#Spikecrash

[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]

We actually do see Valleybrook in Moon 20! His only living appearance, but he is there!

Cinderella gets a design because we saw her sprite. If we ever get designs for others like, Sunspike, Valleybrook, or Rebeca then I’ll add them. Same with mates, if they have kits adopted or not they will be added!

[yourfantasystar]

Can These Cars Survive the Hammer Smash?

#caraccidentsimulator #beamng #beamngcaraccidentsimulation#beamng#bus#carcrash test#carcrash#beamngdrivecrashes#beamngdrive#beamng drive mods#spikecrash#bestbeamngmods

[kctheowllady]

Music Meme 3 

∆ If You Wish to Draw or Feature My OCs or Artwork In Anyway, You Must Ask For Permission First ∆ Shinigami, Blaststrike, Aurora, Spikecrash, Sharp Edge, Duchess Echo, Star Cartwright, and Artwork belongs to KcMangleWolf0587 (Me) Tawnyskip, Cloudfire, and Tulip Zhu belong to Wolfheart343 Kat Salem, Lori Mayhem, and Kat-Verse AU belongs to Katninjagirl96 TFA Prowl, Jazz, Sentinel Prime, and Transformers Animated belongs to Hasbro Marvel, Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker/Spider-Man, and Iron Man/Tony Stark (Mentioned) belongs to Disney

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 94

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 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 56, Part 1

Fennelspot’s yellowcough transfers off him and to Rustshade.

[Image ID: Fennelspot faces Rustshade. Under Fennelspot, it says - CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH. Under Rustshade, it says + CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH.]

Fennelspot was a cleric; he was supposed to heal others, not get them sick. He had dealt with yellowcough like a true warrior, carefully avoiding his Clanmates and comforting Troutpool, insisting that she could handle the Clan on her own. But now he was walking out of the quarantine den and leaving Rustshade behind, hacking up his lungs. Even now, as Fennelspot settled Rustshade into his new nest, he couldn’t turn around and leave. His paw lingered on the edge of the nest. 

“Fennelspot, go,” Rustshade huffed through his coughs. “I’m just gonna sleep. You get to leave. Enjoy the rest of winter. The new year will be here before we know it.” Fennelspot groomed Rustshade’s head. With one last lingering look, he left his patient and walked around the shipwreck. 

Snow covered camp that morning, but busy paws melted most of the snow into the sand, leaving just the dens and shipwreck covered in snow patches. Fennelspot took a deep breath of crisp winter air, tinted by salt. He’d never been happier to step into a cold winter’s day.

A golden face smacked into Fennelspot’s leg and almost took him down. He looked down to see Honeykit, slightly dazed from the impact. Fennelspot was about to ask what game the young tom was playing, but then he saw Honeykit’s littermates. Splashkit and Drumkit carefully danced around Leatherkit, who had a large scrap of leather covering his eyes. Ahh. Fennelspot understood now. It was a game of Night Hunt. Fennelspot and Downstar played that game many times as kits (and perhaps more than they should have as a young caretaker and cleric).

“Your brother won’t smell you in the medicine den,” Fennelspot purred quietly, nodding toward the medicine den. Troutpool would make sure Honeykit was good. Honeykit nodded and hurried into the den. 

“You won’t get him out of there for a while.” Scrubmask trotted up to Fennelspot from the nursery where Clammask watched over the kits. “He wants to be a cleric when he is apprenticed. He likes the idea of brewing medicine.”

“We’d be happy to have him,” Fennelspot purred, gently bunting his friend. “Have you seen Oilstripe today?”

“She was arguing with Downstar about her bodyguard,” Scrubmask huffed. “She went to the beach to calm down. Trumpetspore is watching her.” Fennelspot nodded and touched noses with Scrubmask.

“Let Troutpool know I’ve gone to see her,” Fennelspot sighed. He brushed his tail against Scrubmask and made his way out of camp. While Fennelspot was only sick for a moon and a half, he still purred deeply when he stepped out of camp and got a better view of the sea that soothed him to sleep every night. It was hard to believe that he had lived by that sea for half of his life, that he had once lived in the muddy territory of SlugClan. It felt like he had always belonged beside the sea with the Clan he helped found.

Fennelspot followed Oilstripe and Trumpetspore’s scent trail down to the southern beaches. The sea spray made him shiver and breathed life back into him. He could see Oilstripe walking along the coastline in the distance. Trumpetspore sat at the edge of the grass, watching. She noticed Fennelspot’s approach well before he got to the young warrior.

“She’s not doing well,” Trumpetspore muttered. Fennelspot touched his tail to Trumpetspore’s shoulder and headed down the beach. Wet sand stuck to Oilstripe’s paws. Her gaze stayed stuck to the sea. It wasn’t until Fennelspot was a few fox-lengths away that she actually noticed him. 

“You’re better,” she gasped softly. “I thought you were still in quarantine with my dad.”

“Troutpool cleared me last night,” Fennelspot explained. “Is there… anyone comforting you?” Oilstripe bristled and sat at the edge of the water. It was high tide, leaving only a tail-length of sand dry when the water stretched as far as it could go. 

“Applepelt talks to me a lot,” Oilstripe admitted. “They won’t tell me about Carnationspeckle. She says the rules on what she’s allowed to say around me are hazy.” Fennelspot sat beside Oilstripe. The lapping of the waves nearly drowned out Oilstripe’s words. “I don’t know what they’re doing to her, Fennelspot. Lemmy doesn’t know, Troutpool’s scared, and now my dad is sick… can you stay with me a while?” 

Oilstripe scooted closer to Fennelspot. She leaned against his shoulder. Fennelspot put his chin on her head and let the waves soothe them both.

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

(Rustshade: 100, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Honeykit: 4, male, kit, noisy, has lots of ideas)

(Splashkit: 4, male, kit, noisy, never sits still)

(Drumkit: 4, female, kit, quiet, moss-ball hunter)

(Leatherkit: 4, male, kit, impulsive, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

(Scrubmask: 73, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Trumpetspore: 17, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Oilstripe: 60, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Paleseed makes no progress on a recent border dispute with WheatClan. She believes she is meant for something greater.

[Image ID: Paleseed and Spikecrash walk away from a WheatClan warrior. Paleseed says, “Do you ever feel like there’s something more you could be doing?”]

(Paleseed: 22, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

(Spikecrash: 31, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

Lavendertwist fights a rogue. While he drives the Witch Hunter off, he must be rushed to the medicine den.

[Image ID: Trumpetspore, Scrubmask, and Scalepaw watch Lavendertwist fight Achilles. Lavendertwist yowls, “Where is she? Tell me where she is!” Under him, it says + CONDITION: CLAW WOUND. Under Scalepaw, it says - CONDITION: SENSORY OVERLOAD.]

