of the group who disapproved of the uneasy truce and decided to continue the killing. Yet Honeypaw, with a look in his eyes that screamed of wisdom older than he was, simply shook his head and returned to work.

Downstar couldn’t leave her den. First Fennelspot, her most loyal friend, with her since her first moments, gone in a ridiculous accident. Then Rustshade, her staunch supporter and former mate, taken by an oh so deadly disease. And now Scrubmask, the loyal young warrior who wanted something new. Downstar had only managed to drag herself out of camp with the news of Scrubmask’s disappearance. Now? Now it would take an act of StarClan to get her outside. 

She could not see her friend’s body again. She refused.

There was a place between sleep and consciousness that restored little energy and left the mind in a haze. That was where Downstar laid, quiet in her nest, when there was a shift to the chatter outside. Confused and angry mutters turned into sharp and shocked yowls.

“Spirit of Shadow!” Trumpetspore screeched. Downstar forced herself to her paws, heart pounding.

“Ya need your eyes checked, Ms. Trumpetspore,” Parsley scoffed. “That’s a cat.” Downstar hurried out of her den. Water dripped off short brown fur. Soaked paws caught the sand and left deep pawprints. Bleary cyan eyes bounced unfocused inside a large, gaunt skull. RippleClan hissed and instinctively gathered around Scrubmask’s body, despite there being nothing left of her to protect. Downstar recognized the enemy warrior. How could she not? In the days when she was Downdapple and RippleClan was but a dream, Scrubmask frequently appeared at Gatherings with her cousin, born at the same time as her, closer than cousins almost ever were; Rapidleaf.

Rapidleaf shook and coughed, water spilling out of her mouth. She blindly stumbled on, unaware of the angry cats around her. Honeypaw crept closer as Rapidleaf’s steps grew more and more unsteady. Honeypaw reached a paw out to Rapidleaf. Her eyes dilated, wide as the full moon. Rapidleaf swiped at Honeypaw. Her claws barely missed her eyes. Leatherpaw and Clammask, who suddenly snapped out of her spot beside her mate, grieving, tackled Rapidleaf. She shook and spluttered under their combined weight.

“How did a LynxClan warrior get all the way here?” Drumpaw gulped, sharing a scared glance with Splashpaw. 

“Perhaps she came here with a message from Mistlestar,” Spikecrash hummed, carefully approaching the trapped warrior. Darkkick, however, stood in front of her daughter and shook her head. 

“She’s half-drowned,” Troutpool huffed, weaving through the shocked crowd. “I don’t think she even knows where she is.” Rapidleaf panted hard, wild eyes glaring at Troutpool with a killer’s lust. Clammask shoved Rapidleaf’s face in the sand. Her shaking slowed and her eyes dropped. Leatherpaw froze.

“Mom, did we just kill her?” he gulped, turning to Clammask.

“She’s only unconscious,” Troutpool sighed, gently nudging Leatherpaw off. “StarClan only knows what she’s been through. Honeypaw, we need to bring her into the medicine den.”

“During Scrubmask’s vigil?” Trumpetspore huffed. “Shouldn’t we send her back to her Clan?”

“As though she could make it that far,” Honeypaw snapped, nosing Rapidleaf. Sand coated half her body. Troutpool would usually remind her apprentice to respect his elders, but Troutpool stayed silent and got Rapidleaf onto her back. In the confusion of the moment, Weedfoot slunk up to Downstar. Downstar startled at the sight of her loyal deputy.

“If I need to argue with Troutpool, I can,” Weedfoot muttered. “We can send a patrol to bring her home as soon as Troutpool treats her.”

“I’m not sending someone out to die,” Downstar snapped. She was so loud, nearby Clanmates turned their attention from the drowned newcomer to their angry leader. Weedfoot didn’t flinch at the sudden yowl, however. She kept a cool gaze. 

“The last few moons have hurt,” Weedfoot reminded her leader, “but don’t forget you still have a whole Clan at your side, Downstar.” Weedfoot brushed her tail against Downstar’s shoulder and followed Troutpool and Honeypaw into the medicine den. Downstar stared at her Clan. Her outburst was quickly ignored as her friends and family returned to mourning their first warrior. 

And Downstar? Downstar returned to her den.

(Downstar: 118, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Leatherpaw: 7, male, warrior apprentice, vengeful, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

(Honeypaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

(Splashpaw: 7, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still, lover of art)

(Drumpaw: 7, female, caretaker apprentice, loyal, moss-ball hunter) 

(Trumpetspore: 20, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Rapidleaf: 77, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

(Clammask: 53, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Spikecrash: 34, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Darkkick: 119, trans female, warrior, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Troutpool: 20, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense

(Weedfoot: 108, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Lavendertwist heals with a deep scar. He makes sure his collar covers it.

[Image ID: Lavendertwist has a big pink scar across his throat, covered by his black collar. Under him, it says LEVEL UP! GOOD SINGER -> GREAT SINGER, - CONDITION: CLAW WOUND.]

---

“Three—” Lavendertwist began to sing before a cough quickly took over. The sound grew muffled in the hum of the ocean at his paws. His stiff collar acted as a comforting weight against the large scar across his neck. Oh how he had missed his collar over the long season. He didn’t feel like a slab of leather anymore since Troutpool removed those stitches. 

“Three little kits—” Stars damn it! Another awful cough shook through Lavendertwist’s body. He had to get his voice back. He’d explode if he couldn’t talk! The last season of silence had been awful as it was! He slashed at the water with a hiss that made his wound ache.

“There you are!” Elmsprout trotted down the beach, squinting against the morning glow along the water. “From the way you’ve been eyeing the ocean from camp the last few moons, I knew you’d wander out here when you got the chance.” Lavendertwist’s grumpy mood softened as the friend who’d stuck with him throughout his healing journey took a spot beside him (although she refused to touch the salty waves; what a drypaw!). “I told Weedfoot I’d join you for a hunting patrol, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“I’m trying to sing,” Lavendertwist suddenly croaked, the words escaping before he finished his thought. His voice was so ragged! Troutpool insisted it would heal, but the thought of waiting another season to get his voice back made him grit his jaw tight.

“I could use a good song right now,” Elmsprout sighed. “I left AshClan to escape the stress and gloom being the leader’s daughter would bring about, and I didn’t join RippleClan to see everyone chase their tails over Scrubmask and Rapidleaf.” Lavendertwist brushed his paw against his neck, thinking.

“I taught her kits this song,” Lavendertwist said softly, so as to soothe his throat. “She and I weren’t the best mentor and apprentice, but I appreciate everything she did for me back then.”

“From what I know about StarClan,” Elmsprout hummed, “Scrubmask is probably listening now. She’d love to hear your songs, even if she never would have admitted it in life.” Elmsprout giggled as she insulted the dead, and that made Lavendertwist giggle too. He coughed again, swallowing hard. 

“I don’t think I can yet,” he muttered. Elmsprout stared at the blinding light on the ocean, eyes squinting as she thought up a solution.

“I’ll sing it for you?” she said, phrasing it like an uncertain question. “I’m not a good singer, but I can try. What’s the song?” Elmsprout’s gray fur glowed in the ocean’s salty spray, brightened by the simple kindness she likely didn’t realize she was showing.

“Three Little Kits From Camp,” Lavendertwist gulped, blinking wildly.

“I think I know that one,” Elmsprout said. She cleared her throat and sang, “Three little kits from camp are we, pert as a little kit can be, filled to the brim with youthful glee, three little kits from camp.” Elmsprout was right; she was not a good singer. She sounded more like a crow than a songbird.

But Lavendertwist didn’t care. He still loved it.

(Lavendertwist: 25, male, warrior, playful, great singer, good speaker)

(Elmsprout: 26, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

Mosspounce and Lemmy really think the Clan doesn’t notice how the pair look at each other? No one is shocked when they announce they are mates.

[Image ID: Mosspounce and Lemmy sit together. Under Mosspounce, it says + MATE: LEMMY. Under Lemmy, it says + MATE: MOSSPOUNCE.]

---

Yellowcough truly was awful. Sure, Lemmy was no longer trapped in a tiny human den filling up with her own sick and waste, she got the Clan’s strange medicine that helped her breathe, and Tempestshade would visit with whatever meal the artisans and caretakers had cooked that day. But she was still alone in the back of a shipwreck while everyone else in her new home tried to figure out who drowned Scrubmask in the river.

This was the sort of task Lemmy excelled at when she was with the Witch Hunters. It was why Madeline had trusted her to become an enforcer, someone who could protect the housecats and strays of the area under a shared leadership and set of rules. At least Puddlewhisper and Waspdawn were acknowledging her shared status as a codekeeper by filling her in on their investigation. If she had gotten to see the scene of the crime, Lemmy was certain she would know if the killer was a Witch Hunter or not. Alas, she would never know.

Couldn’t the clerics cure her already? She was supposed to be starting a life somewhere where she didn’t have to worry about everyone she slept beside turning on her for dreams she couldn’t control (thanks StarClan). She still had a foggy image of RippleClan in her mind. She should get to know her Clanmates!

“Food delivery!” Mosspounce carried a dried fish into the quarantine den, tail high. Lemmy had been finishing the last of her medicine when the black tom arrived. She swallowed the bitter medicine as Mosspounce set her food in front of her. Mosspounce then loafed a tail-length away with a stupidly happy expression on his face.

“You could get sick if you stay in here,” Lemmy pointed out as she bit into the fish.

“Troutpool says you’ll be better in less than a moon,” Mosspounce explained. “You probably aren’t even infectious anymore!”

“And yet I still feel like I’m breathing rocks,” Lemmy scoffed. Mosspounce chuckled, even though Lemmy wasn’t joking. Her pain eased slightly. 

“Well, um…” Mosspounce laughed, settling deeper into the den, “there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“Lemmy, did you finish your medicine?” Honeypaw poked his head into the quarantine den. “Oh, hello Mosspounce. Are you two finally mates now?” Lemmy stopped breathing. Mosspounce laughed again, this time with more strain in his voice as he kept his gaze away from the other cats in the den.

“I, uh,” Mosspounce coughed, “I was, uh… about to ask that. Actually. Thought, uh… since you helped me so much, Lemmy, and you know, left your home for us and all that… maybe we could be mates?” By the crows, the hope in Mosspounce’s face hurt. Why wasn’t Lemmy breathing? If she didn’t like Mosspounce, she would have been able to say so with ease. So why weren’t her words coming to her?

“Alright,” she said, despite herself. Mosspounce’s face glowed.

“Really?” Mosspounce gasped. “Thank you, Lemmy! I promise I’ll make you happy here.” He jumped to his paws and ran to Lemmy, but both Lemmy and Honeypaw hissed at him.

“She’s still sick!” Honeypaw reminded the eager new mate.

“Right, right,” Mosspounce gulped, backing up. His paw slipped on a clump of moss from a forgotten nest and his legs flew out from under him. 

In yet another awfully uncharacteristic moment for Lemmy, the young tortoiseshell laughed.

(Lemmy: 35, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Mosspounce: 20, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Honeypaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

James can hardly believe how quickly time has passed since Scalepaw was a kit. It feels like just yesterday he was tumbling around the nursery after a moss-ball. Full of pride and joy, James throws his head back and yowls the loudest as his son is named Scaleripple.

[Image ID: Scalepaw, now Scaleripple, stands as a long-furred adult with fully developed vitiligo. Under him, it says LEVEL UP! SCALEPAW -> SCALERIPPLE, AVID PLAY-FIGHTER -> FORMIDABLE FIGHTER.]

---

Scaleripple. Scaleripple. The white-speckled tom silently toyed with the new name as the final moments of his vigil crept to an end and dawn held the world tight. Had Downstar named him after the Clan? After his sister? Was the name based on him alone? He didn’t feel like the sign of change the suffix suggested. He felt rather dull, all things considered.

Although the view from the camp entrance did not allow Scaleripple to see the ocean, he could still hear the waves mix with the song of the morning birds. It was the world’s way of saying, “Hello, new warrior. You might be odd, but we are happy to have you.” It may have just been his own thoughts trying to comfort his strange habits, but it was a comfort nevertheless.

“Guess who gets to sleep!” Lavendertwist poked his head out of camp, beaming. His voice had lost some of the hoarseness from losing his stitches, but it wasn’t back to the bright ringing tone Scaleripple was familiar with.

“I’m not that tired,” Scaleripple noted, surprised at himself.

“The exhaustion will come on later,” Lavendertwist promised. “I was the same way after my vigil!” He sat next to his brother. “Just wanted to let you know before you go to sleep, I’m really proud of you! I know it was probably weird to have your brother as your mentor, especially when I couldn’t complete half of your training, but you turned out fine! You’ll be able to handle whatever comes your way.” Scaleripple dipped his head, warmth filling his chest. “Now, I mean it, go sleep! At least see your new nest.” 

Scaleripple’s tail perked up. He’d grown up with his older siblings telling him about when they came off their vigils and found tiny presents in their new nests. Lavendertwist was lucky; he got a small drum so he could make a beat to the artisans’ performances, singing along. What would Scaleripple’s gift be? 

The new warrior stood, muscles sore from sitting through the night. He followed Lavendertwist back into camp and, with a wave of his tail goodbye, entered the giant warrior’s den. Everyone was up and ready to start the day with the sun, leaving the den an empty field of nests. Well, save for one soul.

“Over here, Scaleripple!” Tempestshade chirped from beside the eastern wall. They kneaded the edge of a fresh nest, eyes sparkling. Scaleripple’s tail lifted higher, and he stepped into the den. His paw touched the soft pelts lining the floor. A painful shiver rattled through him. Oh, wonderful. It had taken him moons to grow used to the pelts of the nursery, then of the apprentice’s den, and how he would have to tolerate the pelts lining the warrior’s den. Yet Tempestshade, unlike so many others, noticed this.

“Hop on the other nests,” they suggested. “I won’t tell.” Tempestshade’s chuckle spurred Scaleripple on. He jumped onto Trumpetspore’s nest, then bounded across Elmsprout and Waspdawn’s nests to get to Tempestshade.

“I asked Rattlepelt if I could help her with your graduation gift,” Tempestshade said. “I hope you like it.” Scaleripple looked down. A small rattle sat amongst the moss and down. Scaleripple took it in his jaws and gently shook it. It wasn’t the loud clatter of many rattles, but something softer, like waves.

“I suggested she fill it with sand,” Tempestshade explained. “I know you tend to hide away during meetings and whatnot, the sound gets to be a lot for you. So, when that happens, you can shake your rattle and focus on the soft sound! It’s just like the ocean, isn’t it?” 

Scaleripple almost wanted to cry. He’d never talked about how peaceful the ocean sounded. He wasn’t much for words, after all. Yet Tempestshade knew. They knew, and Scaleripple didn’t have to explain himself.

“It does,” he said very, very softly, placing the rattle between his paws.

“I’m glad you like it!” Tempestshade cheered. They trotted out, but a moment later backed up into the den. “Uh, I’m glad you don’t leave when you’re alone with me. It… means a lot.” Scaleripple cocked his head. Omen or not, Tempestshade was lovely! Why shouldn’t others be alone with them?

“Alright,” he said. He and Tempestshade couldn’t look away for a while. Eventually Tempestshade licked their chest and hurried out. Scaleripple purred softly and curled up around his new rattle.

It was the best graduation gift ever.

(Scaleripple: 12, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Lavendertwist: 25, male, warrior, playful, great singer, good speaker)

(Tempestshade: 20, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Deeply depressed over the loss of her old friends, Downstar almost lets herself be taken by humans on a walk, but regains her spirit and fights back. The humans kill her in the struggle. While in StarClan, Fennelspot, Rustshade, and Scrubmask encourage her to push on; she still has many moons left to go.

[Image ID: Downstar faces Fennelspot, Rustshade, and Scrubmask. Under Downstar, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING, LIVES LEFT: 5.]

(Downstar: 118, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

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

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

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

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 88

Mitespark gets flustered when Wolverineheart compliments her woodworking skill.

[Image ID: Ravenweaver and Mitespark watch Wolverineheart go. Ravenweaver says, "You would be cute together!"]

(Ravenweaver: 23, female, artisan, nervous, den builder, very clever)

(Mitespark: 30, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)

(Wolverineheart: 20, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

Despite an awkward assessment, Shrewpaw recovers from his bruises and is named Shrewflame for his fierce confidence. Thundergale considers herself lucky to have mentored such a great cat.

[Image ID: Shrewflame is now an adult! Under him, it reads LEVEL UP! SHREWPAW → SHREWFLAME, COMPETITIVE → LOYAL, NEVER SITS STILL → FAST AS THE WIND. Thundergale watches proudly in the back.]

(Shrewflame: 12, male, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)

(Thundergale: 20, female, teacher, adventurous, good hunter, good speaker)

Halibutdusk is worried about the storm overhead, but continues on their date with Clammask anyway. As they walk along the river, a flash flood overcomes them. Halibutdusk clings to the stepping stones, but Clammask is washed to sea.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Clammask wander under a cloudy sky, where the ghosts of Twinekit, Locustseeker, Burdockcreek, and Rustshade watch and wait.]

(Halibutdusk: 80, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

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

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

(Burdockcreek: 40, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

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

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

Wildclaw and Honeybuzz grieve. Honeybuzz wonders how Stormjump is doing.

[Image ID: Wildclaw talks to her littermate, with + CONDITION: GRIEVING under her. On the other side, Stormjump speaks with Downstar and Carnationspeckle. Honeybuzz watches them both, + CONDITION: GRIEVING written under him.]

---

Stars damn it all.

Honeybuzz knew it was natural for a kit to sit vigil for their parents as the latter grew old and their fur turned gray, but Honeybuzz still felt too young to lose Clammask too. And this time, there was no clear culprit he could blame. Halibutdusk wasn't like Rapidleaf, they didn't shove Clammask into the water, and they didn't run from whatever role they played in Clammask's death either. They even offered their freedom up to Venturedapple and Cobaltchaser, willing to sit through a trial and sort out the details of the incident. Not that the outcome wasn't clear, though; this was no living cat's fault. Perhaps Clammask's littermates decided to call her home. Perhaps the All-Seeing prevented any warnings from reaching the clerics' ears so their grand plan could unfold.

Whoever decided Clammask would die that day, stars damn them.

At least the Clan had a body to sit vigil for. While on patrol, hoping that Clammask found her way back to shore, Rapidleaf, Asterblaze, and Tallowheart found Clammask's body drifting along the edge of the beach. Troutpool and Oilstripe mournfully reported Clammask's spirit escorting the body to camp before departing with Twinekit, Locustseeker, and Burdockcreek. Weevilsight and Carnationspeckle dried her body and made sure she looked her best. The last child of RippleClan's first litter, departed for the stars.

Honeybuzz muttered along to Troutpool and Estherfern's ritual as he, Splashtuft, Leathermask, and Drumtooth pressed their noses into their mother's pelt one last time. To the side, Wildclaw and Halibutdusk leaned into each other, each bearing the other's grief on their backs. A long pelt covered Halibutdusk, fighting off the chill of the autumn water. Yet Honeybuzz was the one who couldn't stop shivering. Stormjump, Carnationspeckle, and Downstar built a large fire to the side of the vigil—a dash of warmth to send Clammask up to Silverpelt. It did not calm Honeybuzz's body.

Vervaincough, Potterypool, and Moontide curled up along Clammask's back. Vervaincough's breath itched at Honeybuzz's neck. Neither Clammask's sons nor her daughters wanted to be the first to leave their mother behind and embrace the night that had slowly enveloped them over the course of the vigil. Yet when Honeybuzz dared look up from Clammask's still-damp fur, he could see Oilstripe, Mosspounce, and Slushtrail patiently waiting for their turn to mourn. Honeybuzz kneaded his mother's still belly. Could he really leave her behind? Would he see her the next time he visited StarClan's Shrine? Whatever the case, Honeybuzz couldn't stay with his siblings forever. Clammask wasn't just important to them.

Honeybuzz pried himself away from Clammask's body with a pitiful moan. His cicada wing necklace left an imprint in her fur. His paws mindlessly carried him away, leaving room for Oilstripe to mourn her little sister.

"Honeybuzz, wait," Leathermask whined, lifting his head from the vigil.

"Let him go, Leather," Splashtuft sighed. "I… I think I need to leave, too." Splashtuft shoved himself up and hurried to the warrior's den. Billowhaze and Tallowheart, who quietly shared tongues outside the den, followed their fellow historian in, ready to offer whatever comfort they could manage.

"I'm not leaving," Drumtooth promised, pressing closer to Leathermask as Mosspounce found his opening to mourn.

Honeybuzz wandered toward Stormjump and the growing fire. He had no real agenda, no idea what he needed, but in the bottom of his heart, he knew Stormjump could provide it. Stormjump, to her credit, was the first to notice Honeybuzz's approach. She set a piece of kindling to the side of the flames and turned to see who joined her, Carnationspeckle, and Downstar in their work.

"Honeybuzz," Stormjump cooed. "Come warm up. You look wet." Stormjump moved aside so Honeybuzz could creep closer to the fire. His shivering eased as Carnationspeckle gently groomed his fur the wrong way.

"What do you need, Honeybuzz?" Downstar asked.

"You tell me," Honeybuzz scoffed, resting his head on the warm sand.

"It's late, but we could prepare a simple stew," Carnationspeckle suggested. "Something with heart-healing herbs to warm our bones."

"The Clan already had their evening meal," Honeybuzz sighed. "Don't waste food for the sunhigh meal."

"Take it from an older cat, Honeybuzz," Downstar sighed, eyes trailing to Clammask's body. "A loss like this is going to hurt, and you won't be the same cat you were this morning. But eventually the good memories will pad around that loss, dampen the sound of the grief. It'll be there, and it will still hurt. But you'll have more and more joy to draw strength from, if you allow yourself to hold onto it." Carnationspeckle licked her former mentor's shoulder and rested her chin on her back. Honeybuzz just closed his eyes. That little speech seemed more for Downstar than for him.

He never told her. Honeybuzz never told Clammask the truth about Scrubmask and Rapidleaf. She knew now, finally reunited with her first mate. She knew about Honeybuzz's silence. Did she understand his intentions? Did she see the chaos the truth would bring? Or did she only see her son, the liar, the secret keeper, the cat who let a killer share the same den as his brothers and sisters without so much as a meow of protest?

"It's alright to cry, Honeybuzz," Stormjump sighed, nuzzling Honeybuzz's neck. Honeybuzz didn't realize his breath had begun to hitch. "Maybe you should get some sleep. Want me to walk you to the medicine den?" Honeybuzz swallowed hard and nodded. He forced himself up, but this time, Stormjump was there, leaning against Honeybuzz, catching his weight. The pair sank into the sand. Honeybuzz didn't care to wipe it off his paws when he entered his den.

He tumbled into his nest with a pitiful mew. Stormjump gently grabbed the leather cord of his cicada wing necklace and lifted it off his neck. She placed the necklace beside his nest.

"I'll make sure I'm in charge of the sunhigh meal tomorrow," Stormjump promised. "I'll make Clammask's favorite meal. Herb-pelted bird fillets. Sleep well, Honeybuzz. I'm sorry about today." Stormjump's tail waved gently as she turned out of the den.

Honeybuzz couldn't stop himself from falling asleep, a weight settling over his back. Yet as he did so, he could have sworn he heard one last thing as Stormjump left.

"I love you."

(Honeybuzz: 36, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Wildclaw: 80, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Halibutdusk: 80, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Leathermask: 36, male, warrior, nervous, good fighter, eloquent speaker)

(Splashtuft: 36, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Drumtooth: 36, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Stormjump: 19, female, caretaker, charismatic, incredible cook)

(Downstar: 147, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Carnationspeckle: 90, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

While participating in a battle training holiday with other warriors and caretakers in LynxClan territory, Mosspounce, Yarrowclaw, and Brightreed come across a cougar’s den; the same cougar that once decimated LynxClan. The trio lead the celebrating warriors to kill the cougar once and for all, with Mosspounce delivering a deadly blow, but his eyes are clawed up as a result.

[Image ID: Mosspounce, Brightreed, and Yarrowclaw follow bloody pawprints. Under Mosspounce, it says + CONDITION: DAMAGED EYES.]

(Mosspounce: 49, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Brightreed: 20, male, warrior, righteous, student of art)

(Yarrowclaw: 23, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 62

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You look tired,” Carnationspeckle whispered.

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

“Have you talked to Paleseed?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me neither.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where do you want to go?”

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

Had she been alive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello again, stranger.”

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

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

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

“Hi, Parsley,” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paleseed and Darkkick discuss Terracottafoot’s proposition.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spite,” Darkkick said, monotone.

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

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

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

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

That they were.

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

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

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

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 46

Burdockcreek died of greencough.

[Image ID: Clammask, Rustshade, and Weedfoot stand together, each with + CONDITION: GRIEVING underneath them. The ghosts of Twinekit, Burdockcreek, and Locustseeker stand above them.]

Fennelspot asked that Burdockcreek’s loved ones say goodbye to him before he passed. He was asleep, his breath strangled by mucus, but Fennelspot assured everyone that he would be able to hear them. He and Troutpaw moved Wildclaw back into the medicine den to give each member of the Clan their moment alone with the young historian. 

Oilstripe asked to go first and quietly stepped into the quarantine den. Burdockcreek laid curled up in his nest, the symptoms of his deadly condition draining down his face. Oilstripe took a quiet spot beside him.

“Is it okay that I don’t feel too heartbroken?” Oilstripe asked. “I don’t want you to go, of course. You’re my brother. I trained you. I don’t think I’m as close to you as Clammask or Dad, but I’m still your older sister. It’s just that… did you know Twinekit joins you on patrol some days? And Locustseeker watches us when we’re studying the world and telling stories to the kits. I still haven’t seen our mom after so many moons, but our siblings visit so much, it’s like they never left. I forget that’s not how it is for other people.

“What I mean to say is, Twinekit and Locustseeker are in the den with us. Twinekit insists that she’ll be the Fetcher for all of her littermates, it’s rather cute. It’s true, Twinekit! You’re perpetually cute. If you wanted to be taken seriously, you could have waited to die. Locustseeker’s here for moral support, Burdock. They’re excited to talk to you again. You’ll have a good time in StarClan. I’ll see you soon, little brother.” Oilstripe ran her tail over Burdockcreek’s feverish head and left her brother behind.

Weedfoot came in next. Her belly was swollen with her second litter, making her waddle into the den. She pressed her muzzle into Burdockcreek’s neck.

“You were as much my apprentice as Oilstripe’s,” she muttered. “You shouldn’t be leaving before I do. I’m sorry.” Weedfoot lingered in Burdockcreek’s unconscious embrace, unafraid of catching his disease. She only looked up when Clammask’s soft paws padded in.

“I’m sorry,” Weedfoot gulped, sitting up and clearing her throat. “I forgot this wasn’t his vigil yet. I’m taking up your time.”

“No, don’t leave,” Clammask croaked, stepping in front of Weedfoot when she moved to go. “I don’t want to say goodbye alone.” Weedfoot welcomed Clammask into her embrace, letting the golden molly rest her head under her chin. Weedfoot’s warmth covered Clammask. The deputy gently licked Clammask’s ear until she was ready to talk.

“Do you remember the last Harvest Moon,” Clammask mumbled, “when Burdockcreek challenged the LynxClan historians to a climbing competition? StarClan, he lost so bad, he moped behind the Leader’s Stone for… for… I can’t do this. I can’t remember my brother like this.” Clammask turned away from her dying brother. Weedfoot waddled to her side and walked her out of the den.

Rustshade came in a short while later. He stared at Burdockcreek, whose breathing had grown slow in the moments since Clammask left. Rustshade couldn’t keep his claws seathed.

“Are you here, StarClan?” Rustshade growled, looking up into the ceiling of the shipwreck. “You can’t take him. Why do you think you can take another of my kits from me? You don’t get Burdockcreek. You can’t have him.” Rustshade slipped beside his son. He closed his eyes, willing Burdockcreek to claw back from the edge and stay by his side.

Burdockcreek stopped breathing shortly after.

(Burdockcreek: 40, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Oilstripe: 50, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Weedfoot: 95, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Clammask: 40, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Rustshade: 90, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

Puddlepaw and Ripplepaw are the first of their litter to earn their names. Ripplefern gets moth wings from Downstar as a gift for graduating.

[Image ID: Puddlewhisper and Ripplefern stand as adults. Ripplefern has moth wings tucked behind her ear. Above Puddlewhisper, it says LEVEL UP! PUDDLEPAW -> PUDDLEWHISPER, ODDLY OBSERVANT -> NATURAL INTUITION, MORBID CURIOSITY -> GHOST SENSE. Above Ripplefern, it says LEVEL UP! RIPPLEPAW -> RIPPLEFERN, AVID PLAY-FIGHTER -> GOOD FIGHTER, SPLASHES IN PUDDLES -> TALENTED SWIMMER, + ACCESSORY: MOTH WINGS.]

(Puddlewhisper: 12, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

(Ripplefern: 12, female, historian, charismatic, good fighter, talented swimmer)

The AshClan cleric, Newtstream, asks for spare thyme. Fennelspot hands some over.

[Image ID: Fennelspot and Darkkick face Newtstream, who says “I really am glad you’re alive, Darkkick.” Darkkick responds, “Where was this concern when you let Autumnstar exile me?”]

---

Newtstream was there. She was there, in RippleClan’s camp, speaking with Fennelspot and Spikecrash like it was the most natural thing in the world. And she would notice Darkkick any second.

With his tail as tended-to as it would be for now, Parsley and Carnationspeckle offered to take Darkkick on a tour of the territory. It was strange to walk through land that Darkkick knew in passing, knowing that it may soon become as familiar to him as AshClan territory once was. With spring weather bringing life to the territory, Darkkick had a lot to say on how the caretakers were managing their gardens and utilizing the ocean. He couldn’t lie, when he had been AshClan’s clerics, he dreamed of the days when he’d lead a patrol to the ocean to collect rare salt, but now, once his tail was healed, he would be able to swim in that glistening water whenever he wanted. Perhaps he should have joined RippleClan earlier.

That simple joy crumbled when Darkkick’s tour group returned to camp near sunset and saw Newtstream sitting in the sand. Darkkick kept his face still as his former apprentice noticed him. As soon as her brown eyes widened, Darkkick strolled across the clearing, ignoring how his tail ached when he held it high.

“The rumors are true then,” Newtstream said softly, studying Darkkick. “You’ve returned to the Clans.”

“So I have,” Darkkick huffed. He refused to break eye contact with Newtstream. He would not break first. From the corner of his eye, Darkkick could see Spikecrash get ready to interject, but Fennelspot put his tail on her worn splint.

“I don’t see any reason AshClan can’t use some of RippleClan’s thyme incense,” Fennelspot said. A movement of his paw broke Newtstream’s stare. Fennelspot rolled an incense stick to Newtstream’s paws. “This bowl is a beautiful offering.” He placed his paw on the lip of a well-carved wooden bowl, perfect for ceremonies or meals for honored guests.

“AshClan thanks you, Fennelspot,” Newtstream said, bowing. “And it was good to meet you, Mediator Spikecrash. I hope your recovery continues as expected.”

“Thank you,” Spikecrash gulped, casting a glance at Darkkick. “It… will be nice to see you and your Clan’s mediators at my first Gathering. With the way my healing is progressing, Fennelspot says I’ll be better by the end of the season!” Spikecrash flexed her back paws. It seemed Fennelspot had done a good job.

“If you’ll speak to Halibutdusk over there,” Fennelspot explained, nodding to Halibutdusk by the oven, “he can escort you back to AshClan.”

“May StarClan watch over you, Fennelspot,” Newtstream said. She reached down for the incense, but paused. She stood back up and looked at Darkkick, her whiskers drooping. “I really am glad you’re alive, Darkkick.”

“Where was this concern when you let Autumnstar exile me?” Darkkick spat. His spit flew onto the incense. Newtstream closed her eyes for a moment. Then she picked up the incense and walked toward Halibutdusk.

“Spikecrash,” Fennelspot sighed, “it’s probably better that you not mention your relationship to Darkkick around other Clans. They may not take it well.”

“Because he was a cleric?” Spikecrash asked.

“Because she’s the reason I’m not one anymore,” Darkkick growled, cocking his head at Newtstream as she left camp. “StarClan told all the clerics that RippleClan was to be founded, and when I told Autumnstar, he called me a liar and exiled me. Newtstream was my apprentice. She said nothing in my defense, even though she saw the same things I did!” He yowled in the direction of the exit, knowing full well that Newtstream would be able to hear him.

“Darkkick may not be a cleric anymore,” Fennelspot explained, rubbing against Darkkick to soothe his shaking pelt, “but it’s better if the Clans get used to the idea of his return before hearing that he stopped keeping his oath.”

“That oath stopped bearing weight when I followed StarClan’s will and they did nothing to protect me,” Darkkick growled.

(Darkkick: 106, male, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Fennelspot: 103, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Spikecrash: 21, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 39, Part 2 (The Trial)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So soon?” Downstar sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am,” Rustshade said.

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

“We are,” Shadowdrop said, unflinching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quiet, quiet!” Weedfoot yowled over them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s nodding,” Oilstripe reported.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He wanted a family.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom…” Shadowdrop gulped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 44

Oilstripe’s whitecough and Mosskit’s greencough are gone, but Wildclaw catches greencough.

[Image ID: Mosskit and Oilstripe leave the medicine den in the back with the words - GREENCOUGH and - WHITECOUGH under them respectively. Wildclaw faces Fennelspot with the words + CONDITION: GREENCOUGH underneath her. Fennelspot says “StarClan, a whole season of disease…”]

It would have been nice if Fennelspot could end his day by saying “Ah, Oilstripe and Mosskit are symptom free, all I have to do is care for Burdockcreek and I can rest.” He even got Spike out of the den for a bit. But alas, StarClan had other plans for him.

“When the branches creak and the graves all quake,” Wildclaw sang at the top of her lungs as Rattlepelt led her into the medicine den, “spooks come out for a singing wake! Happy haunts materialize and begin to vocalize! Grim growling ghosts come out to socialize!” Wildclaw flung herself about as she sang, unbalanced. Her breathing was quick and her body shivered even as she seemed blissful in her odd dance. Fennelspot had been mixing some of Burdockcreek’s medicine into a small meal when the two mollies entered his den. He stopped mixing and stared at Wildclaw, quickly dreading the hours ahead.

“What is this?” Fennelspot groaned while Rattlepelt nudged Wildclaw toward a nest.

“I had to convince her she could help Rabbitjoy and I in a performance to get her out of her nest,” Rattlepelt said. “I think she has a fever.” Wildclaw sneezed mid-verse. Fennelspot stuck his nose in her ear.

“You’re right about that,” Fennelspot muttered. Wildclaw coughed and sputtered over her nest, spewing green gunk as she went. Fennelspot backed up. “StarClan, a whole season of disease… now Wildclaw has greencough too!” 

“Can I help?” Rattlepelt gulped as Fennelspot hurried to his stores.

“Try to convince her to eat dandelion leaves,” Fennelspot huffed, pointing his tail to the small stock of dried leaves amidst his wide collection. “I’ll need to make more black cherry tea than I expected. This is a severe fever, use all the leaves. We will make do.”

“Fennelspot!” Oilstripe hurried into the den and bumped into Rattlepelt. Rattlepelt dropped the dandelion leaves. Her paw smashed the delicate dry herbs into fragments.

“Oilstripe!” Fennelspot groaned. “We needed that!”

“Stars, I’m sorry,” Oilstripe gulped, her gaze touching on Wildclaw. “It was for her, right? Let me help, I’m sorry.”

“No, please,” Fennelspot groaned, blocking Oilstripe from his stores. “You just recovered from whitecough, I don’t need you catching greencough.”

“Oilstripe!” Wildclaw loopily cheered, tail rising. “Oilstripe. Oil, Oil… I just want to say… you are, by far, one of the most interesting cats I have ever met. I’m so jealous of you! Why can’t I see ghosts?” She rolled onto her side with a dramatic groan.

“Thanks?” Oilstripe chuckled. “Wait, no, I came in for a reason. Fennelspot, you asked me to keep an eye out for Shadowdrop’s spirit.” Fennelspot’s ears perked up. Rattlepelt paused next to Wildclaw who, despite her fevered haze, latched onto her brother’s name. 

“He’s here?” Fennelspot asked. 

“He’s in StarClan,” Oilstripe said with a nod. “I saw him a few minutes ago, watching his kits.”

“It’s been over a moon since he died, why is this the first time you’re seeing him?” Fennelspot asked, moving closer to his friend.

“He wouldn’t talk to me,” Oilstripe huffed. “I saw him, he saw me, he walked into the nursery, and when I looked inside, he was gone and Troutkit started questioning me about the ‘weird look’ on my face.”

“Told you he’d get to StarClan,” Wildclaw grumbled as Rattlepelt groomed her neck.

“I thought you should be the one to let Downstar know,” Oilstripe explained, tensing a bit at the leader’s name. “She’s… never been happy to hear about my sight.” Fennelspot hesitated. He still needed to make his batch of black cherry tea and find a different treatment for Wildclaw’s fever. He didn’t have time to talk to Downstar. And yet…

“You both wanted to help me?” he sighed, padding to the bundle of black cherry bark he kept close by in recent moons. “Then Rattlepelt, would you brew more black cherry tea for Wildclaw and Burdockcreek? After you get Wildclaw into the quarantine den, that is. We have it for a reason.” Rattlepelt nudged Wildclaw to her paws, despite the sick molly’s whining. “Oilstripe, I need aspen bark for Wildclaw’s fever. There are aspen trees near WheatClan’s border. Harvest the bark and get back to camp quickly. Is your father in with Downstar?”

“He’s with Burdockcreek,” Oilstripe said, inching out of the den. “I think Downstar’s with Weedfoot though! I’ll be back soon!” With that, Oilstripe ran out of camp. Rattlepelt escorted Wildclaw to the quarantine den. Fennelspot groomed his chest and prepared to give Downstar the news.

[Image ID: Fennelspot talks to Downstar, who is flanked by the spirits of Duskkit and Shadowdrop. Under Downstar, it says LEVEL UP! ADVENTUROUS -> WISE. Downstar says “There is no ‘getting better’, Fennelspot. I will always be like this. I have to learn to live with it.”]

Sure enough, Weedfoot and Downstar were both in the leader’s den, working through recent border patrol reports. Downstar noticed Fennelspot’s arrival first and paused mid-sentence, catching Weedfoot’s attention as well.

“Hello, Fennelspot,” Weedfoot purred. “We’re finishing up our discussion here, would you be able to wait a moment?”

“I just have something I need to tell Downstar,” Fennelspot explained. “I didn’t want to wait longer than need be.”

“Is it important?” Downstar asked. Fennelspot nodded softly, his nerves tickling his gut. “Well, go ahead and share the news, Fennel.” Fennelspot cleared his throat. 

“Shadowdrop has made it to StarClan,” Fennelspot said. “I… just received word.” Downstar and Weedfoot wouldn’t stop staring at Fennelspot. Part of him wanted to run away, but he waited as the weight of his announcement settled on Downstar’s bicolored fur.

“Six more lives to live,” Downstar muttered, “and I’ll see him again.” Weedfoot licked Downstar’s shoulder as the tortie leader bowed her head.

“I hope knowing he’s watching over you will help you get better,” Fennelspot said, bowing his head as well. Yet as he did so, the fur along his neck prickled. He looked up, and Downstar was glaring at him.

“Fennelspot, I need you to understand something,” Downstar grumbled. Weedfoot stepped back, feeling the raw energy rippling under Downstar’s fur. “I have been… I have not been my old self in almost two years. I can’t go back to being that molly no matter how much I learn. There is no ‘getting better’, Fennelspot. I will always be like this. I have to learn to live with it.”

“I’m sorry,” Fennelspot quickly stammered, “those were thoughtless words.”

“I’m not mad, Fennel,” Downstar groaned, shaking her head. “But… don’t treat what I have like you treat Burdockcreek’s greencough. It’s not something you can cure.” Fennelspot sunk into himself.

“Let’s get back to the border reports, Downstar,” Weedfoot muttered with a gentle touch to Downstar’s shoulder. Downstar nodded and Fennelspot carefully left the leader’s den.

The two of them could only do their best.

(Fennelspot: 101, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Wildclaw: 36, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Rattlepelt: 27, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Oilstripe: 48, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Weedfoot: 93, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Downstar: 103, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

Spike’s wound is no longer infected. She observes Clan dynamics with a knowing gaze.

[Image ID: Spike talks to Carnationspeckle, who says “Well, how do you want to spend your days?”. Underneath the brown tabby, it says LEVEL UP! SPIKE -> SPIKECRASH, - INFECTION. Lavenderpaw approaches, yowling “You’re staying?”. Underneath Lavenderpaw, it says LEVEL UP! BOLD -> PLAYFUL.]

---

Spike still couldn’t move much of her lower back, and she still needed help to move anywhere beyond the reach of her nest, but she was at least out of that stuffy den for a while. The snow covering camp made her shiver. The view from camp toward the ocean was unmatched, even though part of the coastline was blocked by the camp walls. Spike never had such a good view of the glimmering water from her home with her mother. 

In the deep shine of sunset, RippleClan was alive. Wildclaw sang through her fever as Rattlepelt led her to the quarantine den. Ripplepaw and Lavenderpaw sparred outside the apprentice’s den while Carnationspeckle enjoyed the sunset with Troutkit at her side. Mosskit and Tempestkit led their nervous sister out of the nursery to practice hunting stances. Parsley and James joked outside of the elder’s den about their old lives with humans, stories that sounded achingly familiar to Spike. In that moment, she felt more alive than she ever remembered feeling in that old shack with her mother and aunt.

“Someone looks happy!” Spike startled as Carnationspeckle suddenly appeared beside her. A bit of pain rippled down her back when her body shifted awkwardly in the snow, but she bit it down. She’d grown used to the stiffness and frustration of being unable to move without pain.

“What can I say?” Spike sighed. “This place… it’s nice. It’s peaceful.”

“Not a bad place to recover,” Carnationspeckle purred. Troutkit, who seemed to have doubled in size since Spike first met her, peered around her mother and studied Spike.

“Your back’s healing well,” Troutkit hummed. “I can’t smell the infection anymore.” Troutkit sniffed the stick supporting Spike’s broken spine.

“Fennelspot said my recovery is improving again,” Spike explained. 

“I’m going to be a cleric when I’m apprenticed next moon,” Troutkit explained, hesitating between her words. “I’ll try to help you walk again.”

“Thank you, Troutkit.” Spike couldn’t help but purr at the way Troutkit stood a bit taller when she talked about helping. Troutkit hid behind her whiskers at the compliment. 