---

According to Lemmy, the Witch Hunters were preparing another ambush. They had their eyes on Oilstripe, constantly searching for signs of her fiery ginger pelt, but they had other names too; Troutpool, Downstar, Fennelspot, all those closest to Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle. Downstar outright banned her clerics from visiting the river after that, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t use the Witch Hunters’ plans against them.

Lavendertwist, Scalepaw, Trumpetspore, and Scrubmask hid in the trees on the other side of the river. Trumpetspore sat lower than the rest, better shrouded in the pine needles with her black fur. Scalepaw stayed away from the others, more at home with his pelt against the bark than against others. Although he often didn’t speak in crowded situations, he was growing into a fine young warrior. Scrubmask, meanwhile, lounged on the branches like she was cuddled in her nest. All in all, Downstar and Weedfoot picked a good patrol for the assault; except that Lavendertwist was antsy.

“Lavendertwist, if you don’t stop fidgeting, the Witch Hunters will bolt as soon as they arrive,” Scrubmask grumbled as Lavendertwist scratched his bare neck.

“I can’t help it,” he groaned. “We’ve been sitting here all day!”

“This is the best lead Lemmy’s given us,” Trumpetspore reminded him. “I don’t want anyone else to die because we didn’t stop these cats.”

“I’m as dedicated to getting Carnationspeckle back as anyone else!” Lavendertwist huffed, glaring down at Trumpetspore. “Sorry I can’t stay still all day!”

“Down there!” Scalepaw whispered. Now that made Lavendertwist shut up. All eyes focused on the ground. A few moments later, figures shifted between the trees, leaving light prints behind them. Four cats slunk along the forest floor, eyeing the river. A brown tom with a large scar across his side led them closer to RippleClan territory. Lavendertwist recognized him from Mosspounce’s accounts; that was Achilles, essentially the deputy of the Witch Hunters.

“He’ll know where Carnationspeckle is,” Lavendertwist whispered, nodding at Achilles. He, Scalepaw, and Scrubmask snuck further down the tree to join Trumpetspore. It was all body language from there. Scrubmask flicked her ears at Scalepaw, then at the Witch Hunter in the far back of the group. It would be up to the growing apprentice to keep them from running. Trumpetspre claimed a scrawny white molly to the side. Scrubmask met Lavendertwist’s eyes, and nodded. Achilles was his.

Lavendertwist crouched along the thin branch. His eyes followed Achilles as he moved slow and steady. Scrubmask raised her tail high. Lavendertwist held his breath. Scrubmask dropped her tail. 

Four warriors fell from the trees, landing square on their targets. The Witch Hunters yowled as sharp and angry fangs dug into their pelts. Achilles spun and tore his claws down Lavendertwist’s shoulder. The white-patched warrior grabbed Achilles by the ear and tore at the fragile flesh with all his might. Achilles kicked his back leg and squirmed out.

“Where is she?” Lavendertwist yowled, pouncing back onto Achilles. “Tell me where she is! Where are you keeping Carnationspeckle?” Achilles, however, was not as chatty as Lavendertwist. 

He shoved Lavendertwist into the writhing mass of warriors and Witch Hunters behind him. If it wasn’t for RippleClan’s strong scent of sand and salt, Lavendertwist might have struck a Clanmate in the confusion. Back paws smacked his jaw. His teeth clung to someone’s tail. Scalepaw’s white-speckled pelt flung past Lavendertwist. He spun back to his feet with exceptional skill and was back in the horde before Lavendertwist could call out.

“My friends and family will never be able to rest while you witches play with their souls like mice!” Achilles screeched. He tumbled out of the fight, claws entangled with Trumpetspore. Black paws pushed a furious brown muzzle away from a vulnerable throat. Scrubmask and Lavendertwist kicked off their assailants. They threw themselves against Achilles’ side. The three spun into a tree. Shards of bark clung to Scrubmask’s fur.

“StarClan is its own system,” Scrubmask growled. “They have no quarrel with your Other Side.”

“If Madeline and the crows say you endanger their peace,” Achilles huffed as Scalepaw scrambled away from the three other Witch Hunters, “then I must protect them.” One of the Witch Hunters dragged Scrubmask back behind the tree. The others targeted Trumpetspore. The young warrior kicked them off and ran to Lavendertwist. She ricocheted off the tree and smacked back into her assailants with a powerful wail. Scalepaw regrouped beside his brother and mentor. 

“Back strike,” Lavendertwist panted, unable to hold back a slight purr at putting his brother’s training to the test. Scalepaw nodded, battlelust burning his blue eyes. Lavendertwist and Scalepaw ran at Achilles, yowling their throats raw. Achilles braced himself, eyes locked onto Lavendertwist. Scalepaw suddenly darted to the side. He looped around the brown Witch Hunter. Achilles couldn’t focus on both of them at once. He left his flank exposed to the younger tom, locking claws with Lavendertwist. Scalepaw dug into Achilles’ scar. Achilles shrieked and kicked Scalepaw square in the chest. A clump of Achilles’ long fur clung to Scalepaw’s tooth. 

Lavendertwist reared onto his back legs. Achilles was stunned. This was his moment! Achilles would be the perfect prisoner. They could trade the Witch Hunters for Carnationspeckle, use him to prepare some sort of assault! That would teach them to… to….

Lavendertwist wasn’t sure what happened. A flash of claws. A yowl of pain. Chunks of fur and flesh stuck in his paw. Scalepaw, Trumpetspore, and Scrubmask were all on top of Achilles, dragging him away. Lavendertwist had him, why were they… no, there was a reason. Air seeped out of Lavendertwist and he could not get it back. His front paws gave way. He crumbled onto the tan grass, wishing for cold, soft snow to break his fall. His neck burned. Blood pooled under his chin. 

Oh. Achilles slashed his neck open. What a dramatic blow. It seemed like the sort of killing strike he would have described in a story to the kits. Rabbitjoy and Rattlepelt would likely have called it overly dramatic and overused. After all, most warriors who died in battle didn’t die from such an unlikely and well-placed hit. Fangs were better for ripping someone’s throat open than claws, after all. Would anyone believe future historians when they described how Lavendertwist died?

Lavendertwist wondered if Rippleferm felt something similar when she died. The inability to breathe. The clear and short future ahead. Lavendertwist missed his sister. She would have had something kind to say to bring him to StarClan. Would she be there as a Fetcher to escort his soul to Silverpelt? Lavendertwist wondered if the Judges would try him for anything. He’d lived a good life, hadn’t he? He supposed they would just let him in without fuss.