“You’re really starting to fit into life in RippleClan,” Carnationspeckle chirped. “Have you thought about staying once you’re healed?” The few muscles Spike could move in her lower half tensed.

“I can’t,” Spike muttered, shaking her head before she could say something she regretted. “My mom needs me. She won’t do well on her own. I don’t know if my father has seen her since I left, she could be…” She stopped, remembering the presence of the young kit at Carnationspeckle’s side.

“But if you had the choice,” Carnationspeckle asked, tucking her paws under her, “would you want to stay?”

“What’s the point of daydreaming if I can’t stay here forever?” Spike groaned.

“What if you asked your mom if you could stay?” Troutkit suggested. She copied how her mother sat, casting insecure glances at Spike as she talked. “If she loves you, she’d want you to be happy. You can always visit her!”

“My mother isn’t like your mothers, Troutkit,” Spike sighed. “She… well, she’s sick. She has been for a long time. She doesn’t see the world like we do, and that can get her hurt. She needs someone to look after her.”

“But don’t you deserve to be happy?” Troutkit asked. “Wouldn’t she want you to be happy?” Spike laid her head in the snow. Her deep sigh collected around her in a soft fog. It felt selfish, but didn’t she say something similar to Cinderella moons back, when her family was whole and Cinderella felt guilty for speaking to her Clan cat friend when she could be hunting?

“If I were to join,” Spike said hesitantly, “would I take one of the roles you talk about so much? What would I do with myself?”

“Well, how do you want to spend your days?” Carnationspeckle asked. Spike thought about it for a few minutes, letting the happy chatter of the Clan calm her nerves.

“I’ve spent a lot of my life helping my mother battle her demons,” Spike eventually said, pushing herself up. “I think I’m better at that than I ever was helping Cinderella in the hunt. Isn’t Palepaw training to help others in that way?” 

“She’s going to be the Clan’s first mediator,” Carnationspeckle purred.

“Then I’d feel less selfish if I was helping others,” Spike said with a bit more confidence.

“You’re staying?” Lavenderpaw scrambled away from his brother and bounded up to Spike and Carnationspeckle. “You’re joining RippleClan?”

“I think I am,” Spike purred. Lavenderpaw laughed, running and dancing around Spike. Carnationspeckle and Troutkit both giggled at Lavenderpaw’s antics.

“You should take a Clan name!” Lavenderpaw gasped. “Something like… Spikestrike! No, no, I have something better. Spikecrash!”

“That sounds so violent,” Carnationspeckle chuckled.

“It sounds powerful,” Lavenderpaw corrected her. “You should ask Downstar to name you Spikecrash!”

“Spikecrash…” the brown tabby hummed. “I like that name.”

(Spikecrash: 19, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Carnationspeckle: 46, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Troutkit: 5, female, kit, insecure, morbid curiosity)

(Lavenderpaw: 10, male, warrior apprentice, bold, loves to sing)

As Weedfoot leads a patrol with Clammask, Oilstripe, and Ripplepaw, an AshClan apprentice catches them by the border and begs to join RippleClan.

[Image ID: Weedfoot, Clammask, Oilstripe, and Ripplepaw face a silvery-pink apprentice with white spots and green eyes. Under her, it says NEW PLAYER: ELMPAW, 11, FEMALE, CHARISMATIC, CAREFUL LISTENER.]

---

The patrol to find Daphne, Spikecrash’s mother, was shockingly uneventful. Weedfoot took Clammask, Oilstripe, and Ripplepaw out the morning after Spikecrash asked the Clan to inform her mother of her new life. It didn’t take long to find where she had once lived with her mother, although no cat matching Daphne’s brown description lived in the abandoned human den on the edge of a vast field of wheat. A passing barn cat told the patrol Daphne had been scooped up by the humans who lived beyond the wheat field, so Weedfoot asked them to pass on their message and directed the patrol back to RippleClan territory.

Of course, there was still plenty of time left for the patrol to check some of the other borders of the Clan. Sure, the weather was cold and the snow tickled, but there was an energy to the patrol that day that no one wanted to destroy.

“When it gets warmer,” Ripplepaw promised, “I want to show the cats in LynxClan how we turn ocean water into drinking water. They’ll be so envious of us!”

“Alright, we don’t want to brag all the time,” Oilstripe laughed, playfully nudging her apprentice. “Just tell me how it works. I want to see if you actually understand it.”

“I’ve never had a head for science, personally,” Clammask chuckled as she and Weedfoot walked behind the excited mentor/apprentice pair. “I’m glad I don’t have to teach any of my apprentices how plants grow or how the stars move.”

“That’s why you’re a caretaker and we’re historians,” Weedfoot purred into Clammask’s ear. “Don’t tell Ripplepaw I’ve said this, or she’ll tell her brothers and make them jealous, but I’m rather proud the kit I named after this Clan is the one who decided to be a historian like me.”

“Do you think your kits have lived up to their namesakes so far?” 

“I can’t help but see a more mature version of the first Wasppaw in my son. The other three are quite different from the cats I knew though.”

“I could only imagine how Puddlespeckle might have felt about Puddlepaw. It would have been funny to see.” Weedfoot laughed alongside Clammask as Ripplepaw finished her surprise quiz.

“Ah, and here’s the AshClan border,” Oilstripe purred as the patrol approached the ever-familiar territory they once fought against. “If we fought AshClan back in the day with the size of our Clan now, we would have had a much easier time beating them.”

“I think another border patrol already beat us here,” Ripplepaw pointed out, scenting the air. “Our scent is fresh.”

“That just means less for us to do,” Weedfoo purred, stretching her hind legs. “It’s been wonderful walking with all of you, but I think we should head home and curl up around a fire before our paws get too cold.”

“Deputy Weedfoot?” A soft voice danced over the AshClan border. Everyone’s ears stood tall. Weedfoot took the lead and scanned AshClan’s heavy trees,

“Show yourself, please,” Weedfoot huffed at nothing. A chunk of snow fell from the trees. A long-furred, silvery molly jumped from the upper branches and landed squarely in front of Weedfoot. Oilstripe and Clammask took defensive poses beside their deputy. The newcomer shook loose snow off her thick pelt. She locked eyes with Weedfoot and bowed low and long in a way only an AshClan cat ever would.

“Deputy Weedfoot,” the young molly gulped, head still low, “do you know who I am?” It was hard for Weedfoot not to know. She shared her father’s smokey fur.

“Elmpaw, am I right?” Ripplepaw chirped. “You’re one of the caretaker apprentices in AshClan.”

“And Eelgrowl’s daughter,” Weedfoot said quietly. Oilstripe moved closer to Weedfoot at the mention of the tom’s name. Ripplepaw shifted back, her cheerful expression slightly strained.

“He’s Eelstar now, ma’am,” Elmpaw explained, daring to look up.

“Autumnstar’s dead?” Clammask snapped.

“For two days now, ma’am,” Elmpaw muttered. 

Weedfoot couldn’t get over Elmpaw’s news. Eelstar? The tom who murdered Weedfoot’s mate had finally become leader of AshClan? Weedfoot had prayed he would retire or pass on before Autumnstar. But now… what was Weedfoot supposed to do about him? How could she ever hope to work with him when he…

“Where’s your mentor?” Oilstripe asked.

“I snuck away,” Elmpaw said. She gave herself a few good licks, smoothing out her fluffy fur, and said in as respectful a voice as she could muster, “Deputy Weedfoot, I’ve grown up with stories of RippleClan’s open acceptance of loners and kittypets and all sorts of cats. I ask that you allow me sanctuary in RippleClan. I cannot live under Father’s leadership, ma’am. I’ll be a great caretaker for RippleClan, so please… take me back to your camp.” Weedfoot kept staring. She still hadn’t fully processed Eelstar’s ascension.

“You want to leave your Clan when your father has just become leader?” Clammask huffed. “Why would you do that? Knowing your Clan’s culture, you’d be in a position of honor.”

“I don’t want a position of honor, ma’am,” Elmpaw groaned. “I don’t want all the expectations that come with being the leader’s daughter! I’m not a leaderly molly. I could barely handle the responsibilities of being a deputy’s daughter.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Clammask sighed, “but I don’t think we can in good conscience take an apprentice—”

“You can finish your training under Downstar,” Weedfoot finally said. She walked to the edge of the border and touched noses with Elmpaw. “I’m certain she’ll agree to let you join us. If you don’t want to live in AshClan’s culture, RippleClan is a safe place for you.” Elmpaw purred deeply. Her green eyes glittered in the shimmer of sunhigh. She pounced over the border and bowed once more to Weedfoot.

“We don’t bow in RippleClan, to start,” Oilstripe laughed. Elmpaw quickly stood, brushing off her AshClan manners with a strained chuckle.

“Weedfoot…” Clammask muttered, but this time, Ripplepaw interrupted her.

“We need to start our relationship with Eelstar on the right paw and show him he can’t do what Autumnstar used to do,” Ripplepaw declared, rubbing against Elmpaw. “What better way to do that than by stealing his daughter right under his nose?”

“What better way indeed,” Weedfoot muttered. 

I hope you’d approve of this, Paleshade.

(Weedfoot: 93, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Ripplepaw: 10, female, historian apprentice, charismatic, avid play-fighter, splashes in puddles)

(Oilstripe: 48, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Clammask: 38, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Elmpaw: 11, female, caretaker apprentice, charismatic, careful listener)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 65

Clammask gives birth to three healthy mollies not long after Halibutdusk gets greencough. Worried, Clammask decides to name them early.

[Image ID: With Halibutdusk in the background sporting + CONDITION: GREENCOUGH under them, Clammask faces three newborn kits; one red tabby, one white tabby, one black tabby. Under the red tabby, it says NEW PLAYER: POTTERYKIT, 0, FEMALE, SELF-CONSCIOUS. The white kit says NEW PLAYER: MOONKIT, 0, FEMALE, QUIET. Lastly, the black kit says NEW PLAYER: VERVAINKIT, 0, FEMALE, FEARLESS. Under Clammask, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH.]

Somehow, giving birth to three kits was more exhausting than five. Perhaps it was all the stress of recent moons; Scrubmask’s death, three of Clammask’s four kits coming down with food poisoning, casually seeing Halibutdusk only to become pregnant… that was a lot for one molly to handle! Add in the fact that the moon did not shine over the Clans on the first day of autumn’s third moon when Clammask felt a familiar pain in her gut, and Halibutdusk was stuck in the quarantine den with a loud case of greencough, how could she not be stressed?

This kitting was shorter, thank StarClan. It was still nightfall when Clammask cleaned off her last little kit and helped her snuggle up to her belly. Oilstripe, Tallowkit, and Slushkit had vacated the nursery for a while to give Clammask room to kit, but Lemmy, her belly fat against her thin frame, still slept inside, dreams undisturbed by the new life born to the Clan. The only other cat in the nursery was Troutpool (Clammask simply couldn’t ask her own son to help deliver her kits, it felt so strange!). 

The head cleric carefully examined the three mollies at Clammask’s side while the golden molly caught her breath. The first was red with markings that reminded Clammask of her father. The second-born kit was white, with pale gray rosettes along her back. Although she was still slick from birth, Clammask could tell she would be long-furred in the future. The youngest looked so much like Drumtooth that Clammask was taken aback for a moment.

“They all look very healthy,” Troutpool said, stepping back. She placed her dirty bowl (once full of strengthening medicine for the kitting) and the broken stick Clammask bit into a basket at the den’s edge. “I don’t notice any deformed limbs or other issues. I… I won’t try to predict their future this time.” Clammask licked each kit’s head. None of them looked like her lost golden daughter. Perhaps that was for the best. “Do you still want me to perform that ceremony we discussed?”

“It would make me feel better,” Clammask sighed. Troutpool nodded and stuck her face into her basket. She took out a tiny jar; the gouges carved in for teeth holds left little room on the inside. She peeled off the thin leather lid trapping the contents. The jar was full of dirt. Troutpool sprinkled a bit of dirt over each kitten’s back. Each was too caught up in the shock of being alive, mewing and nursing, to really care.

“Dustfur, Celestial of the Newborn,” Troutpool prayed, setting the jar at Clammask’s head, “you taught the Clans not to mourn the stillborn and those taken before they even got a chance to see the faces of their kin. You were the one who revealed to us how StarClan accompanies litters on their way to the Clans and return to Silverpelt when their time is done. One of Clammask’s kits was one of these StarClan guardians. We do not know what awaits these kits in the coming quarter moon, but we ask you, give them souls of their own. Allow them to grow into strong and proud individuals who will make RippleClan proud. Do not taunt Clammask once more by taking a kit away. Allow them all to live, Dustfur. Give us your celestial blessing.” The ritual done, Troutpool licked the dirt off the kittens, sneering at the taste. 

“If one of your daughters is a StarClan warrior,” Troutpool explained, “performing this ritual so soon after their birth may allow them to become cats of their own, rather than a protector for the others.” Clammask nudged her little mollies back to her belly, purring as they cried outrage at yet another grooming. “When you feel strong enough, we can move you to a fresh nest and get rid of all this dirty moss. Do you need anything else?”

“Maybe a leather pelt over my back?” Clammask asked. “It’s a cold night.”

“I’ll also have Mosspounce build a fire outside the den when he wakes up,” Troutpool promised with a nod. She touched noses with Clammask and trotted off. 

With a few moments alone in the nursery, Clammask stared at her daughters. Halibutdusk’s daughters too. Scrubmask wasn’t one to hold grudges, Clammask doubted she would be mad at her for finding another mate. But was she right for Halibutdusk? Her feelings for them were not a perfect match to her relationship with Scrubmask. Perhaps it was because she grew up alongside Halibutdusk, shared every heartbreak and celebration alongside them. Scrubmask was a whirlwind that pulled Clammask into a new life, a new family. Halibutdusk had just… always been there. They were the ocean, forever licking the shore, something whose absence Clammask could not imagine.

She prayed she would not have to live in that absence soon.

“I’ll warn you now,” Troutpool said, entering the den with a stitched-up pelt thrown across her back, “your sons are chomping at my tail to see you.” Troutpool threw the pelt over Clammask’s haunches.

“Send them in,” Clammask purred.

“We can come in? Finally!” Honeybuzz and Splashtuft shoved their way into the nursery, bumping shoulders to get a better look at their new siblings. Leathermask and Drumtooth lingered behind them, trying to catch a glimpse from the side. Honeybuzz and Splashtuft almost knocked Troutpool over.

“Is that all of them?” Leathermask gasped, squirming between his two boisterous brothers.

“They’re all mollies,” Clammask purred. “How funny is that?”

“Big brothers for little sisters,” Drumtooth hummed, finally managing to get into the den by shoving Splashtuft’s big flank to the side.

“I don’t suppose you can let me out?” Troutpool chuckled, slipping her basket around her neck.

“Sorry, Troutpool,” Splashtuft chirped. He moved to the side and knocked Drumtooth against the den wall. Troutpool left before she became the next victim of the litter’s excitement.

“How do you feel, Mom?” Honeybuzz asked. His clerical eye studied Clammask’s messy nest and the newborn shine on his sisters’ pelts.

“Very tired,” Clammask admitted, “but very happy. And I'm a little nervous if I’m honest.” Clammask nuzzled her daughters once more. “I want to do something, but I’m afraid you may judge me a little, Honeybuzz. I know I should wait to name them, like Scrubmask and I waited to name you four, but I don’t want to do that this time around. I want them to have names now.” Clammask was right; the enthusiasm in Honeybuzz’s face froze as he tried not to let it drop.

“Don’t do that,” Drumtooth huffed, appearing on the other side of the pack and shoving Honeybuzz’s shoulder.

“If you want,” Clammask sighed, “you can help name your sisters. We can keep it between the five of us for now.” 

“Really?” Leathermask gasped softly. “Honeybuzz, let’s name the red kit first!” Honeybuzz squirmed a bit, but joined his brown-furred brother in study of their red-colored sister.

“Could we call her Redkit?” Honeybuzz suggested.

“That’s such a boring name,” Splashtuft scoffed. Clammask couldn’t help but laugh at that. He looked so much like Scrubmask in that moment.

“Troutpool left something behind,” Leathermask pointed out. The small jar with the ritual dust still sat at Clammask’s head. “Huh. The jar is the same color as the red kit’s fur. What if we called her Potterykit?”

“I approve,” Clammask purred. “Let your other brothers name the white molly.” Drumtooth squirmed closer to Splashtuft and they turned their gaze to the long-furred kitten.

“I want to name her Moonkit,” Drumtooth said.

“But our Clan’s guide is called Moonpaw,” Honeybuzz reminded him. “That feels… wrong, in a way.”

“StarClan isn’t going to ban the use of a prefix for the rest of history just because of one cat,” Splashtuft scoffed. “I like it, Drumtooth. Potterykit and Moonkit.”

“But what in the world do we call the last kitten?” Leathermask sighed. All four brothers leaned so close to the black molly, they were practically touching Clammask’s belly.

“I can’t think of a single good name for her,” Splashtuft muttered.

“Nightkit?” Leathermask suggested.

“How many black cats in history have been named Nightkit?” Drumtooth said. “Don’t we want our sister to stand out?”

“Stormkit, Butterflykit, Oysterkit…” Honeybuzz muttered. “Hootkit?”

“Hootkit?” Splashtuft laughed. “Do you want apprentices to make fun of her at Gatherings?”

“Hear me out, hear me out,” Drumtooth said, his soft voice catching his brothers’ attention. “Vervainkit.”

“But vervain is purple,” Splashtuft said.

“And drums are brown,” Drumtooth pointed out. “Vervains are pretty flowers. Something about their color reminds me of her.”

“Potterykit, Moonkit, and Vervainkit,” Clammask declared. She leaned over and nuzzled all of her kits, toms and mollies, newborn and adult. “Welcome to the family.” All four toms purred deeply.

“Do you think Halibutdusk will be upset that we named the kits without them?” Drumtooth wondered. 

“To be fair,” Splashtuft chuckled, pulling back, “we don’t have to tell them.”

“I know you all said you were happy for me,” Clammask said, shuffling tighter around the newborns, “but I want to be sure here. They aren’t a replacement for Scrubmask. I wasn’t trying to do that.”

“We know, Mom,” Honeybuzz promised. “We’ll still love the kits. We’re happy to have little sisters to care for.” Clammask’s purrs took over her entire body. Her sons gathered around her and groomed her tired pelt as she soaked in the joy.

(Clammask: 59, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Halibutdusk: 57, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Splashtuft: 13, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Leathermask: 13, male, warrior, nervous, great speaker, good fighter)

(Drumtooth: 13, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Potterykit: 0, female, kit, self-conscious)

(Moonkit: 0, female, kit, quiet)

(Vervainkit: 0, female, kit, fearless)

Lavendertwist works with the AshClan historians to make a proper record of the Rippling Ashes (Darkkick, Weedfoot, and Paleseed) and their exploits in the Dark Forest.

[Image ID: Lavendertwist and Splashtuft face a black rosette apprentice. Under her, it says NEW PLAYER: MITEPAW, 7, FEMALE, INSECURE, QUICK TO MAKE PEACE.]

---

“It’s hard to believe our former leader would grow to hate us so much…” sighed Minkshine, an AshClan historian. She and two other historians, Blackmist and Comfreytoe, sat along the AshClan border while Lavendertwist and Splashtuft lounged on their side, sharing tongues with their forest counterparts. It was sunhigh, after all, and if the group was going to spend most of the day describing the official story of the Rippling Ashes, Lavendertwist and Splashtuft were going to relax.

“When you’re stuck in your ways like he was,” Lavendertwist sighed, “friends can quickly become enemies.”

“So Autumnstar used his Dark Forest powers to curse AshClan…” Blackmist muttered, grooming Splashtuft’s long fur as he spoke. “So many of our friends and family died because of him… their names have to be recorded in the story. All of them.”

“Ah, name memorization,” Lavendertwist chuckled, squirming. “My old nemesis.”

“I can handle that,” Splashtuft chirped. “Start listing out names, Blackmist.”

“Actually,” Comfreytoe groaned, glancing back into the trees of AshClan, “we’re still waiting on someone. She should be here before we continue.”

“Who’s our special guest?” Lavendertwist asked, leaves crunching underneath him as he rolled onto his back. 

“Someone who needs a fresh start,” Comfreytoe sighed.

“It’s still hard to believe Eelstar and Barkfur agreed to this,” Blackmist muttered, letting Splashtuft take a turn grooming him, “but if Mitepaw can find some peace from it, so be it.”

“Mitepaw?” Lavendertwist hummed.

“I’m here!” a young voice gulped. While Lavendertwist heard the cat crunching leaves under her paws and panting, he only saw her once she stood in front of a pale bush. She was one of the blackest cats Lavendertwist had ever seen, with even blacket rosette markings. Pale yellow eyes bounced between Lavendertwist and Splashtuft. Bouldersong, one of AshClan’s caretakers, joined the small apprentice.

“RippleClan,” Bouldersong purred, placing his tail on the apprentice’s back, “I would like you to meet Mitepaw. She would like to join your Clan.”

“What?” Splashtuft gasped, sitting up so quickly that his head smacked Blackmist’s jaw. 

“Both of her parents died as a result of the chronic frostbite that kept infecting our older Clanmates,” Minkshine explained as Mitepaw rubbed a paw deep into the leaf litter. “She’s struggled in our Clan ever since. We believe that in order to give her a fresh start, she needs to leave our home for another. Since RippleClan’s developed a reputation for accepting wayward apprentices, we thought she would fit in well with you.”

“Eelstar is letting one of his apprentices join RippleClan?” Lavendertwist scoffed. “I thought he hated us.”