One thing deeply surprised Lavendertwist about dying. He thought that when someone died of a wound like his, all they could do was focus on the pain and their thoughts. All of his musings flew past in the span of a moment. After that, Lavendertwist was left without thoughts, only a deep and unending awareness of everything around him. Every sight, every sound, every agonizing and terrifying sensation flowing from his open neck.

The Witch Hunters had run off in the moment that lasted a lifetime. When Lavendertwist could no longer think, only sense, his Clanmates had gathered around him, covered in scratches and fear scent.

“Lavender, Lavender, Lavender!” Scalepaw wailed. His paws fidgeted, reaching out toward his brother and mentor only to pull back. Trumpetspore shook, a mournful cry flowing out. Scrubmask was the opposite. Scrubmask slid Lavendertwist onto her strong back. Lavendertwist cried out, but only managed to gurgle and bubble as his death blow shrieked.

“Back to camp, right now!” Scrubmask ordered. No one dared disobey her. They ran toward the stepping stones. The cold spray off the river stun Lavendertwist’s eyes. Trumpetspore helped Scrubmask stay balanced as they waded through the low current. As soon as Scrubmask had all four paws on solid ground, she was off. Trumpetspore could only just keep up with her. 

The territory flew by, the grass brushing Lavendertwist’s whiskers. Scrubmask’s cream and white side turned red. His eyes were frozen, unable to blink, processing the sensation of life draining out of his throat. Scalepaw’s cries rang through the trees. Grass shifted to sand. Although he was looking away, Lavendertwist could still hear the ocean’s crashing waves behind him. He caught a glimpse of RippleClan’s glorious shipwreck before Scrubmask turned and ran along the walls of camp.

“Fennelspot, Troutpool!” Scrubmask cried, bursting through the entrance. Lavendertwist’s face scratched on the brambles clinging to the rocks. Fennelspot and Troutpool were already outside the medicine den, having prepared themselves to welcome injuries home from the patrol. Elmsprout had been tending the stove when the patrol entered camp. No one had to order her; she ran beside Scrubmask and gently set Lavendertwist’s dangling head on her back.

“I have you, Lavendertwist,” she promised. “You’ll be okay.”

“The Witch Hunter slashed his neck open!” Trumpetspore wailed as the clerics escorted Scrubmask, Lavendertwist, and Elmsprout into the medicine den. “He’s barely breathing!” Was that true? It seemed true. Lavendertwist wasn’t able to ponder on that. He wasn’t able to think of anything, merely glancing past the unfolding scene before moving onto the next painful sensation. His Clanmates cried out and gasped at the sight of him. James lunged toward his son, but Weedfoot, wide-eyed, kept him back. Scalepaw ran into camp and into the embrace of his parents, whimpering.

“Troutpool, cover the wound in a witch hazel salve,” Fennelspot ordered. “Scrubmask, Wildclaw finished cleaning her wraps this morning, fetch them, they can help stem the bleeding.” Lavendertwist found himself in a soft, down-lined nest. Ah. That was nice. A good place to die.

“The wound looks deep, Fennelspot,” Troutpool gulped as she shuffled through her jars of salves and ointments along the wall. “I think we need to stitch it.”

“Bring in Rabbitjoy,” Fennelspot huffed as Scrubmask ran from the den. “She’ll make the process easier.”

“Lavendertwist isn’t a piece of leather!” Elmsprout cried, grooming Lavendertwist’s head. “How can you stitch him?”

“It’s something we try to avoid,” Fennelspot sighed. He groomed the blood flowing from Lavendertwist’s neck and held a paw to the throbbing wound. “I had to stitch Parsley’s tail when I tried to save it. I have a specialized sewing claw from my days in SlugClan that will let me weave sutures through the wound and close it. It’s Lavendertwist’s best chance to survive.” Scrubmask returned and shoved freshly washed bandages onto the wound. It did nothing for the pain that began to overwhelm Lavendertwist’s senses. “Elmsprout, I need you to help keep Lavendertwist still while we do this. With the placement of the wound, I can’t give him painkillers.”

“I’ll try,” Elmsprout gulped. She laid over Lavendertwist, purring as hard as she could. Fennelspot fetched a gaudy leather contraption from a corner of the den; a curved, pointed piece of bone that would soon pierce through Lavendertwist’s skin again and again.

Lavendertwist would survive, but as Rabbitjoy and Fennelspot sewed his neck shut, no matter how much Elmsprout and Scrubmask comforted him and kept him still, he would wish he hadn’t.

(Lavendertwist: 22, male, warrior, playful, good singer, good storyteller)

(Scalepaw: 9, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, avid play-fighter)

(Trumpetspore: 17, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Scrubmask: 73, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Achilles: 84, male, Witch Hunter second, daring, eloquent speaker)

(Elmsprout: 23, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

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

(Troutpool: 17, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

As Darkkick helps Troutpool restock on betony, she realizes she isn’t a tom anymore.

[Image ID: Darkkick says to Troutpool, “It wasn’t something I felt a proper cleric could admit to when I was younger.” Under Darkkick, it says LEVEL UP! MALE -> TRANS FEMALE.]

(Troutpool: 17, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Darkkick: 116, trans female, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

[rippleclan]

The next update is taking a bit, so musings on Clan life, circa Moon 87:

Currentsmoke’s jaw healed straight, but the muscles themselves are weaker. It takes more force in his bite for him to kill prey, and sometimes chewing/moving his jaw for a while makes it ache the rest of the day.

Meanwhile, Yarrowclaw has mixed opinions on her day-night cycling. She’s proud of how focused and determined she feels in her day cycle, but is terrified of another psychotic episode terrorizing her friends and family. Mainly, though, the problem has been other cats acting like the feelings police and getting worried whenever she gets really energized, day cycle or not.

There isn’t much distinction between stages of a romantic relationship in Clan culture (a possible future lore post), but in terms of seriousness and family bonding, Ravenweaver and Brightreed are closer mates than Wolfgaze and Billowhaze.

While Darkkick and Spikecrash don’t really have a mother-daughter relationship, they’ve found their own protective instincts toward one another and have grown closer!

Whitekit still uses distant southern dialect with Mr and Ms because he noticed when he talked like that, a lot of the older cats seemed really happy. The Clan still misses Parsley.

Speaking of Parsley, she is the Celestial of RippleClan Loners, acting as a guiding force for loners who join RippleClan. She has special interest in older cats who join, such as Estherfern.

Each Clan can directly channel a spirit of StarClan through official rituals and paths about once a year due to the amount of energy StarClan actually has; since RippleClan used their early summoning almost as soon as the year began in contacting Splintcarve, Celestial of Broken Bones, the other clerics teased Estherfern and Weevilsight for that so much that Troutpool uncharacteristically snapped at them.

Slushtrail has to defuse a lot of arguments between Gingerkit and Frostkit.