“His opinions are more nuanced than you’d think,” Comfreytoe insisted. “Mitepaw is an artisan apprentice. She has a knack for woodwork and should take to your Clan’s crafts well.”

“You really want to join us, Mitepaw?” Splashtuft asked. He risked crossing the border to approach the small apprentice. Since no one clawed his ears off, he kept going. “This isn’t a decision you can take back.” Mitepaw hesitated, words getting caught in her mouth. She looked at her Clanmates, as though waiting for someone to snap at her. She swallowed hard.

“I don’t like AshClan,” Mitepaw said. “Everyone is grieving. It makes it hard to breathe. I don’t want to grow up in a Clan that’s carrying such hurt with them.” The AshClan historians grew lost as Mitepaw explained herself. No one countered her claim.

“I’m sure Downstar will welcome you, then,” Splashtuft purred, touching noses with Mitepaw.

“You can always talk to your old Clanmates at Gatherings, Mitepaw,” Bouldersong sighed. “I hope RippleClan will be better for you than we have been.” Bouldersong licked Mitepaw’s ear. The young apprentice purred softly. She left Bouldersong’s side and joined Splashtuft.

“So you’ll take her to your camp when we’re finished here?” Minkshine asked.

“Absolutely,” Lavendertwist promised as Splashtuft led Mitepaw across the border. “We have just the mentor for her.” 

(Lavendertwist: 31, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Splashtuft: 13, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Mitepaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, quick to make peace)

[Image ID: Rapidleaf, Asterpaw, and Elmsprout stand behind Mitepaw as she listens to Rattlepelt say, “It will be better for you to live in a Clan that is loyal to its members. You’ve escaped a rotten place, Mitepaw.”]

Later that day, as RippleClan buzzed with sunset activity, Mitepaw took in the sights of her new home. The shipwreck was so tall! Despite the late autumn cold, the sand felt warm from the sun. Even the air felt lighter in RippleClan! This was the right choice, Mitepaw was certain of it. There was a glimmer in everyone’s eyes as they surrounded her following her new apprentice ceremony. She soaked it all in as she stood beside her strange and famous new mentor; Rattlepelt. 

“Mitepaw!” A long-furred gray molly made her way to the front of the crowd of unfamiliar faces. A brown molly and a silver tom followed close behind.

“Hello,” Mitepaw chirped softly, bowing to the strangers. 

“No need to bow to your Clanmates in this Clan!” the silver molly said. “You’ve probably heard about me. I’m Elmsprout.”

“Oh, Eelstar’s daughter,” Mitepaw gasped. She took Elmsprout in a second time; she could see Eelstar’s color in Elmsprout’s darker tints. “Your father’s told the kits about you.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Elmsprout chuckled. “He and I have… an awkward relationship. I wanted to make sure I could talk to you after your ceremony, because I’ve been where you are. We all have. We’re a bit of a Clan-within-a-Clan, you could say. We’ve all left our original Clans to join RippleClan. This is Rapidleaf and Asterpaw.”

“I’ll show you how to adapt to life in RippleClan,” Asterpaw promised, raising his tail high.

“Leaving my Clan was hard for me as well,” Rapidleaf said with a nod. “Like you, staying in LynxClan would have been too painful. RippleClan has built itself on second chances. Elmsprout befriended me as we both recovered from a bought of food poisoning a few moons ago, and we’ve both looked after Asterpaw since his arrival. If you need help, we promise to look after you, too.” 

“That’s…” Mitepaw purred, her whole body rippling, “that’s amazing!”

“It will be better for you to live in a Clan that is loyal to its members.” Oh, right! Rattlepelt was still standing there! She was so unlike any other cat Mitepaw had ever seen. Who else would have the courage to wear a fox pelt? She looked more like a fearsome warrior than the talented artisan Lavendertwist and Splashtuft made her out to be on the walk to RippleClan. “You’ve escaped a rotten place, Mitepaw.”

“I’m excited to learn under you, Artisan Rattlepelt,” Mitepaw said, bowing once more.

“Mitepaw, we don’t bow here!” Elmsprout laughed.

“Leave her be,” Rattlepelt scoffed. “If she wants to bow and use honorable titles, let her. It’s nice to be respected. Now Mitepaw, how would you like to learn the intricacies of leather-making from a master?” Mitepaw’s eyes sparkled. Learn to craft a leather pelt with the quality and skill of Rattlepelt’s fox fur? Learning in a Clan so bright and welcoming, under a mentor that was clearly wise and strong and clever, better than her old mentor in every way?

“Yes please!”

(Mitepaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, quick to make peace)

(Elmsprout: 32, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

(Rapidleaf: 84, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

(Asterpaw: 12, male, caretaker apprentice, thoughtful, has lots of ideas)

(Rattlepelt: 48, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

Tallowkit reminds himself it will all be okay while Slushkit chews on a stick.

[Image ID: Tallowkit says “She won’t choke, she won’t choke…” as he watches Slushkit. Under Tallowkit, it says + NEW SKILL: SPLASHES IN PUDDLES. Under Slushkit, it says + NEW SKILL: QUICK WITTED.]

(Tallowkit: 1, male, kit, skittish, splashes in puddles)

(Slushkit: 1, female, kit, polite, quick witted)

Scaleripple and Tempestshade officially become mates.

[Image ID: Scaleripple and Tempestshade face each other. Under Scaleripple, it says + MATE: TEMPESTSHADE. Under Tempestshade, it says + MATE: SCALERIPPLE.]

---

Scaleripple couldn’t help but be in awe of Troutpool and Honeybuzz’s skill. When he had found Tempestshade half a moon prior, leg encased in a shimmering silver jaw, he had been certain it would have to come off. Yet there they were, half a moon later and still possessing four legs, even if one was so bandaged and slathered in ointment that it could hardly be called a leg. Honeybuzz had changed the bandages not so long ago, but Scaleripple could already see dots of blood leaking through. Not that Troutpool and Honeybuzz would notice; no, when Scaleripple visited Tempestshade that day, the Clan had a bit more exciting news to swallow.

“Our instincts are never more controlling than when a queen is kitting,” Troutpool explained to Mosspounce, waiting eagerly outside the den as she and Honeybuzz collected a few supplies into a basket. “Lemmy will know what to do with her kits, but she’ll need spiritual and emotional support. We’ll be with her the entire time, Mosspounce.”

“Are you sure Tempestshade can’t join us?” Mosspounce groaned, glancing around Troutpool to Tempestshade, whose nest sat in a quiet, warm corner of the medicine den. Scaleripple sat beside her, ice-faced and observant. “I want my kits to meet all of their kin.”

“Mosspounce, your kits won’t be able to meet anyone for a while,” Honeybuzz laughed. He slipped the basket around his neck. “They’re born with their eyes and ears shut. They’ll get to meet Tempestshade in the future, don’t worry.”

“But I wanna meet them,” Tempestshade whined. They laid sprawled across the nest, mangled leg carefully frozen on the edge. Their dark green eyes lacked some of their usual sparkle, devoured by the pain.

“You will, I promise,” Mosspounce said. Honeybuzz joined Mosspounce outside the den and the two trotted to the nursery. Troutpool, however, lingered, eyes wandering to Scaleripple.

“Will you be okay while we help Lemmy?” Troutpool asked.

“I won’t die,” Scaleripple growled. He laid in a loaf against Tempestshade’s nest, ignoring Troutpool’s gaze. Tempestshade chuckled, a soft, almost feverish sound. Troutpool shuffled her paws about.

“I didn’t want to have that vision,” Troutpool gulped. “I thought revealing it would spare Tempestshade a guilty verdict and protect RippleClan. I wouldn’t use StarClan to hurt them.”

“Did I say that’s what you did?” Scaleripple scoffed, daring to look up, even if Troutpool’s awkward expression made his skin hurt. “You don’t need to explain yourself. You just have to live with making Tempestshade a living omen of death.” Troutpool bowed her head low, closing her eyes. She followed her former apprentice and Mosspounce to the nursery, where Scaleripple could already hear Lemmy panting with the effort of her kitting.

“You showed her,” Tempestshade mumbled, purring. Scaleripple stared at Tempestshade. Why were they seemingly the only cats who truly understood the other? Scaleripple’s family loved him, he was certain of that, but did they know him like Tempestshade? Did they understand the strange way he worked, which separated him from everyone else? And did anyone else in the Clan dare to face the blunt of Tempestshade’s curse just to spend time with them? Did they appreciate their youthfulness, their honesty, their loyalty? From everything Scaleripple knew, two cats who were as close as he was to Tempestshade could only be called one thing.

“Tempestshade, are we mates?” he asked. Tempestshade cocked their head. A little life came back to their eyes.

“Haven’t we been mates since the summer?” they laughed. Oh. Well then.

“Maybe so,” Scaleripple purred. He rested his head on the edge of Tempestshade’s nest, a whisker length from their nose. Tempestshade hummed happily. They stretched and quickly touched noses with Scaleripple.

For once, Scaleripple didn’t mind.

(Scaleripple: 18, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Mosspounce: 26, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Tempestshade: 26, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Mosspounce wants to be a father with different motivations than his own, and feels proud when Lemmy delivers four healthy kits.

[Image ID: Lemmy and Mosspounce watch four newborn kits; a tortoiseshell, a black molly, a silver molly, and a gray tabby. Under Lemmy, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. The tortoiseshell says NEW PLAYER: WEEVILKIT, 0, FEMALE, BULLYING. The black molly says NEW PLAYER: RAVENKIT, 0, FEMALE, SWEET. The silver kit says NEW PLAYER: SILVERKIT, 0, FEMALE, DAYDREAMER. Finally, the gray tabby says NEW PLAYER: WOLFKIT, 0, FEMALE, POLITE.]

(Mosspounce: 26, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Lemmy: 41, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Weevilkit: 0, female, kit, bullying)

(Ravenkit: 0, female, kit, sweet)

(Silverkit: 0, female, kit, daydreamer)

(Wolfkit: 0, female, kit, polite)

Downstar is almost intimidated by the knowledge Asterpaw has gained in his short time in RippleClan and confidently names him Asterblaze.

[Image ID: Asterpaw, now Asterblaze, is an adult! Under him, it says LEVEL UP! ASTERPAW -> ASTERBLAZE, HAS LOTS OF IDEAS -> CONSTANTLY FIDDLING WITH TOOLS.]

(Asterblaze: 12, male, caretaker, thoughtful, constantly fiddling with tools)

While Troutpool and Honeybuzz are on patrol, Troutpool sees strange shimmers in the distance. They encounter a kittypet who grew up with old stories of RippleClan and wanted to raise her kits in the wild. Troutpool and Honeybuzz help welcome five more kits to the nursery.

[Image ID: Troutpool and Honeybuzz approach a brown and white molly and five kits; one light brown, two red, and two brown, all with white markings. Undee the mother, it says NEW PLAYER: HARVEST, 53, FEMALE, NERVOUS, GOOD FIGHTER. Under the light brown kit, it says NEW PLAYER: ANCHOVYKIT, 0, MALE, CHARMING. Under the upper red kit, it says NEW PLAYER: CURRENTKIT, 0, MALE, POLITE. The second red kit says NEW PLAYER: ROBINKIT, 0, MALE, UNRULY. The first dark brown cat in the upper corner says NEW PLAYER: YARROWKIT, 0, FEMALE, NOISY. The last brown kit says NEW PLAYER: BILLOWKIT, 0, MALE, BOSSY.]

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Harvest: 53, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Anchovykit: 0, male, kit, charming)

(Currentkit: 0, male, kit, polite)

(Robinkit: 0, male, kit, unruly)

(Yarrowkit: 0, female, kit, noisy)

(Billowkit: 0, male, kit, bossy)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 68

Clammask, Lemmy, and Harvest have all recovered from birth.

[Image ID: Harvest, Clammask, and Lemmy stand together with - CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH (X3) written under them.]

(Clammask: 63, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Lemmy: 45, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Harvest: 56, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

Silverkit finds jay feathers and decides to wear them. She and Anchovykit ask Weedfoot how kits are made after she announces her third litter.

[Image ID: Anchovykit and Silverkit talk to Weedfoot, who says “Let’s talk about something else…” Under her, it says + CONDITION: PREGNANT. Silverkit now has blue feathers in her fur. Under her, it says + ACCESSORY: JAY FEATHERS.]

(Silverkit: 3, female, kit, daydreamer, always asking questions)

(Anchovykit: 3, male, kit, charming, curious about StarClan)

(Weedfoot: 117, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Spikecrash is surprised to hear Wolfkit’s life isn’t as easy as she assumed.

[Image ID: Wolfkit asks Spikecrash, “Is something wrong with me?” Under her, it says - CONDITION: BRUISES.]

---

That day, Spikecrash had what she jokingly referred to as “feelings duty”; she would stay around camp, offering her services to any Clanmates who needed a gentle ear. She expected that to mean lounging about with Darkkick, sharing tongues and enjoying the first signs of spring. Instead, she found herself at the Resting Place, deep into a conversation with Rattlepelt.

A skinny pine overlooking the ocean had given way over the season and finally tumbled on its side, a feast for the bugs. Slush clung to the bottom of the dead trunk, a reminder that winter had yet to release the Clans from her cold jaws. Wood-boring weevils made their homes under the dull bark. When the tree finally fell, Mitepaw insisted on naming it the Resting Place, as cats could easily lounge on the trunk as they studied the death of plant life or watched the sunrise or simply enjoyed a chat. It was perfect for private conversations between a mediator and Clanmate. And by the stars, did Rattlepelt need privacy.

“I’m not trying to get mad,” Rattlepelt grunted. She laid on the trunk, curled under her fox pelt while Spikecrash laid in front of her, a hind leg dangling off. “There’s no good reason for me to get mad at some of these things. I know that. But then I’ll be working with Mitepaw or spending time with Wildclaw, and the next thing I know, I’ve yowled at them and scared them. I barely remember doing it.”

“Like that argument you told me about with Honeybuzz last moon?” Spikecrash sighed. Rattlepelt curled her lip. She groaned again, throwing a paw over her face. “Why don’t we step back from this? Can you tell me what exactly makes you mad? What are you thinking in those moments?”

“I don’t know,” Rattlepelt grumbled. She sat up, fox pelt slipping around her flank. Her copper eyes seemed unfocused, looking inward. “Um… I think about how much I hate what someone’s doing. I feel like they’re doing it to hurt me. Suddenly I want to hurt them back. That’s not me! I don’t know why I’m like this lately.” She pointed her self-loathing to the sea, her spine poking against her thin skin. Spikecrash shivered at the idea of not having her fur to block the late winter cold, but even with her fox pelt slipping off the tree, Rattlepelt seemed unfazed. The only sign she sensed the chill at all was a single twitch of her white ear.

“Even if you may not have noticed,” Spikecrash said, “this sort of change in behavior isn’t immediate. It’s developed over time. It could be a reaction to a lot of small events. Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle’s litter, maybe?”

“I love Tallowkit and Slushkit!” Rattlepelt cried. The many wrinkles of her gray face made her look like a true rattlesnake as she rounded on Spikecrash. When her ribs stuck out against her torso, they were the stripes of a snake ready to strike.

“Just an idea,” Spikecrash said softly, lowering herself deeper into the Resting Place’s bark. “If you want my help, I think figuring out the root of your anger is a good step forward.” Rattlepelt slipped back into herself, catching her forked tongue. 

“Spikecrash?” A short ways west, Darkkick waved her tail, lingering near the walls of camp. The shipwreck’s comforting presence made the Resting Place that much more restful, a reminder that home was only a few steps away. 

“I’ll be with you shortly, Mother!” Spikecrash called. “Let me finish my conversation.”

“I think I’ve had enough for now,” Rattlepelt muttered. She slipped her fox pelt back over herself. The hollow gaps that once housed the fox’s eyes glared at Spikecrash. 

“Come talk to me when you find yourself getting frustrated,” Spikecrash suggested as Rattlepelt jumped off the Resting Place. Rattlepelt nodded, not looking at Spikecrash. She wandered toward the coastline, red pelt burning in the diluted afternoon light peeking through the thin ceiling of gray clouds. Spikecrash bit down her worry. She trotted up to Darkkick, trying to put Rattlepelt’s situation to the side for now.

“Wolfkit’s been asking to speak with you,” Darkkick explained, flicking her short ears back into camp. “She seems bothered.” Spikecrash tried not to purr. What could a little kit like Wolfkit be bothered about? A fight with her littermates? Her biggest challenges were still moons away, but if something itched at her pelt now, Spikecrash would do her duty.

“Why don’t we let her join me at the Resting Place?” Spikecrash suggested. “That sort of special treat may cheer her up.”

“I’m blaming you when the other kits get mad,” Darkkick muttered, going back into camp. Spikecrash waited outside. A minute later, Wolfkit’s fluffy face peeked around the thorny entrance. She glanced over her shoulder, making sure no one would yowl at her before she stepped out of the embrace of RippleClan’s camp. 

“I thought you would like to speak to me somewhere your sisters wouldn’t overhear,” Spikecrash purred. She nodded toward the Resting Place. “We’ll sit on that tree there.”

“Will Downstar be mad that I left camp?” Wolfkit asked. She took a hesitant step where the sand met the grass. She ran her paw over the itchy tan blades, momentarily distracted.

“Kits can leave on occasion,” Spikecrash promised. “Now let’s chat.” Spikecrash looped her tail around Wolfkit and nudged her toward the Resting Place. Wolfkit stumbled, but kept pace with Spikecrash. While Spikecrash could get onto the tree with a single simple jump, Wolfkit had to brace herself, flank wiggling. She smacked against the side of the Resting Place and scaled the bark, a few chunks crumbling under her claws. Weevil larva squirmed in the revealed gaps. Wolfkit sat tall and proper in front of Spikecrash, paws tucked neatly together.

“So what’s on your heart, Wolfkit?” Spikecrash asked. “Is it apprenticeship worries? That’s a common problem at your age.”

“What’s the name of that disease that makes you see things that aren’t happening?” Wolfkit asked. Her thick frame rippled with nervous energy.

“That sounds like false visions,” Spikecrash guessed, cocking her head. “Did you want to learn about them?”

“I think I’m having them,” Wolfkit gulped. Well then. Spikecrash certainly wasn’t expecting to deal with that today.

“Well, I’ll start with this,” Spikecrash said hesitantly, collecting her thoughts. “I don’t think you have false visions. Tell me why you think that, though.”

“It happened while I was playing codebreakers,” Wolfkit gulped. “I was the codekeeper, and Yarrowkit had just killed Robinkit. All the other kits were with Troutpool exploring the medicine den, but Mom and Harvest let us stay in the nursery and play. We don’t like medicine. I chased Yarrowkit around the den, and when I got in front of her, I ordered her to stop. She did, but she stopped too well, Spikecrash. She didn’t breathe or blink or anything. She stopped everything.” That was a new one.

“Did Robinkit notice this?” 

“He was dead, remember?”

“Ah, yes, of course. But I’m guessing Yarrowkit isn’t still standing frozen in the nursery, right?”

“Well, I got scared when she wouldn’t answer me. I was gonna get her mom, but when I turned around, Yarrowkit tackled me.”

“So she was back to normal? It sounds like she was trying to trick you.”

“No, it wasn’t a trick, I swear! I asked her why she froze like that. She didn’t know what I was talking about!” Wolfkit violently shook her head. Her big ears laid flat. “It was scary, Spikecrash!”

“Big breaths, Wolfkit.” Spikecrash laid along the cold bark, head at Wolfkit’s level. “Did this just happen?”

“It happened this morning.” Wolfkit forced herself to listen, chest heaving dramatically as she sucked in as much air as she could. “Is something wrong with me?”

“No, Wolfkit, I promise you.” Spikecrash set her paw on Wolfkit’s, its size covering both front paws. “I think you just got a little confused. You don’t have false visions.”

“I hope not.” Wolfkit’s whiskers twitched as she swallowed hard. “I got really, really scared. I don’t want to be wrong, Spikecrash.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Spikecrash insisted, eyes as soft as they could be. “You’re as right as they come, Wolfkit.”

If only Spikecrash understood.

(Spikecrash: 42, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Rattlepelt: 51, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

(Darkkick: 128, trans female, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Wolfkit: 3, female, kit, polite, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 66

Weedfoot recovers from her adventure in the Dark Forest with a scar. She encourages Lavendertwist to have a difficult conversation with Elmsprout.

[Image ID: Weedfoot has a scar around her back left ankle. Under her, it says - CONDITION: MANGLED LEG. She says to Lavendertwist, “You obviously care about her. if you want to get to know her better, you have to be willing to get hurt.” Elmsprout stands to the side.]

(Weedfoot: 115, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Lavendertwist: 32, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Elmsprout: 33, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

Spikecrash helps Mosspounce handle some of the kits.

[Image ID: Mosspounce and Spikecrash face Wolfkit and Billowkit. Under Wolfkit, it says + NEW SKILL: CURIOUS ABOUT STARCLAN, CONFIDENT WITH WORDS. Under Billowkit, it says + NEW SKILL: ACTIVE IMAGINATION.]

---

Getting fourteen kits to take a nap was about as hard as holding water in your paw. How exactly the Clan would survive a winter with so many kits in the nursery, demanding attention and care, Spikecrash didn’t know. What she did know was if the kits didn’t nap now, they would be ornery that night as Longest Night celebrations took hold and the entire Clan gathered under the cloudy winter sky. Somehow, by some miracle, Oilstripe, Clammask, Lemmy, and Harvest (who still looked so exhausted from her long journey to find the Clans from her kithood storied) napped with their children around their bellies. 