Shrewpaw got into a lot of trouble during the Moon 86 Gathering because he snuck off with SlugClan apprentices to one of their “smoke-dens” where they burn herbs like catmint and valerian to get high.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 86

Lightningrunner compliments Scaleripple on his new feather accessories.

[Image ID: Lightningrunner spends time with Scaleripple, who now has jay feathers woven into his tail. Under him, it reads + ACCESSORY: JAY FEATHERS. Estherfern approaches them, now in a crooked elder sprite, and says "Alright, preen somewhere else." Under her, it reads LEVEL UP! BLOODTHIRSTY → ADVENTUROUS.]

(Lightningrunner: 16, female, historian, nervous, explorer, helpful insight)

(Scaleripple: 39, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Estherfern: 120, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

Yarrowclaw takes the time to work through her issues with the mediators, getting approval to return to duty and a plan to handle her day-night cycling. Meanwhile, Downstar plays with her newly adopted grandson.

[Image ID: Yarrowclaw speaks with Spikecrash and Sandhollow. Under Spikecrash, it reads LEVEL UP! GOOD SPEAKER → GREAT SPEAKER. In the back, Downstar plays with Whitekit.]

(Whitekit: 3, male, kit, skittish, active imagination)

(Downstar: 145, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Yarrowclaw: 21, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

(Spikecrash: 61, female, mediator, wise, great speaker, lore keeper)

(Sandhollow: 17, male, mediator, ambitious, lore keeper)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 84

Elmsprout and Lavendertwist welcome two kits into the world.

[Image ID: Elmsprout and Lavendertwist face two newborn kits; a ginger and white kit, and a pale silver kit with a few white markings. Under Elmsprout, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. Under the ginger kit, it says NEW PLAYER: GINGERKIT, 0, MALE, CHARMING. Under the silver kit, it says NEW PLAYER: FROSTKIT, 0, FEMALE, QUIET.]

(Elmsprout: 51, female, caretaker, charismatic, trusted advisor)

(Lavendertwist: 50, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Gingerkit: 0, male, kit, charming)

(Frostkit: 0, female, kit, quiet)

Currentsmoke expresses his concern about Yarrowclaw's recent behavior.

[Image ID: Mosspounce, Wolfgaze, Sandhollow, Weevilsight, and Anchovystrike run in a patrol, with Mosspounce calling "Yarrowclaw, get off the horse-path." Under Weevilsight, it says - INFECTION.]

---

Anchovystrike couldn't really share tongues with his brother, not like he wished he could. After all, Currentsmoke couldn't groom him back. It didn't help that the thick wound across Currentsmoke's face was still infected, covered in oozing concoctions. Weevilsight said the infections came and went, but to Anchovystrike, it all seemed like one big, continous disease. Yet that didn't matter. Injured or not, Currentsmoke was going to enjoy the anniversary celebration with the rest of RippleClan, basking in the sunhigh glow.

Most of the Clan was busy around Elmsprout and Lavendertwist. They had just given their litter of two, Frostkit and Gingerkit, their names, and everyone wanted to show the two tiny kittens what the warm sand and cool sea felt like. Meanwhile, the artisans and caretakers used some of RippleClan's precious salt to season enough prey for everyone. Anchovystrike and Weevilsight shared a woodpecker while Weevilsight helped Currentsmoke drink some salty, herb-soaked broth. The three cats basked in the summer sunshine, content with their meals.

"You know, Currentsmoke," Weevilsight sighed, nestling into the sand, "if you end up with a big scar from this, you won't be alone. Most of my tail has healed, but fighting that infection left a lot of the skin raw." Weevilsight showed off her tail, which no longer sported any bandages, as it had over the last few moons. Yet the skin was still pink and raw, irritated from exposure to other cats' diseases. The scarring ran across her ginger and black fur like new tortoiseshell markings. Had Weevilsight been a warrior, it would have been a mark of beauty.

"I duhn't care ah-out scars," Currentsmoke grumbled. "I just 'anna li'eh."

"You're not dying on us," Anchovystrike huffed, shoving Currentsmoke's shoulder. "You've got four clerics looking after you, and you've got me, Billowhaze, and Yarrowclaw keeping you busy. You're the best of us, Current. You're not going anywhere anytime soon." Currentsmoke purred and gently bunted heads with his brother, making sure not to touch his wounds. The supernatural glimmer in Weevilsight's pelt glowed brighter at the sight, and Anchovystrike purred just a bit harder. Yet as Anchovystrike dug into his share of the woodpecker, Currentsmoke tensed. Anchovystrike could feel Currentsmoke's tired muscles harden as he rested against him.

"More pain, Currentsmoke?" Weevilsight asked. She sniffed at Currentsmoke's jaw.

"Nuh," Currentsmoke mumbled. He scanned the happy crowd trapsing through the sand and salt water. Anchovystrike followed his gaze, unsure what he was looking for. "Souh'ing's wruhng 'ith Yarr'acla'ah."

"Yarrowclaw?" Anchovystrike clarified.

"She has been a little strange the last few moons," Weevilsight admitted. "Did you hear about her hunting patrol last moon?"

"She's been overworking herself, I know," Anchovystrike huffed. "But she realizes it eventually. She just gets into these moods lately."

"It's muhre than that," Currentsmoke insisted. The injured tom groaned and slowly pushed himself to his paws. His legs shook, his body's battle with his injuries draining too much strength from him to stay up for long. "She's nuh't here. Souh'ing's wruhng." Weevilsight pushed against Currentsmoke, making sure he didn't collapse. Currentsmoke tried to shake Weevilsight off, but hissed as the bandages restraining his jaw rubbed the wrong way.

Anchovystrike gave the anniversary celebration another look over. Was Yarrowclaw with Billowhaze? No, Billowhaze was joking with Wolfgaze and Ravenweaver over their own share of salty meat. Maybe she was spending time with her former mentor. No, that wasn't right either, Rapidleaf was talking through something with Estherfern, probably bonding over recent messages from StarClan or something of the sort. Yarrowclaw was close with Estherfern's litter, she was probably splashing through the water with them! And yet, no. Brightreed, Wolverineheart, Boughfur, and Thundergale were each busy with their own fun. Currentsmoke was right. Yarrowclaw wasn't at the anniversary celebration.

"Why do you think something is wrong?" Weevilsight asked, easing Currentsmoke back down.

"I heard her," Currentsmoke groaned. "She f'isited 'e. She didn't 'ake sense. She said she was going to cah'lete a rituh'al to cuh're 'e."

"To cure you?" Weevilsight muttered. "But we've said all the prayers we can think of. Estherfern even helped Honeybuzz commune with the Celestial of Broken Bones herself for extra advice and blessings. What could Yarrowclaw do?"

"She's in dang'ah!" Currentsmoke snapped. He tried to stand again, but his rising nerves worked in tamdem with his weakness and send him back into the sand.

"Rabbitjoy mentioned something about a ritual last moon," Anchovystrike realized. "That was why Yarrowclaw caught all that prey." Anchovystrike stood, shaking sand out of his fur. "You're right, Currentsmoke. I don't like this. I… I think I misunderstood what Yarrowclaw's been going through. We need to find her."

"I'm with you, Anchovy," Weevilsight promised, stretching. "I'm going to fetch Honeybuzz so he can look after Currentsmoke. Think you can put together a patrol?"

"Easily," Anchovystrike purred, nodding. He rubbed against Currentsmoke and said, "Don't worry, Current. We'll make sure Yarrowclaw is alright." Weevilsight and Anchovystrike crossed by each other, each focused on their goals. Anchovystrike wormed around his Clanmates, focused on Billowhaze, Wolfgaze, and Ravenweaver.

"Wolfgaze," Anchovystrike called as his friends and brother tried to fight off their giggles. "Can you join me for a bit? I need your help with something."

"What do you have to do that can't wait until after our celebration?" Ravenweaver asked, coughing to clear her laughter.

"Just…" Anchovystrike gulped, glancing at Billowhaze. "Call it a favor for a friend."

"You know I'd be happy to help," Wolfgaze said, getting to her paws. "Enjoy the rest of the meal for me, Billowhaze!"

"With pleasure," Billowhaze hummed, taking a huge bite out of the salted squirrel. Wolfgaze tucked her head and followed Anchovystrike.

"So you know," Anchovystrike chuckled, "we're going to talk about your interest in my brother later." Wolfgaze groaned softly, batting at her own red ears. "Right now though, I'm more interested in my sister. Can you go grab your dad and join me? I think Mosspounce could help a lot."

"Is something wrong with Yarrowclaw?" Wolfgaze asked, romantic embarassment fading.

"Just get your dad," Anchovystrike asked. Wolfgaze nodded and surged into the partying cats, calling for Mosspounce. Anchovystrike, meanwhile, headed for Sandhollow. The cream-tinted tom splashed through the water with Slushtrail and Tallowheart, the three of them squealing like kits. If Currentsmoke hadn't sounded so serious, Anchovystrike would have joined them in their fun.

"Sandhollow," Anchovystrike called. Sandhollow paused n his frolicking, just as Tallowheart's tail sent a wave of salt water into his face. Slushtrail and Tallowheart laughed as Sandhollow rubbed his eyes, trying to get the salt out.

"You two are so ridiculous," Sandhollow chuckled, stumbling out of the water. He shook out his pelt, spraying Anchovystrike. His fur stuck out like thorns. "Hi, Anchovystrike."

"Sandhollow, you've grown close to my sister since you graduated, haven't you?" Anchovystrike asked. "I've seen you spend time with her." Sandhollow's face darkened.

"Something's happened to her, hasn't it?" Sandhollow said.

"I don't know," Anchovystrike admitted as Slushtrail and Tallowheart waded onto the beach, the fun of the moment dead. "I want to make sure nothing does. We need to find her. Can you come with me?"

"Of course," Sandhollow huffed, giving himself a few quick licks to smooth his pelt.

"I should come too," Slushtrail said, sliding up to her fellow mediator.

"I think our little patrol is getting crowded, Slushtrail," Anchovystrike chuckled awkwardly.

"I can handle it, Slush," Sandhollow promised, side-eyeing Slushtrail.

"Is Yarrowclaw in danger or something?" Tallowheart asked.

"Or something, Tallowheart!" Anchovystrike snapped, making the young historian jump. "We just need to go, alright?" Tallowheart stepped back, nodding quickly and avoiding eye contact. Anchovystrike sighed, taking a deep breath. He would have time to apologize later. "Over here, Sandhollow." Sandhollow was at Anchovystrike's side with just a flick of the latter's tail. Slushtrail and Tallowheart watched on as the two toms jogged over to Weevilsight, Wolfgaze, and Mosspounce.

"What exactly is the problem here?" Mosspounce huffed as Anchovystrike and Sandhollow joined the patrol.

"We don't know all the details," Weevilsight sighed, her focused, glowing gaze resting on each Clanmate. "I think we've all noticed Yarrowclaw has had… a lot of busy days, lately. We're worried it's more than that. Currentsmoke thinks she's in danger, and I'm inclined to believe him."

"I'm not trying to undermine your worry, really," Mosspounce said, awkwardness twitching through his whiskers, "but as the oldest cat here, and I really hate that that's true, I should point out the obvious. Yarrowclaw's an adult. She's allowed to leave the party. Are you sure we need to track her down?"

"Currentsmoke knows cats," Anchovystrike huffed. "He's one of the most caring cats I know. He knows when something's wrong. He saw Yarrowclaw wasn't here and panicked. If he thinks we need to find her, we should find her."

"Wanted to make sure you were serious," Mosspounce assured him. "Now the other question… do we have any idea where she might be?"

"Let's check camp first," Wolfgaze suggested, jogging across the sand. "It might be that simple!" The patrol ran after Wolfgaze, sand sticking to their half-wet paws. They left behind the music and laughter of their Clan and ran toward their shipwreck home.

Carnationspeckle lounged at the entrance of camp, absent-minded in her guard duty, dozing off in the warm, almost blistering sun. She snapped to attention as the patrol hurried up to her, however.

"Are you all alright?" Carnationspeckle asked. "You look so serious. Did something happen?"

"We're alright, Carnationspeckle," Sandhollow promised, panting, "but is Yarrowclaw in camp? Did you see her?"

"She's not in camp," Carnationspeckle said, shaking her head, "but I did see her! She headed south a short time ago. Is she alright?"

"Keep your ears perked for us, would you Carnationspeckle?" Anchovystrike asked, paws carrying him to the shoreline. Weevilsight and Wolfgaze scrambled behind him.

"Anchovystrike, wait!" Carnationspeckle yowled, but Anchovystrike's focus was elsewhere.

Anchovystrike breathed deep as the lips of a heavy wave stretched to meet his paws. The salt stung his nose and blinded him to even the smell of Weevilsight beside him. Anchovystrike's chest tightened. Call it instinct, call it brotherly intuition, call it the power of the All-Seeing for all he cared, Anchovystrike's whole body screamed at him to find Yarrowclaw, right now.

"I smell her!" Wolfgaze cried, tail shooting up. She sniffed the sand, whiskers pooling Yarrowclaw's scent together and into a narrative in Wolfgaze's mind. The patrol gathered around her. The heat molded into Anchovystrike's anxiety, making his fur burn. "Carnationspeckle is right, she went south!"