Twelve of them, at least. It was up to Spikecrash and Mosspounce to stop the two most stubborn kits from bothering the rest of the Clan as they set up holiday decor.

“Mama’s notta warrior,” Billowkit huffed, staring hard at the ground as he thought. “She’s notta care cat. She’s notta… uh…”

“Codekeeper or historian or mediator or artisan or cleric,” Wolfkit recited, sitting quietly. She had a strong and clear voice for such a little kit. The pair of them were barely a moon old, only recently able to fully see camp for all its glories. If Spikecrash was honest, from the way Billowkit wobbled around, he and his littermates might have still been under a moon. From what Spikecrash could vaguely remember, all she had wanted to do at their age was nap. So why wouldn’t they?

“So what is Mama?” Billowkit whined, throwing his little paws about the sand and snow. 

“She’s your mama,” Wolfkit huffed, cocking her tiny fuzzy head.

“I know that!” Billowkit cried. He threw his whole body down, mewing pathetically.

“Your mama doesn’t know how she wants to contribute to the Clan yet,” Mosspounce explained, laying on the snow beside Billowkit. “She’s focused on caring for you right now.”

“But the other mamas have jobs!” Billowkit huffed. “Mama needs a job!” He stuffed his face in the snow.

“Well, do you know much about Clan roles?” Spikecrash asked. Billowkit mewed a pathetic no, voice muffled by the sand. “If you don’t know about them, how can your mother choose? Maybe you can help her by learning more about what we do with our time. Mosspounce is a caretaker, and I’m a mediator. We have a lot we could share with you.”

“Maybe,” Billowkit grumbled, still refusing to reveal his face.

“I’ll listen!” Wolfkit chirped.

“Excellent,” Spikecrash purred, settling down between the two kits. “There’s a lot that goes into being a mediator. Maybe one day when you’re older, I might train one of you, or one of your littermates.”

“I want to hear what Dad does,” Wolfkit said, trotting to her father’s side. She nipped at his ankles, spurring on a hearty laugh.

“Oh, so it’s the life of a caretaker that proves more interesting?” Mosspounce said. He scooped his little daughter underneath him with a playful growl. Wolfkit squealed, kicking up fluffy snow in her attempts to get away from Mosspounce’s grasp. The black caretaker was too mighty for her, however, and grabbed her by the scruff. Billowkit pulled his head from the snow as Wolfkit laughed and laughed. Mosspounce dropped Wolfkit beside Billowkit and sat around them. “If that will keep you little mice happy, then sure, I’ll tell you about being a caretaker.”

Hmm. Maybe kit-sitting wouldn’t be as hard as Spikecrash thought.

(Spikecrash: 41, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Mosspounce: 27, male, warrior, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Billowkit: 1, male, kit, bossy, active imagination)

(Wolfkit: 1, female, kit, polite, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

Rapidleaf gets Ravenkit in trouble.

[Image ID: Rapidleaf yowls at Ravenkit, “No, no, no! You’ll hurt your sister!” Weevilkit and Robinkit watch on. Under Ravenkit, it says + NEW SKILL: PICKY NEST BUILDER. Under Weevilkit, it says + NEW SKILL: CURIOUS ABOUT STARCLAN. Under Robinkit, it says + NEW SKILL: AVID PLAY-FIGHTER.]

---

For Rapidleaf, Longest Night used to mean painting the mountainous walls of LynxClan’s camp, covering yourself with dye that wouldn’t leave your paws for a moon. It was watching the stars from the highest point in the Clans. It was a gift given someone dear; a shiny stone tool, a special trinket, even an exceptionally pretty pebble. It as snow and fire in the place she’d grown up.

Longest Night in RippleClan, like so many other things, was very different. It was hard to clear snow for the great bonfire, as the sand shifted with it. Rather than exchanging a gift or two in private, everyone pulled out their gifts come nightfall, enjoying the love in the fire’s protection. When Troutpool and Honeybuzz weren’t offering thanks to the ancestors, cats gathered around historians and artisans alike for a tale or enjoyed the peace of the bonfire. Scaleripple and Tempestshade laid beside each other, even though Tempestshade seemed only half-there, mind blurry from their mangled leg. Downstar shared tongues with Wildclaw while Rattlepelt wandered the edge of camp, quietly checking the necklaces adorning the torches.

A surprising number of cats played music, encouraging their friends to sing and dance. Rabbitjoy danced as she sang an old WheatClan tune. Drumtooth eagerly beat his namesake instrument. Slushkit shook a rattle offbeat to Lavendertwist’s song. Trumpetspore showed Tallowkit how to make scrapers; notched bones that made a delightful sound, especially when you had a stick strapped to your tail. Waspdawn and Wildclaw argued over who could use the Clan’s only Gutpluck; a half-moon shaped instrument of curved wood and a long taut line as a base, with different lengths of string made of prey gut running through the center. All a cat had to do was carefully pluck strings with their paws, and their music would be as varied as birdsong. Of course, the unique and delicate nature of the instrument meant it was in high demand for the celebration; had Rapidleaf been younger, she likely would have fought for a turn plucking the strings as well.

Rather than join in on all the music and laughter, Rapidleaf sat with her few gifts (a shell-tooth comb from Asterblaze, a cat’s face carved into bark from Mitepaw, and a rock from LynxClan that Elmsprout traded for at the last Gathering) beside the bonfire. Harvest sat with her; the former kittypet looked shockingly like Fennelspot with her white markings. The new arrival had mostly kept to the nursery since Troutpool and Honeybuzz found her, slowly carrying her five tiny kits through the forest. She had a lot of gifts from many of RippleClan’s most friendly cats, all happy to have an eager new addition to their home. Rapidleaf and Harvest had a quiet spot away from the noise and laughter of the rest of the Clan.

“Old Oakface told me about Longest Night when I was a kit,” Harvest muttered, breaking the comfortable silence between her and Rapidleaf as she shuffled through her gifts. “This is so much like his stories. Well, almost. We haven’t painted anything like he said his Clan did.” Rapidleaf dragged herself out of her quiet observations.

“That’s a LynxClan tradition,” she said. “You knew a LynxClan cat?” Oakface, Oakface… had any of Rapidleaf’s kin known an Oakface? They must have for Harvest to know him.

“I thought Troutpool would have shared my story with the rest of the Clan,” Harvest gulped, suddenly very intrigued by a stone someone gave her.

“If there is anything this Clan won’t do,” Rapidleaf said quietly, “it's to pressure you about your past.” If Harvest could see any of the deeper meaning in Rapidleaf’s words, she ignored it. She cleared her throat and brushed out her whiskers

“I grew up in a large stone settlement with an older tom named Oakface,” Harvest explained. “He would tell me stories of his old home with the Clans. He was taken from them and was too old to make the long journey back. He always encouraged me to find them if I grew tired of our quiet life with the humans. When I became pregnant, that’s just what I did.”

“You were traveling with kits for two moons?” Rapidleaf muttered, taking Harvest in a new light. 

“Oakface taught me how to protect myself,” Harvest gulped. “It was hard, but I’m glad I made it. Just look at my kits.” Harvest’s large litter squealed and laughed on the other side of the bonfire. Elmsprout stomped around, dancing to Lavendertwist’s song, showing Anchovykit, Yarrowkit, and Currentkit how to place their paws to the beat. All three laughed and shrieked whenever they tumbled into one another. Billowkit slept on top of Wolfkit, their missing nap finally catching up to them, nestled beside Lemmy and James. Robinkit trotted away from his siblings to join Weevilkit and Ravenkit in their play-fight. 

“I’ve never been around so many kind faces before,” Harvest purred. “I’m glad my kits have so much support now. Is this what your kithood was like too?” Rapidleaf laughed. How often had she found herself playing with Scrubmask like that in their youth, pretending they were truly littermates rather than distant kin? Her gaze drifted over to Clammask, who sat outside the apprentice’s den with Halibutdusk. The pair told a story together with an attentive audience. Drumtooth had abandoned his drum to join his brothers in front of their mother. Potterykit, Moonkit, and Vervainkit watched Halibutdusk with awe, completely enthralled in their story. Both generations of siblings listened to Clammask with all their focus. Rapidleaf’s laughter faded

Scrubmask should have been telling them that story.

“Yes,” she said softly. “It was this happy.”

“Ow!” Weevilkit squealed, catching Rapidleaf and Harvest’s ears. Ravenkit had her tiny jaws around Weevilkit’s scruff, pinning her into the snow. Weevilkit squirmed under Ravenkit’s grasp. 

Not again.

“No, no, no!” Rapidleaf yowled, launching up and around the bonfire. She snatched Ravenkit by the scruff and threw her off Weevilkit. Ravenkit yelped, tumbling into the snow and sand. Weevilkit and Robinkit, the unfortunate bystander he was, gasped. “You’ll hurt your sister!” Ravenkit’s green eyes froze on Rapidleaf. She cowered under the brown tabby’s curled lip. 

“What did I do?” Ravenkit whimpered. Her tiny, broken voice bit at Rapidleaf’s pounding heart. The music quieted, Clanmates stopping to stare. Rapidleaf took a step back as Ravenkit mewed pathetically. What was she doing?

“We were playing, you old flea!” Weevilkit yowled. The tiny tortoiseshell fluffed up her fur like an angry warrior. Robinkit, not one to be left out, copied his friend.

“Go away!” Robinkit hissed. 

“I thought—” Rapidleaf stammered.

“Rapidleaf.” Lemmy stood silhouetted by the bonfire behind her, blue eyes sharp. Even with a kittypet’s collar around her neck, her icy voice crept along Rapidleaf’s pelt. “Step away from my daughter.”

“I’m sorry,” Rapidleaf gulped, quickly scampering back with her head bowed. “I thought Ravenkit was hurting Weevilkit.”

“So you threw her,” Lemmy growled. Ravenkit met her mother halfway, burying her face in Lemmy’s hind leg. A dozen eyes stared at Rapidleaf. The small decorated torches that lined the edges of camp seemed more like judges than the memories of cats lost. 

Her sins were on display. If only they knew the depth of Rapidleaf’s transgressions.

[Image ID: Rapidleaf says to Honeybuzz, “None of this was supposed to happen. Your mother should be here, not me.” Scrubmask’s spirit watches.]

Rapidleaf was quick to join Honeybuzz in his duties the next morning. She didn’t want to be in camp, to be near Lemmy’s burning blue eyes, to see Ravenkit flinch at the sight of her… better to brace the snow and assist a cleric. That sort of work was redeeming in the eyes of StarClan… Rapidleaf could use some of that redemption. She hadn’t asked what Honeybuzz needed help with, merely agreed as soon as he requested a warrior. Rapidleaf didn’t care much, however. If Honeybuzz needed her help, why would she say no?

Honeybuzz’s pelt seemed barren without his beloved cicada wings; he had kept them carefully dried and stuck onto a tiny piece of wood, which he then hung around his neck, but the cold weather and a few poor decisions broke the fragile wing apart. Now, as he waited for the cicadas to return, there was a physical absence to his appearance that left a rock in Rapidleaf’s lungs. Honeybuzz trotted confidently through the snow, which parted around the two RippleClan cats like a snail left a trail of slime in their wake. Rapidleaf followed Honeybuzz south, bracing herself against the open wind. 

The harsh diluted winter light drained Honeybuzz and Rapidleaf of their bright colors. Honeybuzz’s vibrant golden head was now a dull, dark cream, and Rapidleaf looked more like mud under the Great Northern River than her usual brilliant brown. It seemed the entire territory had nothing to say to Rapidleaf, save for the hiss of the wind rumbling in her head. 

“I shouldn’t be long,” Honeybuzz promised, lifting his paws high with every step, the cold seeping through his thin fur. “Just keep an eye out for any disturbances; holes, fallen markers, moved stones, issues like that.”

“What are we marking?” Rapidleaf asked. She looked around Honeybuzz. There was a field up ahead, where pawprints dotted the land, human dens lingered in the distance, and only a few trees blocked the cold wind. It seemed like a common hunting ground, yet Rapidleaf scented little prey.

“Sorry, I’m a mouse-brain,” Honeybuzz sighed with a light heart and soft laugh. “You were still recovering the last time someone died. I bet no one’s even told you how RippleClan handles their dead.” Rapidleaf forced her tail to stay out and not slip under her. Her stance stiffened.

“Do you not just dispose of the bodies?” she muttered, still staring at the field.

“It didn’t feel right,” Honeybuzz explained. “We take our dead to this field. We call it a graveyard; Parsley gave us that word, according to Oilstripe. We sometimes have our elders help us, like in AshClan, but we don’t force them. We bury the dead a little ways under the ground, cover their bodies, and place wood and stones over their graves to remind us where we left them.” Rapidleaf stepped back. It was one thing to know the body of an old Clanmate had been returned to the cycle of life and death, feeding the world in return for how the world fed them. But to know exactly where their body lay, to stand over them?

“You should have told me,” Rapidleaf gulped. Honeybuzz cocked an ear.

“There’s nothing to fear,” Honeybuzz promised. “Their spirits don’t linger here. I just wanted to make sure they fared well during Longest Night. The snow makes it easy to tell what graves have been disturbed by—”

“Stop,” Rapidleaf snapped, eyes shut tight. “Stop talking, Honeybuzz. I…” Scrubmask was there. Her body was somewhere in that field. Rapidleaf had gone hunting here before, she was certain of it. She had caught and killed prey on top of Scrubmask’s body. She had spilled blood over her grave. It didn’t matter if spirits roamed the field or not, the ghost in Rapidleaf’s heart yowled.

Let me out.

“I can just—” Honeybuzz said.

“I’m the one who killed your mother,” Rapidleaf said, eyes locked on the golden tom. “I killed Scrubmask.” 

Only the wind replied. Honeybuzz stared back at Rapidleaf. Rapidleaf’s breath clouded her face. 

“No,” Honeybuzz scoffed, face curling as though Rapidleaf had simply gotten a fact wrong. “You didn’t kill anyone. You were half dead yourself when you got to camp.”

“How do you think I got to camp?” Rapidleaf groaned. Honeybuzz shifted, gaze drifting north as he thought. The dismissal curling his face softened.

“The leaders guessed you fell in the river escaping the cougar…” he muttered. He blinked rapidly and shook his head like he was clearing water from his ears. “No, no, you didn’t remember what happened, you didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t remember until shortly after I recovered,” Rapidleaf gulped. She sat, snow freezing her flank, fighting against her warm and pounding heart. “I did fall into the river. But I didn’t crawl out on my own. Scrubmask was there.” The memory still came in lightning flashes; bubbling currents, throwing Rapidleaf against the rocks; water pouring into her lungs; fangs lunging toward her. “I didn’t even know what was happening, all I saw was someone trying to grab me, and I reacted.” She hadn’t even known who or what it was that had pulled her from the river. Familiar blue eyes melted with the angry glare of a cougar. She did what any warrior was trained to do.

Grab it. Bite down, hard. Smash its head in, drown it. Protect LynxClan. Get help. Head for the tallest thing you could see. The shipwreck, the mountain of wood…

“None of this was supposed to happen,” Rapidleaf whispered, her air gone once more. “Your mother should be here, not me.” She didn’t deserve to take Scrubmask’s place. She deserved to go on trial, be judged and exiled or even executed for taking a mother from her sons, for killing a Clan founder. So why was Honeybuzz just looking at her? He barely even breathed! The only sign of life in his body was the twitch of his golden ear and his dark, narrow pupils.

“I need you to go home now,” Honeybuzz said, quiet as a pawstep.

Rapidleaf did not argue. Her body turned before her mind processed the request. Anything to get away from the smoldering, rotting corpse under her paws.

(Rapidleaf: 84, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

(Harvest: 54, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Weevilkit: 1, female, kit, bullying, curious about StarClan)

(Ravenkit: 1, female, kit, sweet, picky nest builder)

(Robinkit: 1, male, kit, unruly, avid play-fighter)

(Lemmy: 42, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Honeybuzz: 14, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

Clammask and Halibutdusk’s litter try to go on an adventure but are easily caught.

[Image ID: Vervainkit, Moonkit, and Potterykit are stared down by Clammask and Currentkit. Potterykit yowls, “Tattletale!” at Currentkit. Under Vervainkit, it says + NEW SKILL: LOVES NATURE. Under Moonkit, it says + NEW SKILL: QUICK TO HELP. Under Potterykit, it says + NEW SKILL: LOVES TO SING. Under Currentkit, it says + NEW SKILL: CONSTANTLY CLIMBING.]

(Vervainkit: 1, female, kit, fearless, loves nature)

(Moonkit: 1, female, kit, quiet, quick to help)

(Potterykit: 1, female, kit, self-conscious, loves to sing)

(Clammask: 60, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Currentkit: 1, male, kit, polite, constantly climbing)

Silverkit and Yarrowkit annoy older cats with bird calls so Anchovykit can eat a bug.

[Image ID: Silverkit and Yarrowkit chirp at Splashtuft and Downstar while Anchovykit is naughty in the back. Splashtuft says, “Should I be annoyed or laugh?” Under Anchovykit, it says + NEW SKILL: CURIOUS ABOUT STARCLAN. Under Silverkit, it says + NEW SKILL: ALWAYS ASKING QUESTIONS. Under Yarrowkit, it says + NEW SKILL: STARES AT FIRE.)

(Anchovykit: 1, male, kit, charming, curious about StarClan)

(Silverkit: 1, female, kit, daydreamer, always asking questions)

(Yarrowkit: 1, female, kit, noisy, stares at fire)

(Splashtuft: 14, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Downstar: 125, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

Honeybuzz hears the voices of StarClan cats.

[Image ID: Honeybuzz stands alone. Under him, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: STAR-BLESSED PROPHECY.]

---

Honeybuzz shouldn’t have just left camp. Halibutdusk was so close to beating their greencough, and Tempestshade grew weaker and weaker. He couldn’t leave Troutpool to care for them alone, not for long. But he couldn’t be in camp, not when Troutpool had Rapidleaf assist in medicine preparation. 

He hadn’t believed her at first, but the more she spoke, the more it all made sense. Why had no one suspected her before? She was soaked, reeking of the river, the place they had just found Scrubmask’s body. But no, it had all seemed so deliberate, Rapidleaf was too weak to do something like that, the thought never even bloomed in the codekeepers’ minds. But then again, that was the problem; everyone thought it had been deliberate.

Honeybuzz mindlessly fiddled with a small stick and stone deep in RippleClan’s forest. There wasn’t much he could do with it, no useful craft to aid in healing or interesting trinket to brighten a patient’s stay in the medicine den. But it gave his body something to do. He rolled the stick over the stone, the worn bark rubbing into his pads. He’d borrowed one of Rattlepelt’s “long hunt” pelts for the day; various leather pelts stitched together by Rabbitjoy, forming something close to the size of Rattlepelt’s famous fox pelt. Honeybuzz tucked himself under this pelt, hiding from the winter chill, even as snow melted underneath him.

His ears buzzed from the formless thoughts clawing at his mind. His head felt filled with wax. The wind seemed muffled to him. Honeybuzz scratched at his ears, letting his stick slip into the snow. Why did Rapidleaf have to tell him anything? Why leave the burden of that all on him? He had moved on from Scrubmask’s death, why bring it back?

Something slipped through Honeybuzz’s plugged ears; a soft, shimmering sound like water on water, the ocean at rest. The fur along his spine rose. Someone was there.

As the ocean rises, so does the shore rise to meet it in eternal war. So too do curses and blessings fly through the Clan, balancing the other out. Balance our three blessings, Honeybuzz.

What. What. What was that. What was that? The voice, the voices, they were inside Honeybuzz, speaking directly inside his heart! Honeybuzz gasped as a violent shiver overcame him. He’d been to StarClan’s Shrine enough to guess what that could have been. Troutpool had prepared him for this day. This was a prophecy, one StarClan felt too important to wait to share until the half moon.

“Couldn’t you tell me what to do about Rapidleaf first?” he groaned to the cloud-masked sky. Another gust of wind brought him his answer. Long hunt pelt thrown over his bony back, Honeybuzz hurried back toward camp. The issue with Rapidleaf could be put to the side for now. Troutpool needed to hear this message.

What were these blessings? Even more important, what were the curses?

(Honeybuzz: 14, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 63

Oilstripe, Carnationspeckle, and Clammask have found a way past their grief. Meanwhile, everyone poisoned by the poorly cooked rabbit recovers.

[Image ID: Oilstripe, Carnationspeckle, and Clammask sit together, with - CONDITION: GRIEVING (X3) under them. Under Drumpaw, it says - CONDITION: FOOD POISONING, SHOCK. Under Rapidleaf, it says - CONDITION: FOOD POISONING, SHOCK, WATER IN LUNGS. Honeypaw, Elmsprout, and Leatherpaw are together, with - CONDITION: FOOD POISONING (X3) under them.]

(Oilstripe: 67, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Carnationspeckle: 65, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Clammask: 57, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Drumpaw: 11, trans male, caretaker apprentice, loyal, moss-ball hunter)

(Rapidleaf: 81, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

(Honeypaw: 11, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

(Elmsprout: 30, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

(Leatherpaw: 11, male, warrior apprentice, confident, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

Clammask and Lemmy both announce their pregnancies.

[Image ID: Clammask and Lemmy both sit with + CONDITION: PREGNANT under them.]