"That's my kit," Mosspounce cheered, sniffing. "I got the scent too. We'll find her together. This way, you three!" Wolfgaze and Mosspounce ran along the sand and grass, hopping from scent bubble to scent bubble. Anchovystike, Weevilsight, and Sandhollow matched their pace.

Yarrowclaw's trail drifted from the cool shoreline into the speckled hills. There was no banter in this patrol, no breaks. Every cat stayed focused on the task ahead. They pushed through the mental haze of sunhigh and kept moving. They would find her. She hadn't gotten far. They just had to keep going. She'd be fine. She'd be fine.

"Anchovystrike." Sandhollow ran alongside Anchovystrike, who suddenly found his chest too tight and the air barely breaching his lungs. "Breathe. Don't pass out on us." Breathe. Yes, breathe. Anchovystrike forced the air into him like a drowning cat.

They heard Yarrowclaw before they saw her.

"I can hear them! I can hear the horses, Robin, thundering down and down and down the path, down the path to save him! Thundering hooves strike the ground, it's lightning, lightning in the sky, or is that my heart? Is my heart in their hooves? Smashed under their hooves? Robinkit, they're coming! They're coming! Strike me! Hit me! His pain to my pain, my pain to his, StarClan's will be done, but not with this, no no, not with Current! You can't take him, Robinkit! Not yet! And you're never taking me! Never!"

Yarrowclaw paced in the center of the horse-path. Her tail thrashed wildly, as though she was in the middle of a battle. She kicked up dust like a kit playing in the sand. She screeched down the path, good eye shifting in and out of focus. Anchovystrike could not hear any horses.

"Yarrowclaw, get off the horse-path," Mosspounce barked, charging toward the border. Anchovystrike, Weevilsight, Wolfgaze, and

"I'll be fine!" Yarrowclaw shrieked. Anchovystrike never heard such laughter in his sister's voice before. "It's for Current! It's for Current! It's my destiny, it's my purpose! They're almost here! Here, here, I hear them, they're deafening, they're here to hear me, they're here for me!" Yarrowclaw's laughter suffocated Anchovystrike. Yarrowclaw coughed, choking on her escasty. Her laughter dissolved into a death wail, the same frenzied expression stuck on her face. "Stop it! Stop the noise! Trample me already! Break it! Break my jaw! Don't take him! Don't take him!" Yarrowclaw stumbled, jaw smacking into the dry path.

"Freeze her!" Weevilsight wailed with a heartbreak Anchovystrike hadn't heard since that fateful day in the nursery. "Wolfgaze!"

At the same time, Yarrowclaw cried, pushing herself up, "I can't keep waiting! I have to take it from him!" Yarrowclaw wrenched her head back.

Suddenly, the world stood still. Yarrowclaw's guttural cries stopped with the blink of an eye. The wind stirred her dusty fur. Her sightless eye stared at Anchovystrike as the patrol finally reached the horse-path. Wolfgaze, too, was frozen, but her eyes, focused and terrified, stayed stuck on Yarrowclaw.

"Don't break my line of sight," Wolfgaze gulped as Anchovystrike and Sandhollow approached Yarrowclaw's supernaturally frozen form. "We've never moved someone when they're frozen, I don't know if we can."

"Just stop her," Weevilsight begged, hiding her face in her father's shoulder. "I hate this vision. Don't let it happen." Anchovystrike knew better than to pry into Weevilsight's darkest visions. He carefully walked behind Yarrowclaw and tucked himself under her head. With his head right up to Yarrowclaw's pelt, Anchovystrike could truly see Wolfgaze's power in action. There was a faint shimmering line surrounding Yarrowclaw's body. Anchovystrike could only see it if he focused, but the lines rippled like water and pressed against Yarrowclaw.

"We'll unfreeze her and get her off the horse-path," Sandhollow said, jaws close to Yarrowclaw's scruff. "Mosspounce, be ready to help us. I don't think she's going to go quietly." Wolfgaze swallowed hard.

As soon as Wolfgaze blinked, Yarrowclaw came to life. She swung her head down hard, but rather than hitting the hoof-hardened horse-path, her muzzle smacked into Anchovystrike's shoulder.

"No!" Yarrowclaw cried as Sandhollow grabbed her scruff. "No no no! He'll die! I'm the only one, I'm the only one that can save him, I'm the only one! I won't be hurt! I can't be hurt! No!" Sandhollow and Anchovystrike dragged Yarrowclaw off the horse-path. Yarrowclaw swung her claws at Anchovystrike's muzzle. She caught her brother's lip, sending a stream of blood trickling into Anchovystrike's mouth. Anchovystrike hissed and shoved Yarrowclaw onto the grass lining the horse-path. Mosspounce left his terrified daughter's side and stood on Yarrowclaw's shoulders. Anchovystrike stood on her flank.

"Yarrowclaw, can you hear me?" Sandhollow asked softly, crouching at the trapped molly's level. "Shh, you're safe, I promise."

"No, I have to go," Yarrowclaw cried, face as torn as the day she saw Robinkit and Harvest's bodies cooling in the nursery. "There's too much to do, I can't stay here, I have to go."

"There's nothing you need to do except breathe," Sandhollow assured her. "Weevilsight is going to find some herbs to calm your mind. It seems like there's a lot going on in there, am I right?"

"Currentsmoke's going to die unless I transfer his wounds to me," Yarrowclaw wailed. Her pinned claws dug up tufts of grass.

"Yarrowclaw, that kind of ritual doesn't exist," Mosspounce snapped. Yarrowclaw's chest heaved, ragged breaths morphing into sobs. "You have to snap out of it."

"Mosspounce, with all due respect," Sandhollow hissed quietly, suddenly at the caretaker's ear, "stop talking. Let the tom with mediator training use his training, alright?"

"How do we calm her down?" Mosspounce asked. Yarrowclaw kicked at Anchovystrike, but Anchovystrike laid on her hind legs. All Yarrowclaw could do was flex her claws helplessly.

"There's a patch of tall lettuce that loves to sprout near here," Weevilsight stammered. "That should help. I, I'll be right back!" Weevilsight scurried over the hills and through the trees, unable to stop her pelt from bristling.

Wolfgaze silently took over for Anchovystrike as Sandhollow whispered to Yarrowclaw, rubbing on the edges of her delusions. Anchovystrike laid beside Yarrowclaw rather than on top of her. Yet as he rested his head, something glimmered in the top of his vision.

Anchovystrike hadn't seen this strange sight since that moment in Downstar's den, coping with the sudden loss of his mother and brother. Soft streams of light flowed around Yarrowclaw and her captors like the glistening pawsteps of StarClan. Even against the shine of the midday sun, the light couldn't blind Anchovystrike. It pulled the weight out of his chest. Yarrowclaw sobbed deep, her whole body tensing. Then, she relaxed, deflating into her own unknowable misery.