---

It was a day after Lemmy’s pregnancy announcement that Clammask entered the medicine den with complaints of weight gain and nausea. Thank StarClan that Honeypaw had been out collecting herbs with the caretakers, because Clammask would not have been able to meet her son’s eyes as she later left with Troutpool’s diagnosis.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised. Halibutdusk may not have been a tom, but they had been born one. There was no reason they couldn’t get Clammask pregnant. Yet she had forgotten that, too busy finding a new beginning with playful flirting and a few fun outings (and one particular night where Clammask said goodbye to the pain and vengeance in her heart and oh StarClan was that when it happened oh no). It wasn’t supposed to be so serious. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

It still felt like summer as Clammask squinted in the brilliance of sunhigh. Lemmy and Mosspounce had a crowd around them, eager to share tongues. While Lemmy mostly kept to Mosspounce, Splashpaw, and the codekeepers, she chatted with her Clanmates with the skill and grace of a mediator, letting everyone know that she felt well and would nest in the nursery when she was ready. Clammask had already had a litter once, why wasn’t she as confident as Lemmy? Why did she have to feel like a scared kit?

Spikecrash was one of the cats sharing tongues with Lemmy. Clammask caught bits of their conversation, mixing their old faith in the Other Side with their new home’s focus on StarClan. Clammask lingered at the edge of the crowd, searching for the right words to draw Spikecrash’s attention. She didn’t have to say anything, luckily; Spikecrash glanced around camp as Lemmy listened to Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle share pregnancy tips. Thank StarClan she saw the fear in Clammask’s silver eyes.

Spikecrash crept around her Clanmates, making her way to Clammask. No one seemed to notice the pair, much to Clammask’s relief. She flicked her ears toward the camp exit. Spikecrash nodded and led her outside. 

Autumn had smacked RippleClan upside the head in the last few days. Before Clammask realized it, the trees that lined camp to the west had exploded in tortoiseshell color. The wind coming off the ocean was no longer pleasantly cool, but cold enough to make the golden molly shiver. The bugs had gone silent and heat no longer pushed against Clammask’s lungs; rather, the cold ocean air soothed her tense heart. 

Not by much, however.

“I’ve lived here long enough to know when someone needs a mediator and doesn’t know what to say,” Spikecrash sighed as the pair left camp. “What do you need to talk about?”

“Let’s find somewhere we won’t be overheard first,” Clammask gulped.

Clammask and Spikecrash entered the forest. The trees and falling leaves would provide some privacy, just in case the sunhigh patrol wandered past. Spikecrash tried not to stare as they walked further and further from camp. Clammask wasn’t sure if her nausea was from her nerves or the life growing inside her. She tried to soak in the crisp, early autumn smell, but the remnants of summer and the weight in her chest made her nose-blind.

“I saw you leaving the medicine den,” Spikecrash said when they were far enough away from camp for Clammask to stop. “Did Troutpool have bad news for you?” Could she even define what was happening as “bad news”? She loved being pregnant with her sons, after all. Maybe if this was another litter with Scrubmask, she would be yowling the news across camp, celebrating with Lemmy, laughing at jokes about stealing attention from the former Witch Hunter.

“I’m pregnant,” Clammask said, the word dying part-way out of her mouth. Spikecrash’s face did not reveal her reaction; instead, she cocked her head slightly and studied Clammask, the way her whiskers fell and her eyes looked hollow.

“This doesn’t sound like something you planned,” Spikecrash noted.

“I was still testing how I felt about Halibutdusk,” Clammask moaned, pacing around Spikecrash without realizing it. “I didn’t want to have as serious a relationship as I had with Scrubmask at the start, we started a family as soon as we became mates, I only wanted to move on! Halibutdusk talked to me when they realized they weren’t a tom, they didn’t like what it meant to be a tom, how will they feel knowing they sired kits? I haven’t told my sons I’ve been seeing them! They’ll think I’m betraying their mother! Does Halibutdusk want kits? Do I want more kits? My sons haven’t even graduated! What if I lose another kit?” Spikecrash threw out her paw and stopped Clammask’s spiral.

“One thought at a time,” Spikecrash purred. “It seems you’re nervous about a serious relationship with Halibutdusk.”

“I’m not ready for that,” Clammask whined, sitting. Her tail stirred the leaves around her. “Halibutdusk has always been there for me, but… I don’t know, this is so much more than I was expecting!”

“And you think they’ll be upset they’ve sired kits with you?” Spikecrash asked, nodding.

“When Drumpaw told me he was a tom, he went on and on about how much the idea of pregnancy made him sick. Does Halibutdusk feel that way about siring kits? Does it make them feel wrong?”

“Have you asked them?”

“I didn’t want to be serious, why would I ask them that?” Spikecrash rolled onto her back, signaling her surrender at Clammask’s suddenly curled lip. Clammask smoothed her face.

“All I’m saying is that if you haven’t asked them about that topic, you can’t know how they’ll feel,” Spikecrash explained, face upside down. “The same goes for your sons. Paleseed deals with grief more than I do, but from what I’ve seen of your kits, they’ve each found their way forward from Scrubmask’s death. They might be happy for you.”

“Maybe. I don’t know what to think right now.”

“Do you want a practical response or an emotional one?” Spikecrash got back to her feet. Clammask thought it through, fur growing hot. 

“Practical,” she eventually decided.

“Do you want to have these kits or not?” Spikecrash asked. Clammask’s stomach suddenly flipped.

“Move,” she managed to gulp just before she threw up. Spikecrash skittered up a fir. Clammask shivered as the taste settled in her mouth. Her nose curled at the stench of her own bile. Spikecrash jumped from the fir to a tree behind Clammask before she risked climbing down. Leaves fluttered with Spikecrash’s fall. Spikecrash groomed Clammask’s neck as the pregnant molly shivered. 

What did Clammask want? Forget Halibutdusk, forget her sons, forget Scrubmask and whatever her spirit must think of her. Did Clammask want these kits or not?

“I want these kits,” Clammask finally whimpered. “I want to be a mother again. I want my sons to have more kin. I want to raise a litter that has two parents at their graduation ceremonies.”

“Alright then,” Spikecrash purred, touching Clammask’s nose despite the stench in her mouth. “I can help you tell Halibutdusk.”

“Whether we’re actually in love or not,” Clammask gulped, forcing herself to take a deep breath, “I’m raising these kits, and I’ll help Halibut be a part of their lives. They’ll be a good influence.”

“Let’s get you some water back at camp,” Spikecrash suggested. “We can wait until you feel a bit better before you tell anyone else about this.”

“I’d like that,” Clammask said with a sniffle. She let her paw dangle near her belly.

Her four sons were big personalities in their own rights. Who would these lovely kits become?

(Clammask: 57, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Lemmy: 39, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Spikecrash: 38, female, mediator, good speaker, lore keeper)

Terracottafoot helps Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick dream of the Dark Forest during Harvest Moon.

[Image ID: Weedfoot, Darkkick, and Paleseed stare down Newtstream, who is a Dark Forest spirit. Newtstream says,  “I just want to spend my damnation in peace, and Autumnstar wants me to help make his curse worse.”]

---

This Harvest Moon was shaping up to be a lively one. As RippleClan settled around the Leader’s Stone in the early dawn light, setting up the decor of black pelts and with the other Clans, everyone found something to start their day with. Clammask, Lemmy, and Oilstripe joined a gaggle of queens, pregnant and nursing, all bonding over nursery experiences while some of Halibutdusk’s warrior friends teased them for their sudden relationship change. Mosspounce argued with the LynxClan artisans and caretakers over how to construct a temporary stove while Tempestshade and Elmsprout eagerly brought out the massive fish Carnationspeckle and Darkkick caught the night before. Rabbitjoy and Rattlepelt reunited with their artisan friends and explained their plans for RippleClan’s show about Leatherwaste and their careless deeds. Rapidleaf explained to her old Clanmates that no, she didn’t feel comfortable returning to LynxClan when her only living kin were distant RippleClan apprentices. Downstar happily shared tongues with Gorgestar and Ospreystar while Gentlestar and Eelstar (who bore a wrap over his nose) made sure everyone was settling in for the day.

And Paleseed? She was preparing for the fight of her life.

Most of the clerics were setting up spiritual protections around the clearing, guarding the five Clans from the Spirits of Shadow that would roam the territories that day. Terracottafoot, however, stood far from the rest of the Clans with Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick. 

They had a jar of black dye on one side and a pile of early autumn leaves on the other. They rubbed their paw in the dye and gently nudged Weedfoot’s chin up. Terracottafoot ran their dyed paw from the base of Weedfoot’s chin to the center of her chest, a long black stripe like burnt meat. They did the same to Paleseed and Darkkick.

“Now I just need a spark to ignite these leaves, and we’ll begin,” Terracottafoot gulped, rubbing their black paw into the grass. “When you fall asleep, your souls will be transported to the Dark Forest. As many of the spirits there wander the forest tonight, you shouldn’t encounter as many enemies as you typically would. The burning of the leaves acts as a calling ritual. When you enter the Dark Forest, Autumnstar will feel called to you, even if he doesn’t realize it. You’ll find each other eventually.” Darkkick nodded along. Did she know of this ritual from her cleric days? What sort of dark powers did clerics hold in their hearts?

“What do we do when we find Autumnstar?” Paleseed asked.

“Make him stop hurting his Clan,” Terracottafoot sighed. “Convince him, fight him, do whatever you have to do. If he’s not stopped, the older generations of AshClan will all be dead by winter’s end.” Paleseed glanced back at the AshClan delegation. Save for Eelstar and Barkfur, every AshClan cat present was no more than a few years old. Would Paleshade leave them to die? No, Paleseed couldn’t keep asking what her namesake would do. But that was easier said than done.

“If Autumnstar is powerful enough to project a curse on AshClan,” Weedfoot muttered, “he’ll be a formidable foe in the Dark Forest.”

“He might have powers,” Paleseed said, “but he’ll still think like himself, won’t he? If we can’t outstrength him, we can outsmart him.” Hmm. Paleshade wasn’t much of a trickster. She would just give some grand speech and take Autumnstar down, if Weedfoot’s stories had any truth to them. Maybe Paleseed could bring more to the battle than a helpless mediator ready to be slaughtered.

“I’ll be right back,” Terracottafoot said, nodding with more enthusiasm than Paleseed had ever seen in the young cat. They hurried toward the main crowd, who continued to bicker about the stove as the sun battered the trees and fought its way into the clearing.

“It might be selfish to say this,” Weedfoot gulped, resting her tail on Paleseed, “but I’m glad you’ll be with us. I could use your support. Just promise me you’ll run if things get too dire.” Paleseed hesitated. Leave her mother and Darkkick to fight off Spirits of Shadow?

“That isn’t a request,” Darkkick huffed. “I still think you should stay here. The Dark Forest is no place for a non-combatant.”

“I really think I can help,” Paleseed said, raising her tail with false confidence. “If StarClan saw me with you, there’s something I can do to stop Autumnstar, something the two of you can’t.” To her surprise, Paleseed found herself believing her own words.

“You put more faith in what StarClan chooses to say than I do,” Darkkick muttered, fluffing her coat against a sudden breeze, “but so be it. I don’t doubt there’s something you could bring to this patrol.” Paleseed’s heather-blue eyes brightened at the compliment. Darkkick rolled her eyes, earning a chuckle from Weedfoot. At that moment, Terracottafoot slunk around the Leader’s Stone with a glowing stick in their jaws. Out of sight of most of the crowd, they ran back to Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick. They angled the stick against the leaves. The breeze sent sparks onto the dry tinder. The orange leaves began to glow.

“Lay down, quickly!” Terracottafoot ordered, setting down the stick. 

“Wait,” Weedfoot huffed as smoke drifted from the leaves. “How are we supposed to get out of the Dark Forest once our job is done?”

“Do you know how you wake yourself up from a bad dream?” Terracottafoot grunted, nudging Paleseed’s flank down. “It’s just like that. Hurry, the leaves won’t burn long!” The three RippleClan cats laid around the smoldering leaves. Terracottafoot sat beside the tiny fire, eyes closed tight. It was hard to imagine falling asleep with the fire in her blood, but Paleseed closed her eyes as well, praying that the Ashes in the Water were standing beside her, guarding her spirit as it shifted from one world to another.

Paleseed thought she would feel the transition. She was literally traveling to another level of existence, why would she not notice when she left the clearing and entered the Place of No Stars itself? But she still felt the small warmth of the burning leaves. She still heard the happy crowd, just beginning to play a few instruments to welcome in the festive day. She could even smell Carnationspeckle’s fish! So how would she know when she arrived?

“Open your eyes, Paleseed,” Weedfoot whispered. “We’re here.”

When Paleseed obeyed her mother, the warmth and music and scent of freshly-caught fish evaporated. The sound of the Harvest Moon still rang in her ears, as though occurring deep within the ocean. Yet the grass was gray, like life and light had been sucked out from the roots. Paleseed looked up. Barren branches criss-crossed over a black sky. A huge, yellow full moon watched the land like a vengeful eye. There were no stars in that black ocean, no glow to the world but the harsh, biting moonlight that refracted off the fog. Said fog clung to the ground, nipping at Paleseed’s paws as she stood. The scent of wood-rot and fungus filled her lungs. 

The Dark Forest was indeed that; dark, cold, absent of all the good in the world. Not a single conifer needle or leaf clung to the trees around the three RippleClan cats; instead, every branch poked and prodded at its neighbor for more room. There wasn’t even leaf litter to show there had ever been a summer in that barren land. Instead, mushrooms claimed the trees as their territory; flat, wide things of white and tan and brown. Even more mushrooms whose names Paleseed could not hope to guess sprouted from mounds poking out of the fog. Those mushrooms were the only life in the land. Bramble bushes speckled the shadowy landscape, thorns reaching out like fangs. Paleseed’s claws dug into the dry, red earth as a caterwaul echoed from somewhere deep within the forest. 

“The stories were right about this place,” Darkkick scoffed, shaking out the mist and dust collecting on her fur. Paleseed instinctively pressed into Weedfoot. All three cats gathered around each other, taking in the cursed trees and the sharp shadows. Autumnstar was out there, somewhere, instinctively drawn toward the living cats, unaware of the fate that awaited him.

“Where do we start?” Paleseed gulped.

“You could start by leaving, if you’re smart.” Weedfoot and Darkkick jumped between Paleseed and the stranger’s voice. Paleseed followed the sound up into a dead pine. A black, mud-like ooze dripped from the ginger molly lounging on the branches overhead. A solid, glistening layer of ice covered her extremities and dulled her monotone fur. 

“Newtstream,” Darkkick growled. She soothed her bristling fur and huffed, “It’s alright. She’ll pose no threat to us.”

“Terracottafoot sent you here, didn’t they?” Newtstream huffed. She jumped out of the tree and landed beside Darkkick. “The black marks on your chests, the sudden arrival on Harvest Moon… yes, it’s like I taught them. Why send RippleClan cats, however?”

“We’re here to stop Autumnstar’s curse,” Weedfoot explained, eyes stuck on Newtstream’s black goop.

“You were trying to save your Clanmates when you were alive,” Paleseed gulped, taking a risky step closer to the Dark Forest spirit. “There’s no reason for you to stop us.”

“What makes you think I’m trying to stop you?” Newtstream scoffed. “I’m just trying to spare you. It may be Harvest Moon, but deadly things still wander these woods.”

“We won’t be here any longer than we have to be,” Weedfoot said. “We’ll take care of Autumnstar and go.”

“I can’t say I’m too surprised to see you here,” Darkkick couldn’t help but grumble. “You did spit in StarClan’s face, after all.”

“I didn’t do enough to forgive myself, apparently,” Newtstream sighed, looking at the starless sky. “I just want to spend my damnation in peace, and Autumnstar wants me to help make his curse worse. The only thing keeping him from becoming as terrible as the worst Spirits of Shadow is his hurt ego. He feels his Clanmates, that StarClan himself, gave up on him and the virtues he tried to uphold. He could have led AshClan for many more moons if he let himself be wrong about your Clan. Instead, he spreads his frost across the Dark Forest and curses his Clanmates’ names. He’ll turn you into ice when he finds you.” As Newtstream monologued, Paleseed examined the dry grass around her. The entire forest looked like the aftermath of a great fire, destroying everything green in the world.

“Frost…” Paleseed muttered, looking back at the icy death wounds covering Newtstream’s extremities. “Autumnstar’s frostbite scars were some of his most famous characteristics. That’s why his curse is some form of eternal frostbite. The power of the Dark Forest exacerbates that legend. But frost has a big weakness. If… yes, if we don’t draw the attention of Spirits of Shadow…” Paleseed ran her paw against the harsh, rugged bark of a dead tree.

“What are you thinking, Paleseed?” Weedfoot asked. Paleseed turned back to the group, her eyes the brightest thing in the land.

“I have a plan to take care of Autumnstar,” Paleseed said.

(Paleseed: 29, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

(Weedfoot: 112, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Darkkick: 123, trans female, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

[Image ID: Downstar (now in an elder sprite), Rattlepelt, and Splashpaw look at Gentlestar, a brown tabby with a maple seed accessory, who introduces Asterpaw, a gray apprentice. Gentlestar says, “We’ve decided that if Asterpaw is going to give prey to every loner and kittypet he comes across, he would do better in the Clan that’s more supportive of that behavior.” Under Asterpaw, it says NEW PLAYER: ASTERPAW, 10, MALE, THOUGHTFUL, HAS LOTS OF IDEAS.]

---

As Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick dreamed unbeknownst to all but a trusted few, Downstar cheered with the rest of the Clans as WheatClan finished their performance on Shardlings, the broken pieces of destroyed souls fulfilling dark desires on loop. The young apprentices were a great decision to play the part of the Shardlings, even if they lacked an artisan’s acting skills. For who could get mad at excited youths performing with their friends and kin?

“Maybe we should have asked you to help with our Leatherwaste performance, huh Splashpaw?” Rattlepelt, who sat near Downstar, laughed to the purple-ribboned apprentice.

“I suppose you should have,” Splashpaw laughed, “but I’m almost a historian. I don’t think I would have the same effect as the six moon old apprentices.” Someone on the other side of the swarm of Clan cats called for a race. Suddenly, dozens of furry forms shoved past Downstar, ignorant of her position. 

“A lot of energy, considering how close we are to sunhigh,” Downstar chuckled, smoothing out her disturbed pelt. “I’m ready for the feast.”

“It smells amazing,” Splashpaw purred, tasting the air. “We have this every Harvest Moon?”

“Hopefully you’ll have a lot more of these feasts in the years to come,” Rattlepelt chirped, picking up her fox pelt from where the excited crowd had shoved it off her back.

“Downstar! A moment, if you would!” Gentlestar weaved through the excited crowd, her maple seed necklace bouncing on her chest. The bright sun made her brown pelt look yellow. A small gray tom followed her, staring at Downstar.

“Your Clan put on an excellent show, Gentlestar,” Downstar purred as the WheatClan leader approached.

“So did yours,” Gentlestar chirped, touching noses with the RippleClan leader. “Hopefully we can share tongues some more later today. First, though, I wanted to introduce you to Asterpaw.” The gray apprentice stood beside Gentlestar, studying the three RippleClan cats before him. His fur was choppy, with a few small tabby markings along his face and tail. He was sleek compared to most WheatClan cats, who enjoyed the extra fat from their various herbs and crops in the bountiful moons.

“Greetings,” he said quietly, nodding to each RippleClan cat in turn.

“Are you a new apprentice?” Splashpaw asked. Asterpaw shifted back.

“He’s been an apprentice for over a season now,” Gentlestar explained, “but he hasn’t been allowed at Gatherings. I heard you used to be a troublemaker in your youth, Downstar. Asterpaw would want to challenge you for that title. He’s been the subject of three trials in the span of four moons.”

“What in StarClan’s name have you been doing?” Rattlepelt gasped as Asterpaw straightened up against the shocked expressions of those around him.

“I’ve been helping cats,” he huffed.

“Asterpaw has been caught numerous times stealing WheatClan resources and giving them to the southern farm cats,” Gentlestar said. A curt glare from the brown leader shut Asterpaw up. His yellow eyes screamed to talk back. “No matter how many times we’ve explained to Asterpaw that our prey and tools belong to us, he’ll still give what he can away.” 

“That’s not something a leader would usually admit to another,” Downstar noted as Asterpaw grew stiff as wood, fighting back the urge to defend himself. “That sort of theft is a serious issue, Asterpaw.” The flood inside of the gray WheatClan tom broke free.

“I don’t always take things from camp!” he cried. “I make some of my own stuff, too. The farm cats have their own society to the south, and they don’t have our freedom to act with humans constantly watching them. If they’re struggling to hunt for themselves, I give them a spare mouse or my share of a meal. I only want to take care of them!”

“Except you’re supposed to take care of your Clanmates, not those outside WheatClan,” Gentlestar reminded him. This time, Asterpaw did not back down, glaring back at Gentlestar with righteous strength. Gentlestar simply sighed, looked back to Downstar, and said, “We’ve decided that if Asterpaw is going to give prey to every loner and kittypet he comes across, he would do better in the Clan that’s more supportive of that behavior.”

“Wait,” Rattlepelt said, “do you mean you want Asterpaw to join RippleClan?”

“He’s shown WheatClan that he cannot be trusted,” Gentlestar sighed. “The only other option after so many repeated offenses in so little time was exile.”

“RippleClan loves to help outsiders, right?” Asterpaw said, stepping away from Gentlestar. “You’ve invited a dozen loners to join your ranks at this point. You understand what I’m trying to do.”

“We’re kind to loners, yes,” Downstar said, glancing toward Lemmy in the gaggle of queens, “but we’re still wise with our resources. There’s a border between helping others and hurting your Clan. If you want to be a RippleClan cat, you need to understand that.”

“If you can teach him that lesson, WheatClan will be impressed,” Gentlestar said. “Beyond his issues, Asterpaw is a good caretaker and minds the camp well. While we will miss him, he and the Clan all agree this is for the best.” Asterpaw nodded along.

“Another caretaker apprentice from another Clan…” Downstar hummed. She couldn’t help but chuckle at history repeating itself. ���I trained Elmsprout when she left AshClan. It seems only fair that I train another caretaker.”

“So I can join?” Asterpaw asked, standing as tall as he could despite his short stature.

“You can’t be stealing from us, though,” Rattlepelt noted. “I’ll know if you steal my leather.” She adjusted her fox pelt, rubbing her face into the red fur lining the outer side.

“If you’re as troublesome as Gentlestar claims you are,” Downstar chuckled, touching noses with Asterpaw, “you need a more experienced paw to guide you. If this is what you want, you can return to RippleClan with us at the end of Harvest Moon.” Asterpaw hooked his tail high, purring at his new leader.

A hiss slipped through the happy noise of the Harvest Moon. A sharp yelp spun Downstar’s head around. Far away from the rest of the crowd, Weedfoot, Paleseed, and Darkkick slept beside one another. Terracottafoot looped around them, using them as a wall between themself and Waspdawn, whose shortened tail thrashed violently and who bared his teeth like a dog.

“What did you do to Paleseed?” Waspdawn yowled. He tried to get around the sleeping cats and strike Terracottafoot, but the nimble cleric led the codekeeper on a loop, staying far from Waspdawn’s angry claws.

“Please, you can’t disturb them!” Terracottafoot begged. “This is more important than you realize!” Downstar ran toward Waspdawn and Terracottafoot, but Troutpool beat her there.

“Waspdawn, you can’t attack a cleric!” Troutpool yowled, grabbing Waspdawn by the scruff and pulling him back. Waspdawn squirmed out of Troutpool’s weak grasp.

“They did something to them!” Waspdawn hissed. Cats slipped away from the excitement of the distant race and formed a crowd of onlookers, all eyes on Waspdawn. “None of them will wake up!” Terracottafoot crouched by Darkkick, who did not wake up despite the chaos around her. Eelstar shoved his way to the front of the crowd. He shivered as he stood, even though the coming sunhigh made it feel almost like summer again.

“Terracottafoot, what is going on?” Eelstar huffed. Terracottafoot rose, gray eyes hardening as they stood down their leader.

“I did what your pride wouldn’t let you do,” they snapped. “I got help!” Downstar slipped beside Weedfoot. She nudged her deputy’s shoulder. Weedfoot did not stir. Downstar put her ear to Weedfoot’s mouth. She was still breathing. Downstar shook her again, harder, but to the same result.

“What’s on their chests?” Rattlepelt called from the crowd. Troutpool joined Downstar and Weedfoot. She lifted Weedfoot’s heavy head. Black dye smeared the bottom of her chin, a trail running down her chest. Darkkick and Paleseed had the same marks. Troutpool gasped and dropped Weedfoot’s head. Her whiskers pushed back and her wide eyes stared at Terracottafoot.

“I know this ritual,” Troutpool muttered as Rattlepelt joined her little sister, offering a comforting weight at her side. “Every cleric learns it, even though it’s incredibly taboo. Terracottafoot… why did you send them to the Dark Forest?” Fearful gasps and yowls rippled around the Leader’s Stone. Codekeepers instantly fought to keep RippleClan and AshClan cats alike from swarming the scene, pushing and smacking them back with sheathed claws. Downstar shivered just like Eelstar. 

“Because they’re going to save my Clan,” said Terracottafoot, whose characteristic insecurity vanished like morning mist against the outrage of the five Clans, whose gray eyes continued to stare down Eelstar, almost taunting him to speak against his only cleric.

(Downstar: 122, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Rattlepelt: 46, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Splashpaw: 11, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still, lover of art)

(Asterpaw: 10, male, caretaker apprentice, thoughtful, has lots of ideas)

(Waspdawn: 29, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Troutpool: 24, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

[Image ID: Darkkick and Weedfoot face down Autumnstar, a Dark Forest soul. Weedfoot says, “You couldn’t rest in peace, could you Autumnstar?”]

---

Paleseed would be the one to spring the trap. It was her idea, after all, and it would keep her out of the fight. Newtstream had wandered off, unable (or perhaps unwilling) to assist anymore than she had. That left Weedfoot and Darkkick standing among the trees. Waiting. Watching. Holding their breath at the slightest shift in wind.

“Are we sure Autumnstar will come this way?” Weedfoot asked.

“Terracottafoot’s performance of the ritual was sound,” Darkkick huffed. “Autumnstar’s spirit is being pulled our direction as we speak.” Weedfoot peered into the moonlit fog. The trees grew hazy the farther she looked. A distant howl filled the silence between the pair.

“Darkkick,” Weedfoot said softly, “if I don’t wake up, make sure my family knows why I did this.”

“If I don’t,” Darkkick said, “tell Spikecrash I’ve enjoyed growing closer to her.”

“I’ll tell her you loved her,” Weedfoot purred.

The moonlight in the distance glinted against yellow eyes. Weedfoot froze, and not just out of fear. A thin coat of frost crawled under the fog, lurching from the shadows. It stung at Weedfoot’s pads and forced her back. Darkkick shivered through it. Ginger and white paws, sticky with goo and shimmering with frost, stepped out of the haze. Ice ate at his scar tissue. The face that came into view was not one of malice, but shock.

“Is that you, Weedfoot?” Autumnstar gasped. The frost grew thicker and thicker where he stood. The frost collected over Weedfoot’s paws, trying to glue her to the dead grass. Weedfoot kept moving, shifting her stance and breaking the ice. “You’re not a cat I expected to see here. Especially not alive. And Darkkick, of all cats! I never expected to see your face again. So you’ve joined up with Weedfoot and her kin. Did you send the pair of you here?” Darkkick raised her hackles, hissing.

“You couldn’t rest in peace, could you Autumnstar?” Weedfoot growled. “Do you even realize you’re hurting your Clan? Your Clanmates are dying, you’ve cursed them. You need to undo it.”

“I wondered if my anger held the power so many artisans and historians claimed it did in this place,” Autumnstar muttered, lifting a paw and allowing his cursed goop to drip onto the dead grass. “If that is how their betrayal manifests, so be it. May StarClan judge their foxhearted ways just as they judged me.”

“I would have thought you’d curse RippleClan,” Darkkick scoffed.

“You may not believe me, but I know the truth about your Clan now,” Autumnstar snapped. A flick of his tail sent ice sprinkling onto the side of a withered oak. “Our ancestors decided five Clans can exist around StarClan’s Shrine. My fight is not with RippleClan.”

“AshClan is full of your friends, your kin,” Weedfoot yowled. “I remember how much you cared for them. Why hurt them?”

“Why do you care?” Autumnstar groaned like an impatient apprentice. “You’re not AshClan anymore. The culture and traditions I fought to uphold mean nothing to you now.”

“I did care!” Darkkick yowled, marching closer. A flash of frost shot out from around Autumnstar. It struck at Darkkick’s legs, leaving crystals on her long fur. She hissed, gritting her teeth as her legs buckled. “I cared about AshClan up to the moment you exiled me for following StarClan’s decree! How is that ‘upholding tradition’?”

“I exiled you because I thought you were lying,” Autumnstar growled. “Why would I believe StarClan would suddenly side with the cats sewing discord into my Clan, working against so many of the values I held dear? I thought it was a conspiracy, that you had been won over. I stopped the war when I learned the truth. I respected RippleClan’s land, became civil to Downstar. And what did I get for changing my ways? StarClan struck me down. The friends and kin I spent my life defending began to curse my name. Of course I cursed them back!” Weedfoot couldn’t feel her paws. Her skin burned from the cold. Ice pinned her fur to her skin. It grew thicker and thicker. Pulling away grew harder and harder until all Weedfoot and Darkkick could do was squirm in their crystal chrysalis. “I fight for my Clan, only to be spat on for my efforts. If they’ll call me a curse on their Clan, that’s just what I’ll be!”

“Paleseed!” Weedfoot yowled. Her eyes turned to the treetops over Autumnstar. Flames danced in front of the giant moon. It licked at the end of a pointy gray branch. Paleseed stood defiant in the lifeless tree, holding the stick high, teeth dug tight into the bark. The fire brightened her spotted fur and burned her heather eyes.

Paleseed set the flame to the tree. The fire eagerly jumped to the dry tinder. Brilliant orange light exploded against the fog. Paleseed ran and jumped from one tree to another, setting each aflame.

“Are you mad?” Autumnstar roared. “You’ll kill yourselves before you kill me!” Blood pooled in Weedfoot’s paws in response to the sudden heat. Frost turned to dew. Darkkick lifted herself from the grass, shaking the quickly melting ice off her long black fur like dust. In the shining firelight, Autumnstar seemed like any other opponent Weedfoot had overcome before.

Darkkick attacked first. She head-butted Autumnstar, knocking him toward the flames, now leaping to other trees of its own merit. Weedfoot struck Autumnstar upside the head before he could collect himself. They rolled through the fog, two against one. Weedfoot’s pelt grew soaked as she fell on her back, saved only by Darkkick dragging Autumnstar away.

“It’s done!” Paleseed cried. In between flashes of fur and fang, fire consumed every exit. The heat replaced Autumnstar’s supernatural chill entirely. Paleseed stood on the other side of the fire, coughing, eyes watering at the smoke that now ate at the moon.

“You’ve weakened him!” Weedfoot cheered as she freed Darkkick from Autumnstar’s strong hold. “There’s nothing else you can do here, Paleseed. You need to wake up.”

“I don’t know how!” Paleseed yowled. “This doesn’t feel like a dream!”

“You can see, but your eyes feel closed, don’t they?” Darkkick snapped, dodging Autumnstar’s strike. “You can still hear Harvest Moon in the distance. That’s how it is for us. Force your eyes open! Listen to the crowd!”

“I love you both!” Paleseed cried. Her wide gaze held Weedfoot’s attention, even as she scratched and clawed at Autumnstar. The fire blossomed, rising like the tide and receding just as fast. Paleseed was gone. Paleseed was safe.

A lucky blow; Weedfoot kicked her leg back, only for Autumnstar to lock his fangs deep into her ankle. He was a rattlesnake, injecting cold poison into Weedfoot’s blood. The deputy yowled and shivered as Autumnstar’s icy claws continued to spread his mouth’s icy venom. That close to the flesh, the fire could do nothing to stop his dark power. Weedfoot dug into Autumnstar’s face, even as her leg remained stuck in the dead leader’s vicious bite. 

Darkkick slid on her back, appearing under Autumnstar’s stomach. She pushed up, hard as she could. Autumnstar’s fangs lifted from Weedfoot’s ankle with a vibrant spurt of blood. Weedfoot’s spasming muscles kicked Autumnstar away.

Here are the fallen Ashes in the Water, the AshClan cats who stood against their Clanmates and asked for a different life; Lavenderleaf, Redcloud, Sprucespring, Wasppaw, Finstrike, Burdockstream, and Paleshade. StarClan knew of their mission and accepted their cause, welcoming the group into StarClan despite how they turned against their Clan. This is for them!

Weedfoot slashed at Autumnstar’s eyes. Autumnstar shrieked, trying to blink the blood away. Darkkick fulfilled her namesake; she kicked, hard, right against Autumnstar’s side, sending the suddenly blinded leader stumbling into Paleseed’s flames.

The effect was nearly instant. As Autumnstar caterwauled, form flailing in the fire, sharp-angled shadows bounced off his silhouette. Shardlings. The living shadows, with too pointy ears and fang-tips for tails, the broken remnants of a Dark Forest soul, dead twice-over. They scattered with the smoke, mimicking their host’s fading screams. Autumnstar grew smaller and smaller in the fire’s glow.

Weedfoot turned to Darkkick, wondering, praying, screaming inside, still absorbing the pain in her leg and everything unfolding around her. But Darkkick was gone. Darkkick was safe.

But Weedfoot bore witness. She was still a historian. This was her duty.

The last shadow of Autumnstar shifted and danced in the fire, with only its ears and tail suggesting a feline shape. But this Shardling did not bounce into the Dark Forest to search for its broken kin. No, this Shardling stared at Weedfoot. Bright yellow eyes glared at her with more hatred than any soul, dead or alive, could muster. It screeched with a sound like screaming wind. Flames reaching out to restrain it, the Shardling launched at Weedfoot.

Weedfoot was not safe.

[Image ID: Darkkick, Paleseed, and Weedfoot sit together as Rattlepelt tells Weedfoot, “I’ve got you, Weedfoot!” Under Weedfoot, it says + CONDITION: MANGLED LEG. Under Rattlepelt, it says LEVEL UP! FIERCE -> BLOODTHIRSTY.]

Weedfoot screamed. She spasmed against the gray… no. The green grass. The grass was green again. The voices that once whispered far in the distance were now up close and yowling. The sun. The sun had returned, dancing directly over the Leader’s Stone. A huge crowd surrounded Weedfoot, gasping and yowling in response to her sudden panic.

“I’ve got you, Weedfoot!” Rattlepelt sat at Weedfoot’s side. She wrapped her prized fox pelt around Weedfoot’s burning leg. It was still bleeding, even though Weedfoot’s body never entered that cursed forest. “Troutpool and the other clerics are making emergency bandages.” Rattlepelt pressed both front paws into Weedfoot’s wounds. A bit of blood stained her gray skin.

“We weren’t putting on a show here.” Darkkick! She and Paleseed sat with Terracottafoot, cleaning the black dye off their chests with wet moss rather than groom it and get sick.

“I did try to send them away,” Terracottafoot gulped.

“Move, that’s our mother!” Weedfoot’s four other kits pushed through the crowd, Waspdawn in the lead. The golden tom ran into Weedfoot. Puddlewhisper and Lavendertwist wrapped around their mother. Even Scaleripple, sensitive as he was, laid his head on Weedfoot’s tail, purring. Paleseed left Darkkick and Terracottafoot to join her family. Waspdawn tackled his sister, trying to hold both kin close. James trailed after them, lucious tail tucked under his legs.

“Where are you hurt?” James asked. He noticed Rattlepelt’s bloody paws and groaned, closing his eyes. “No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to look. I’m just grateful you’re awake.” Weedfoot couldn’t help but laugh; even as she awoke from a battle in the Dark Forest, James was still the snob she knew and love. James pressed into Weedfoot’s neck.

“Weedfoot.” Weedfoot’s family shifted to reveal Downstar, standing with Eelstar at the front of the crowd. “Terracottafoot told us of their vision and your quest. You should have told me about this.”

“This wasn’t your problem to solve,” Eelstar said. His voice lacked its usual bite as he stared at the fox pelt around her leg.

“I’m sorry, Downstar,” Weedfoot gulped, voice shaky from the experience, “but this was too important to let you stop us. StarClan said we were the best ones to handle Autumnstar.”

“It was terrifying to see,” Lavendertwist gulped. “Mom, you and Darkkick were just laying there, shivering! And then all these scratches and bruises began to appear, even though no one was touching you! And then your leg opened up, it was… I don’t even know what to say! What happened in the Dark Forest?”

Yes… what had happened? The Shardling had had its jaw around Weedfoot’s throat. It should have killed her. It wasn’t a thinking being, it was a bundle of lost emotion and instinct, a small piece of what used to be Autumnstar. It didn’t have the capacity to spare. So why did it? All five Clans stared at Weedfoot, awaiting her answer. What could she say? Only the truth.

“Autumnstar can’t hurt anyone anymore,” Weedfoot said.

(Weedfoot: 112, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Darkkick: 123, trans female, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Paleseed: 29, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

(Rattlepelt: 46, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

(Waspdawn: 29, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Puddlewhisper: 29, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

(Lavendertwist: 29, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Scaleripple: 16, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(James: 139, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Downstar: 122, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 35

Shadowdrop made Carnationspeckle laugh again and again.

[Image ID: Shadowdrop talks with Carnationspeckle. Rattlepelt watches from afar. Under Rattlepelt, it says LEVEL UP! PREY CLEANER -> LEATHER ARTIST.

(Rattlepelt: 18, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Shadowdrop: 27, male, codekeeper, sneaky, eloquent speaker, good teacher)

(Carnationspeckle: 37, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

Downstar calls for a Clan meeting and declares Mousepaw to be a codekeeper. She is now called Mousesong.

[Image ID: Mousepaw, now Mousesong, faces Rattlepelt. Mousesong says “Thanks, I suppose.” Under Mousesong, it says LEVEL UP! MOUSEPAW -> MOUSESONG, ODDLY OBSERVANT -> KEEN EYE.)

---

Rattlepelt wanted to start a new tradition in the warrior’s den. Rabbitjoy was all for helping her collect the needed materials, so all the pair had to do was wake up early and prepare. It gave Rattlepelt something else to think about other than Shadowdrop.

It wasn’t that Rattlepelt disliked him. He was a fine codekeeper and helped Rattlepelt improve some recipes on occasion. But he was not the right fit for Carnationspeckle. Carnationspeckle was selfless, kind, talented, and understanding. Shadowdrop simply wasn’t. Carnationspeckle assured Rattlepelt that she was just friends with Shadowdrop, and while Rattlepelt believed her mother, she didn’t think Shadowdrop felt the same. That, combined with her sister’s codekeeper ceremony the night before, made it hard for Rattlepelt to sleep. So, she worked.

“I don’t think she’ll like it,” Rabbitjoy muttered as dawn rose. The brown molly plucked down from between her claws. She and Rattlepelt sat outside the warrior’s den. Their Clanmates walked around them

“We might as well see,” Rattlepelt sighed just as the newly named Mousesong entered camp. The name did not fit the way the white molly held her head high and walked through camp without a glance at anyone else. Rattlepelt swallowed hard as Mousesong trudged to the warrior’s den.

“Mousesong!” Rattlepelt called as the newly named codekeeper approached. “Congratulations on your ceremony.”

“Thanks,” Mousesong muttered. “Where can I sleep?”

“That’s what we wanted to show you,” Rabbitjoy explained. She slipped behind Rattlepelt and into the den. She stopped beside Mousesong’s new nest. There was an odd, furry lump sitting in the nest. It was made of mouse pelts, held together with twine. Mousesong pawed the bundle and it squished under the pressure. It fluffed back up when she moved her paw.

“What is this?” Mousesong asked.

“Something we invented,” Rattlepelt chirped. “I tanned some mouse leather and Rabbitjoy tied them together. We stuffed down and moss in between the two. You can lay your head on it, and it’s like resting on someone’s side. I picked mouse pelts since I know you like mice.” Mousesong crawled into her new nest and slowly put her head on the fluff-ball. “I’m hoping we can make little gifts like these for new graduates in the future.”

“Why?” Mousesong huffed, lifting her head.

“Because it shows that we appreciate everything you’ve done,” Rattlepelt insisted. Mousesong eyed both Rattlepelt and Rabbitjoy. Rabbitjoy squirmed under Mousesong’s cold eyes, but Rattlepelt stood firm.

“Thanks, I suppose,” Mousesong muttered. “You didn’t have to do that. Either of you.” She laid back down and said, “I’ll catch something good for you both after I sleep.”

“That’s a promise,” Rattlepelt chirped. “We’ll let you rest. Sweet dreams, Mousesong!” Mousesong stared at her the whole way out of the warrior’s den. Rabbitjoy glanced back a dozen times as she and Rattlepelt made their way to the “artisan’s corner” of camp, where they had their tanning rack and other crafting tools set up.

“I can’t tell if she liked the fluff-ball,” Rabbitjoy sighed. “I’m impressed she didn’t rip into you.”

“She cares, even if she doesn’t admit it,” Rattlepelt said. “I know she does. It scares her, that’s all.”

“You show her more grace than I can,” Rabbitjoy said, shaking her head with a soft chuckle.

“She’s my sister,” Rattlepelt huffed. “Of course I do.”

(Rattlepelt: 18, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Rabbitjoy: 72, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Mousesong: 12, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

Palekit found a hole in the rocks and, curious as all kits are, stuck her paw inside. The whole camp comes running when she screeches in pain. It seems a snake was living in that hole.

[Image ID: Weedfoot, Fennelspot, and Scrubmask run toward Palekit, who is screaming “Momma!” Under Palekit, it says + NEW SKILL: PICKY NEST BUILDER. + CONDITION: SNAKE BITE,]

---

Palekit’s scream stirred a sleeping fear in Weedfoot that she thought had long since faded.

She had been sharing stew with Fennelspot and Scrubmask, admiring the petals the former now kept tucked into his white patch. Clammask was on nursery duty, and Weedfoot could hear her children’s giggles from the other side of camp. There shouldn’t have been a reason to be on edge. And yet, as Weedfoot dipped her muzzle into the bowl for another sip of soup, a kitten’s wail pierced the peace hovering over camp.

Weedfoot was running before she even processed what she saw. Palekit, whose eyes were shifting to match her father and whose strong legs had been the first of her litter to walk, now cradled one leg close as a slick black snake stuck its head out of a hole in the rocks.

“Momma!” Palekit wept. Fear-scent flooded her tiny body as she stared at the snake. Even with Weedfoot’s head start, Fennelspot was faster. He snatched Palekit by the scruff and dragged her away from the snake. Carnationspeckle had been sharing tongues with Downstar and bolted out of the leader’s den at the little kit’s cry. The young caretaker spotted the snake and pounced. Her fangs sunk into the snake’s neck. She shook the snake wildly and flung it over the rocks and out of camp.