"If that's you, Robinkit," Anchovystrike whispered, just quiet enough for him to hear, "thank you. And I'm sorry."

The ethereal light slithered around Yarrowclaw and dove sharply. It weaved into the back of the brown molly's head like a snake sliding into its hole. As it entered Yarrowclaw's body, the warrior sheathed her claws. Blades of grass stuck up between her toes. Sandhollow groomed Yarrowclaw's cheeks as Yarrowclaw sobbed and muttered a string of nonsense.

Anchovystrike wouldn't claim to understand what was wrong, or what needed to be done. But what he could do was groom his sister's fur and murmur gentle assurances.

(Anchovystrike: 19, male, warrior, playful, deep StarClan bond)

(Weevilsight: 19, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)

(Currentsmoke: 19, male, caretaker, loving, good climber, skilled toolsmith)

(Ravenweaver: 19, female, artisan, nervous, den builder, very clever)

(Wolfgaze: 19, female, codekeeper, thoughful, connection to StarClan, great speaker)

(Billowhaze: 19, male, historian, loyal, good kit-sitter)

(Sandhollow: 15, male, mediator, ambitious, lore keeper)

(Slushtrail: 20, female, mediator, wise, clever, talented weaver)

(Tallowheart: 20, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)

(Mosspounce: 45, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Carnationspeckle: 86, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Yarrowclaw: 19, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

[Image ID: Anchovystrike says to Sandhollow and Spikecrash "I’ve dealt with a lot for a cat my age. This is nothing in comparison. Yarrowclaw’s still the cocky, rough-as-salt molly I know. She’s still the cat I have fun with. She’s just got a few extra traits now." Yarrowclaw sits in the back. Under her, it reads + PERMANENT CONDITION: DAY-NIGHT CYCLING.]

---

"So Yarrowclaw's crazy now?" Cobaltchaser gulped, settling deeper into her nest.

"Cobaltchaser!" Lightningrunner whined, sneering. "You can't call your Clanmates crazy!"

"That's what she sounds like," Cobaltchaser pointed out. "I'm not insulting her. Some cats are crazy. They can't control it."

"Maybe we don't call anyone crazy," Anchovystrike sighed, cheek on the edge of his nest.

By the time Anchovystrike and his patrol came back to camp with Yarrowclaw, nearly half the Clan had left the celebration at the beach, wondering just what they were up to. Weevilsight's tall lettuce helped soothe Yarrowclaw, so she didn't enter camp yowling and crying, but everyone could tell she was in a fragile state. Paleseed and Spikecrash kept the Clan back until Sandhollow and Weevilsight settled Yarrowclaw in the medicine den. Anchovystrike had Mosspounce and Lemmy to thank afterward; the whole Clan was about to pry Anchovystrike for an explanation, but the moment Mosspounce spoke with his mate, Lemmy pushed everyone away, reminding them the value of a cat's privacy. That didn't mean cats like Cobaltchaser and Lightningrunner didn't try to ask later, as the entire camp relaxed after the party and settled down within the warm summer night.

"He's her brother, mouse-brain," Lightningrunner huffed. "He doesn't have to tell us the whole story. Yarrowclaw's going through a hard enough time without us getting in her business."

"At least one of you gets it," Anchovystrike said, getting up. "I think storytime is over, anyway." Anchovystrike crept through the maze of nests that made up the warrior's den. Most cats were already in their nests, getting ready to sleep. Anchovystrike tried not to look at Yarrowclaw's empty nest. He failed.

Outside the den, only a few cats remained out. Downstar and Oilstripe spoke with Spikecrash by the Shiprock while Billowhaze sat with Currentsmoke and Estherfern outside the medicine den. Wolfgaze and Mosspounce shared tongues outside the warrior's den and perked up when Anchovystrike stepped out.

"How are you feeling?" Wolfgaze asked softly.

"Like my sister just tried to kill herself," Anchovystrike chuckled wetly. Mosspounce set his head against Anchovystrike's shoulder, pouring his sympathy into him. "The nap helped, at least. I'll have to thank Lemmy for giving me some room to breathe."

"If it helps," Wolfgaze sighed, licking Anchovystrike's ear, "I don't think she realized she could have died."

"Is Billowhaze mad I didn't bring him with us?" Anchovystrike asked.

"It's bad enough you had to see that," Mosspounce huffed. "If that was Trumpetspore on the horse-path, I wouldn't have been able to do anything. Billowhaze should be grateful he wasn't there."

"He understood after I talked to him," Wolfgaze said. "Just be with your brothers, Anchovystrike. I can move my nest closer to you tonight, if you want."

"That would help," Anchovystrike sighed, touching noses with Wolfgaze. "I can't thank you enough for your help."

"Yarrowclaw's our friend too," Mosspounce purred, setting his tail on Anchovystrike's back. "We would have helped regardless. Good luck tonight." With that, Mosspounce and Wolfgaze entered the warrior's den, leaving Anchovystrike to face his family head-on.

Currentsmoke spotted Anchovystrike first. He raised his head from his curled position and batted Billowhaze's leg.

"I don't like that I had to hear about Yarrowclaw from someone else, Anchovystrike," Billowhaze huffed. Anchovystrike approached with his head low.

"He sa'ed her," Currentsmoke sighed as Estherfern put her nose in his ear. "Sat's enough."

"All this stress brought Currentsmoke's fever back," Estherfern muttered, shaking her head.

"Oh, so now you're interested in medicine?" Anchovystrike hummed, daring to raise his head.

"I've put my pride aside," Estherfern scoffed. "That's not what you should be focusing on tonight." Billowhaze sighed and cleared space for Anchovystrike to sit between him and Currentsmoke.

"Sandhollow told us that since Yarrowclaw isn't fully of sound mind," Billowhaze sighed, "he's going to keep us informed on Yarrowclaw and what she needs going forward." Anchovystrike nodded softly. He glanced into the medicine den. He could just hear Sandhollow inside, speaking softly with Yarrowclaw. When Sandhollow's blue eyes turned toward him, Anchovystrike quickly looked away. Moments later, Sandhollow stepped outside.

"Spikecrash?" he called softly. Spikecrash turned from her conversation with Downstar and Oilstripe. She bade the leader and deputy farewell and joined her former apprentice beside the three brothers.

"Estherfern," Spikecrash cooed, "we can watch over Currentsmoke if you'd like to nest for the night."

"Here's to a quiet night," Estherfern hummed, nodding to the mediators. She nodded to each of the three toms beside her before she slipped around Sandhollow and into the medicine den. Sandhollow and Spikecrash sat with their backs to the medicine den, as though shielding Anchovystrike and his brothers from what laid within.