“Palekit, when did you leave the den?” Clammask hurried out of the nursery. Weedfoot’s four other children lingered behind her. Poor Weedfoot’s attention was solely focused on her oldest daughter, who shook as she wailed. 

“Momma’s here, Palekit,” Weedfoot cooed as Fennelspot examined the bite on Palekit’s leg.

“What do you need?” Downstar barked, already running for the medicine den.

“It’s not venomous!” Fennelspot yowled, waving Downstar off. “The bite is not venomous.”

“How do you know?” Scrubmask asked as the rest of RippleClan gathered around Fennelspot and Weedfoot.

“Do you see how the bite wound forms an arch?” Fennelspot explained as Weedfoot groomed Palekit’s head. “That means the snake does not have venom. I believe it was a black ratsnake. They can hurt, but they aren’t deadly.”

“Is she okay?” Downstar huffed, glaring at Fennelspot with more fire in her eyes than Weedfoot had seen in moons.

“She will be,” Fennelspot promised. “We just need to clean the bite and make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“I want my dad,” Palekit cried, burying her little face in her mother’s fur.

“Has anyone seen James today?” Scrubmask called to the crowd.

“He took a walk with Parsley and Rustshade,” Carnationspeckle said, spitting snake blood out of her mouth. “I can find them.”

“Go,” Downstar huffed, nodding. Carnationspeckle looped around the crowd and jogged out of camp.

“I don’t like this,” Palekit moaned.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” Weedfoot promised, picking Palekit up by the scruff. As she did so, her head swam. She steadied her paws and shoved the dizziness back. She may have still been weak from the difficult birth, but stars-damn it, she was going to carry her daughter to the medicine den.

[Image ID: Waspkit, Lavenderkit, Ripplekit, and Puddlekit hog the screen. Under Ripplekit, it says + NEW SKILLS: AVID PLAY-FIGHTER, SPLASHES IN PUDDLES. Under Puddlekit, it says + NEW SKILL: MORBID CURIOSITY. Under Lavenderkit, it says + NEW SKILL: LOVES TO SING. Under Waspkit, it says + NEW SKILL: INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY.]

As Weedfoot and Fennelspot brought Palekit into the medicine den, four pairs of blue-tinted eyes watched them from the nursery. Clammask stood in front of them with her tail running over each of their little backs.

“Did any of you notice Palekit leave the nursery?” Clammask sighed, turning back to the kits.

“She was playing with Puddlekit,” Waspkit immediately said, pointing his tail at his younger brother.

“I didn’t think we had to stay in the nursery,” Puddlekit whined. Without his white blaze and deep blue eyes, he would look just like his injured sister, albeit a bit more pathetic (in Waspkit’s eyes at least).

“Puddlekit is in trouble,” Lavenderkit sang, trotting around Puddlekit. “Puddlekit is in trouble!”

“No he isn’t!” Ripplekit whined, smacking her white-splashed brother’s flank. “It’s no one’s fault!”

“Ripplekit is right,” Clammask added. “This was a bad accident. The snake could have bitten anyone. If anything, I’m to blame for not keeping an eye on your sister.”

“Clammask is in trouble, Clammask is in trouble,” Lavenderkit sang, throwing himself on Clammask’s leg.

“I’m going to sit outside,” Clammask sighed, gently shoving Lavenderkit off. “Keep yourselves entertained, you four.” She stepped off the leather floor and onto the warm sand. She laid across the entrance, trapping the four remaining kits inside the nursery.

“Listen!” Waspkit yowled. He waved his tail wildly to catch his littermates’ attention. “Palekit’s hurt! No more getting hurt, everyone.”

“I promise,” Puddlekit said quietly.

“I’ll do what I want!” Lavenderkit huffed. He launched himself on his front paws, but his headstand attempt proved futile. He tumbled forward and his flank landed right in Waspkit’s face. Waspkit growled and launched into a full assault on his brother. Ripplekit squealed and joined the fight. Puddlekit watched from the sidelines. 

Unbeknownst to any of the small kits, their laughter warmed the frigid air suffocating the camp.

(Weedfoot: 84, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Fennelspot: 92, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Scrubmask: 52, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Palekit: 1, female, kit, impulsive, picky nest builder)

(Carnationspeckle: 37, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Clammask: 29, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Downstar: 93, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Waspkit: 1, male, kit, bossy, interested in clan history)

(Puddlekit: 1, male, kit, polite, morbid curiosity)

(Lavenderkit: 1, male, kit, noisy, likes to sing)

(Ripplekit: 1, female, kit, know-it-all, avid play-fighter, splashes in puddles)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 50

In an unexpected twist of events, Scrubmask asked Clammask to be her mate. In an equally unexpected twist, Clammask accepted!

[Image ID: Scrubmask speaks with Clammask. Under Scrubmask, it says + MATE: CLAMMASK. Under Clammask, it says + MATE: SCRUBMASK, + CONDITION: PREGNANT.]

Scrubmask was not a showy warrior by any means. She kept to herself and her small circle of friends (Fennelspot and Downstar, to name her closest companions). So for her to invite Clammask on a stroll under the light of the half moon was certainly out of character for her. It felt right to do, however. In Scrubmask’s mind, this was the only way she could ask such an important question.

“Scrubmask, where are you taking me?” Clammask sighed. She watched the thick dark leaves dancing overhead in the soft wind. The hum of bugs acted as a quiet backdrop to the gentle walk. 

“Just wait,” Scrubmask said. She reached her tail to touch Clammask, who walked behind her. That was all Clammask needed to quiet her mind and continue on.

Eventually Scrubmask stopped at the base of a beech tree. The moon poured through the thick leaves. Although the summer had been full of rain, if Scrubmask took a deep breath, she could still smell blood and fear. Clammask gasped softly when she realized where they were.

“This is where we found Mousesong,” Clammask mumbled. She rubbed a paw into the grass. “Why would you bring me here?”

“I’ve been thinking about Mousesong a lot as of late,” Scrubmask admitted. She rubbed against the beech tree’s bark. She sat beside the trunk. “She wasn’t close to many cats, but she was good at her job, and she was learning to trust. I respected her. She could have had a long and joyful life. She could have found a mate and begun a family, something to tie her into the bloodline of the Clans.”

“I wish she told someone where she was going,” Clammask sighed. “I wish we understood why this happened.”

“That’s the nature of the world,” Scrubmask said. “We can all die anytime we leave camp. We don’t even have to leave camp, in some cases.” Scrubmask caught Clammask’s eye, deep blue digging into silver with a level of fear Clammask never saw in her friend’s eyes. “Clammask, I don’t want to leave the world without knowing I started a family. I want descendents in RippleClan. I don’t know if the Clan will remember Mousesong in a few generations. I don’t want that to happen to me.”

“So you want me to help you find a sire.” Clammask guessed. She moved to Scrubmask’s side, placing her bulky tail over Scrubmask’s feathery one. “I would love to help, Scrubmask. You’ll be a good mother.”

“That’s not it,” Scrubmask said, shaking her head. “The idea of being pregnant unnerves me. I want you to find a sire, Clammask. I want you to be my mate.” That deep, intense look poured out of Scrubmask once more.

“I don’t understand,” Clammask muttered breathlessly.

“I believe,” Scrubmask explained, pausing every few words, as though second-guessing herself, “that the two of us would make good mothers. I… want to be your partner in growing our Clan. I don’t want to die without leaving someone else in my stead.” Her paw touched Clammask’s. 

“I really wasn’t expecting this,” Clammask gasped, barely able to speak.

“I want to go out and find a sire you’re comfortable with,” Scrubmask explained. “We’ll check with Fennelspot in a quarter moon and see if you’re pregnant. I’ll take care of your duties when you can’t work anymore.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Clammask muttered. Scrubmask’s thoughts slowed and stuttered. An owl hooted somewhere overhead.

“Is it too much?” Scrubmask asked. The fur around her neck fluffed up and her face sunk into it. 

Clammask thought for a moment. She brushed  paw over her slim belly. What would her littermates think of her? She steadied herself, pressing into the cool grass. She wasn’t a codekeeper, she didn’t do well dwelling on things for a while. She needed to choose.

“If you want to find a sire tonight,” Clammask declared, bunting Scrubmask’s shoulder, “then I’m with you. I’ll do this if you’ll do it with me.” Scrubmask leaned into Clammask’s warmth. The two pushed against each other, finding oneness in separation.

(Scrubmask: 67, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Clammask: 44, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

Lavendertwist disappeared for a few days only to return with a collar. He decides to keep it to honor his father.

[Image ID: Lavendertwist reunites with Weedfoot, James, and Paleseed, wearing a black and gold collar. Weedfoot says “Lavender, where have you been?” Lavendertwist replies “Humans caught me, but I found my way home. Look at what they gave me!” Under Lavendertwist, it says + ACCESSORY: BLACK AND GOLD COLLAR.]

(Lavendertwist: 16, male, warrior, playful, good singer, good storyteller)

(Weedfoot: 99, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(James: 126, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Paleseed: 16, female, mediator, insecure, fast runner, steady paws)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 48

Weedfoot and James discover that Scalekit is extremely sensitive to certain sounds and textures. He starts crying at the feeling of leather.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and James stand behind Scalekit, who is an older kit now. Under Scalekit, it says + NEW SKILL: AVID PLAY-FIGHTER, + PERMANENT CONDITION: SENSORY SENSITIVITIES. Fennelspot tells the group, “We’re a sensitive species. Some more than others.”]

(James: 124, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Weedfoot: 97, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Scalekit: 1, male, kit, lonesome, avid play-fighter)

(Fennelspot: 105, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

Rustshade tells himself he cannot let his feelings consume him, he must move on. Clammask’s grief begins to lessen. Weedfoot picks herself out of her nest and begins her day anew, a fresh conviction in her heart.

[Image ID: Rustshade, Clammask, and Weedfoot stand together. Under each of them, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

(Rustshade: 92, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Clammask: 42, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Weedfoot: 97, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Spikecrash and Darkkick have both healed, but remain scarred by their injuries.

[Image ID: Spikecrash has a small scar at the base of her tail, while Darkkick has scars wrapping his tail. Under Spikecrash, it says - CONDITION: BROKEN BACK. Under Darkkick, it says - CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL.]

(Spikecrash: 23, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Darkkick: 108, male, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

The new cleric apprentice from AshClan, Terracottapaw, comes asking for horsetail. They refuse to say why AshClan needs them but RippleClan still provides them with horsetail.

[Image ID: Paleseed tells a ginger tabby apprentice with white markings “You can talk to me if you’d like.”]

---

“I can’t believe I have another mediator to work with!” Paleseed cheered as she walked alongside Spikecrash. “I thought it would be ages before I had someone else with my training to help.”

“You can’t really call it training,” Spikecrash reminded her, features squishing together in awkward humility. “It’s just lived experience.”

“I’m just glad I’m not alone in this,” Paleseed purred, rubbing against Spikecrash. “I was worried I would ruin everything without help.”

“I’m sure you would have been fine without me,” Spikecrash sighed.

The pair approached the AshClan border near the end of a long, hot day. Bugs swarmed around Paleseed’s face and made her nose itch. A bug bute swelled in Spikecrash’s ear. The mediators almost couldn’t breathe through the thick humidity, but still they pressed on, hoping the cool night would quell some of the bugs. When the border came into view, there were already a few mediators waiting for them. There was Shellstripe, whom had offered a lot of valuable training during Gatherings and meetings. Two of Paleseed’s good friends, Frogbelly and Eveningshade, waited as well. An unfamiliar ginger apprentice lingered behind them, carefully eyeing the approaching cats.

“Ready for your first mediator meeting?” Paleseed asked, taking a deep breath.

“I think you are more nervous than I am,” Spikecrash said before pressing on. She and Paleseed stopped just a tail-length from the border, batting away gnats that tried to crawl onto their eyes.

“Good evening, Paleseed!” Frogbelly chirped, fur fluffing up at the sight of his friend. When he and the other AshClan cats spotted Spikecrash, he said “Oh, a new friend! Newtstream mentioned a potential future mediator in RippleClan!”

“Everyone, this is Spikecrash,” Paleseed explained, gently nudging Spikecrash’s chin up. “A horse broke her back, so we brought her to camp. She decided to become a mediator while she healed!”

“Recovering from a broken back is impressive, Mediator Spikecrash,” Eveningshade purred, bowing slightly. “Your clerics are skilled. StarClan must have blessed your recovery.”

“I’ll have this scar for the rest of my life,” Spikecrash sighed, showing off the deep gouge a bit above her tail, “but I can walk. The scar still aches sometimes.”

“Better some aches than to be paralyzed,” Eveningshade said with a dismissive flick of her whiskers.

“We were going to talk about how we can improve relations between our Clans, what with one of our apprentices abandoning us for your ranks,” Shellstripe gulped, “but we should start by getting to know you better, Mediator Spikecrash. Perhaps soon enough, we’ll be able to drop the honorific. I am Shellstripe, and this is Eveningshade and Frogbelly.” The gray and lilac cats stood taller when their names were spoken.

“You haven’t introduced this one yet,” Paleseed said. She nodded to the ginger cat lingering behind the group. “You must be newly apprenticed. What’s your name?”

“I am Terracottapaw,” the apprentice gulped, carefully slinking between the mediators. “I am Newtstream’s apprentice.” They squeezed their eyes tight and said very quickly, as though under interrogation, “I may smell like a tom but I am not a tom and want you to think of me as something else with they and them!”

“No need to be nervous, Terracottapaw!” Paleseed said. She crouched a bit to reach the small apprentice’s level. “My sister Puddlewhisper used to be a tom too. If you ever need a friend to talk to, I’m sure she’d love to chat with you at the next Gathering. It’s not the same experience, but she could help!” Terracottapaw nodded stiffly, not meeting Paleseed’s heather eyes.

“I thought this meeting was just for mediators,” Spikecrash noted. “What is a cleric apprentice doing here?”

“I have an official request for RippleClan,” Terracottapaw mumbled. Paleseed almost couldn’t hear them.

“Why don’t you and I step to the side?” Paleseed suggested, nodding to a tree that straddled the border. “Spikecrash can get acquainted with the other mediators that way.” Spikecrash stiffened as Frogbelly suddenly bombarded her with questions. Terracottapaw slunk away. Paleseed followed on her side of the border until they stopped by the trunk of the bordering tree. She rubbed against the tree, rubbing away bugs swarming her face.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Terracottapaw,” Paleseed said as the young apprentice carefully sat, “but why is Newtstream not here with you? It’s a big task to send a new apprentice out without their mentor.”

“We need horsetail, if your Clan has any to spare,” Terracottapaw asked softly. 

“Wouldn’t it be better to ask SlugClan for horsetail?” Paleseed suggested. “Their territory is better suited to growing horsetail. They’d be more likely to have extra.”

“Do you not have some?” Terracottapaw stammered, eyes wide. “Please! Newtstream said it has to come from RippleClan for the ritual to work!”

“Ritual?” Paleseed said. “What do you mean?” Terracottapaw squeezed their muzzle shut tight. They glanced toward the mediators, who were utterly absorbed in conversation with Spikecrash. They shivered despite the heavy heat. “You can talk to me if you’d like. You look like you have a lot on your shoulders for someone so young.”

“I just need the horsetail,” Terracottapaw gulped, shaking their head.

“I can ask Fennelspot if he has any to spare,” Paleseed sighed. Before she could pry any further, Spikecrash and the AshClan mediators strolled over to her and Terracottapaw. The ginger apprentice slipped back behind Shellstripe as they looped Paleseed in on their conversation.

What was happening in AshClan?

(Paleseed: 14, female, mediator, insecure, fast runner, steady paws)

(Spikecrash: 23, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

Halibutdusk realized tom doesn’t describe how they feel anymore.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk sits in the middle of the screen. Under them, it says LEVEL UP! MALE -> NON-BINARY (THEY/THEM).]

(Halibutdusk: 40, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

Mosspaw plays with Lemmy along the border.

[Image ID: Mosspaw tells Lemmy “Maybe you’re too scared to spar with me.” Lemmy responds, “Excuse me?”]

---

Mosspaw had been on a hunting assessment when he saw Lemmy again. She was on RippleClan’s side of the river, sniffing at the current. Her whiskers twitched as the water sprayed her face with a soft mist. Her blue eyes scanned the territory but could not see Mosspaw’s dark pelt in the dappled shadows of the brush.

Downstar warned the Clan to keep an eye out for the attackers. Clammask warned Mosspaw to get backup if he saw any of the three cats again. Yet this tortoiseshell intrigued him. Were her friends waiting for a signal to attack? Was she looking for someone to kill? Hmm…

“If you’re looking to plan an ambush,” Mosspaw called, stalking out of the undergrowth, “you’ve picked a bad spot to wait.” Lenny’s eyes tightened. Her claws slipped out. Her tail thrashed about as she readied herself for the approaching attacker.

“You don’t have to be here,” Lemmy growled. “I’m not looking for a fight.”

“And yet you and your friends tried to kill me,” Mosspaw scoffed, taking a cocky step forward. “Can you explain why?” Lemmy fluffed herself up, trying to appear bigger than she was.

“You’re young,” she said. “You can leave this Clan and respect your ancestors rather than insult their rest with rituals and shrines.”

“I think you have an odd perspective on the Clans,” Mosspaw laughed. “But if you’re not going to kill me, might as well let you know my name. I’m Mosspaw. I overheard your friends call you Lemmy.”

“Go,” Lemmy hissed. “My fight’s not with you.” She turned back to the river. 

“Maybe you’re too scared to spar with me,” Mosspaw chuckled. He risked a few steps closer.

“Excuse me?” Lemmy faced Mosspaw again, lips curled. 

“You’re here to learn more about the Clans, aren’t you?” Mosspaw laughed, wiggling his flank. “Why not see how a Clan cat fights? A friendly spar between would-be killer and would-be victim.”

“You are an imbecile,” Lemmy snapped with a violent slash of her tail.

“You could say I have my father’s charm,” Mosspaw purred. “I’m just a tom who sees a pretty molly and wants to get to know her.”

“You want to spar?” Lemmy huffed. She crouched, claws sliding out and eyes sharp. “Fine then. Let’s spar.”

“This will be fun!” Mosspaw laughed as Lemmy pounced.

(Mosspaw: 9, male, caretaker apprentice, shameless, stares at fire)

(Lemmy: 24, female, rogue(?), cold, deep StarClan bond)

Mousesong scents AshClan on the territory, despite the good relations between Clans.

[Image ID: Mousesong looks up at a big tree, calling “Terracottapaw? Is that you?” Behind her, a massive dog pounces.]

---

As a codekeeper, it was Mousesong’s responsibility to enforce the code on her Clan, and that meant following up on the occasional rumor. She’d overheard an odd rumor one sleepless night in the warrior’s den that Elmsprout’s reason for joining RippleClan could have been to smuggle oceanic resources to her home under the guise of sanctuary. Now, Mousesong did not believe the rumor. Eelstar looked frustrated enough at Gatherings to make her think Elmsprout’s asylum was legitimate (although he had been oddly absent from the last Gathering, replaced instead by his deputy Barkfur). Still, it was worth setting up a stakeout by the AshClan border in the wee glimmers of the morning, bugs dancing around her ears and nipping at her scalp.

Mousesong didn’t have many places to hide with her bright white fur. She wasn’t much of a climber, which meant she couldn’t really hide in the trees. Would she have to smear her pelt with mud and crawl under a bush? Maybe there would be a thick enough shrub or something with white flowers to keep her camouflaged…

A strong fear scent slammed into Mousesong’s nose, making her stumble. StarClan was it thick! And fresh too, only minutes old. It certainly wasn’t RippleClan scent. No, the smell was AshClan through and through. What was an AshClan cat doing in RippleClan? Mousesong thought they were trying to stay friendly, despite the issue with Elmsprout. Why did they smell so terrified?

The odd scent was far more important than a rumor Mousesong already didn’t believe in. Her eyes traced an unseen trail further into RippleClan territory. Ears sharp and alert for sounds of an ambush, Mousesong followed the trail. She didn’t have to go far, however. Her tense ears picked up a hard sobbing sound from somewhere overhead. 

Mousesong scanned the trees, searching for odd colors amidst the low-lit green leaves. The fear scent slipped up a thick, round beech tree. A bright ginger pelt clung to a branch far overhead, shaking so violently that leaves tumbled off the twigs. Mousesong recognized the apprentice from the last Gathering a few days ago.

“Terracottapaw?” Mousesong called. “Is that you?” Terracottapaw gasped, silver eyes locking onto Mousesong like she was a bear.

“It’s after me,” Terracottapaw whined. “Autumnstar sent it after me!” They buried their face against the thick branch.

“What’s happening?” Mousesong huffed, looking about for a threat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Terracottapaw cried, refusing to lift their head. “Run, please!”

“I’m taking you back to AshClan,” Mousesong said. “I’ll keep you safe.” Her words began to falter as the sound of heavy paws grew closer. She could hear the thick panting well before she turned around. Claws at the ready, she arched her back and hissed at the approaching beast.

It was just like her sister described it from her own encounter as an apprentice; a massive dog, bigger than any dog she’d ever seen before. Tall, pointed ears, sharp as claws. Wild eyes. Hungry jaws.

Terracottapaw was gone by the time a patrol found Mousesong’s body.

(Mousesong: 25, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)