"First things first," Sandhollow explained, "Yarrowclaw's safe and resting. She probably won't sleep tonight with her mania, but she'll at least stay in the medicine den. Even if she doesn't plan on staying, Spikecrash has asked for a caretaker to watch her through the night." Spikecrash nodded along with her apprentice's assessment.

"Mania, what is that?" Anchovystrike asked.

"You could consider it the opposite of depression," Spikecrash sighed. "Rather than feeling low, your emotions are elevated. Everything is more vibrant, more stimulating, your joy and rage and panic are stronger than ever before. We believe these periods of activity Yarrowclaw's had over the last few moons have been manic episodes. When a cat goes through these periods of mania, their emotions crash afterward into depression. We call it day-night cycling. Mania is like the day, bright and burning, while the depression afterward is like the night, gloomy and dark."

"Yarrowclaw is depressed too?" Billowhaze moaned.

"It's not the same for everyone," Sandhollow assured him, shifting a paw closer. "From what we've been able to gather about Yarrowclaw's behavior, she may focus more on the 'day' side of this cycling than the 'night' side."

"What should we know?" Anchovystrike asked. "To keep her safe, I mean."

"For now?" Sandhollow sighed. "Just show her support. We can talk through the specifics another time. This is a lot to process. It's been a long day. You should all rest."

"Honestly, Sandhollow?" Anchovystrike chuckled, focusing on the glow of the medicine den. "I’ve dealt with a lot for a cat my age. This is nothing in comparison. Yarrowclaw’s still the cocky, rough-as-salt molly I know. She’s still the cat I have fun with. She’s just got a few extra traits now. Right?"

"Exactly," Spikecrash purred.

"We still want to see her though," Billowhaze said. "You said she's awake."

"She isn't utterly delusional anymore," Sandhollow groaned, ears tilting back, "but she isn't recovered."

"Currentsmoke's sleeping in the medicine den, he'll get to see her," Billowhaze pointed out, his paw almost smacking Currentsmoke. "Just let us in for a little bit."

"It's best not to fight them on this, Sandhollow," Spikecrash cautioned, rubbing her tail along Sandhollow's back. "You three can see her, but be quiet and don't take long. The clerics are trying to sleep, and Wolverineheart has an ear infection they're monitoring." Billowhaze helped Currentsmoke to his paws. Anchovystrike touched noses with the mediators, but his mind was already in the medicine den. He led his brothers into the shadows of the ancient wood.

Potterypool sat guard beside Yarrowclaw as Wolverineheart and the clerics settled down to nest. Although Yarrowclaw's eyes drooped, she stayed alert, scratching at the moss in her nest. Someone groomed the dust and snarls out of her pelt and lined her nest with lavender. Billowhaze escorted Currentsmoke into his nest beside Yarrowclaw. Currentsmoke's paw hooked the edge of Yarrowclaw's nest as he stared at his sister. Anchovystrike loafed in front of Yarrowclaw, with Billowhaze sitting beside him.

"Potterypool won't let me leave," Yarrowclaw muttered, glaring at her guard.

"Do you want me to disobey Sandhollow?" Potterypool sighed, giving her charge nary a side-eye. "I'm not going on trial for letting something happen to you."

"You really scared me, Yarrowclaw," Anchovystrike whispered, paws itching underneath him.

"I was going to cure Currentsmoke… I think," Yarrowclaw sighed. She rubbed her face, groaning, "I don't really remember all of it. There were horses… or maybe that was my heart. I feel like I'm the middle of a battlefield."

"You were trying to break your jaw," Anchovystrike muttered. Some of the day's panic crawled back up his throat. "You were talking to Robinkit."

"I didn't actually see him," Yarrowclaw mumbled, putting her head on the nest's edge. "I was so sure he was there, though. Ugh, I just want to hunt! I feel like I'm on fire. I don't like talking this much, I'm not saying anything. But I can't move, so I have to, I have to keep talking so I don't burn away, everything's going too fast. I feel like I'm dying. I don't think I can die."

"You can die, Yarrowclaw," Billowhaze huffed. "You don't have powers, you're not a cleric, you can't perform any rituals. You're just you."

"I want it to stop," Yarrowclaw gulped. "I want to rest, but I'm on fire. I want to bite my pelt off, get it out, but Potterypool stops me."

"And she should, you know," Anchovystrike said. He scooted closer to Yarrowclaw.

"I do," Yarrowclaw whined. "I do know, somewhere. I'm dying. I want it to stop. I want to fix something, anything. Sandhollow wants me to sleep, and I want to sleep so badly, but I can't. Everyone's dying, and I can't stop it." Yarrowclaw's unsheathed claws hooked around her muzzle. Billowhaze moved them off. Currentsmoke stretched until his paw rested on top of Yarrowclaw's.

"I'll 'e here for yuh," Currentsmoke said, trying to purr. "I'll fight with yuh."

"We all will," Anchovystrike promised. He set his nose on Yarrowclaw's head and prayed to Robinkit, to Harvest, to any StarClan soul who wandered around him, that his sister realized that.

(Cobaltchaser: 14, female, codekeeper, righteous, good cook, prey cleaner)

(Lightningrunner: 14, female, historian, nervous, explorer, helpful insight)

(Anchovystrike: 19, male, warrior, playful, deep StarClan bond)

(Wolfgaze: 19, female, codekeeper, thoughful, connection to StarClan, great speaker)

(Mosspounce: 45, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Billowhaze: 19, male, historian, loyal, good kit-sitter)

(Currentsmoke: 19, male, caretaker, loving, good climber, skilled toolsmith)

(Estherfern: 118, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Sandhollow: 15, male, mediator, ambitious, lore keeper)

(Spikecrash: 59, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Potterypool: 19, female, caretaker, sneaky, great singer)

(Yarrowclaw: 19, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

Considering her great teaching skills, Moontide decides to join Thundergale and Shrewpaw as a teacher, further validating Thundergale's ambitious experiment.

[Image ID: Shrewpaw and Thundergale proudly watch Moontide.]

(Moontide: 19, female, teacher, playful, excellent teacher)

(Thundergale: 16, female, teacher, adventurous, good hunter, great speaker)

(Shrewpaw: 8, male, teacher apprentice, competitive, never sits still)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 45

Weedfoot announces she is expecting her second litter.

[Image ID: Weedfoot tells Palepaw and Ripplepaw, “Don’t worry, you two. I’m still your mother.” Under her, it says + CONDITION: PREGNANT.]

(Weedfoot: 94, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Palepaw: 11, female, mediator apprentice, insecure, picky nest builder, never sits still)

(Ripplepaw: 11, female, historian apprentice, charismatic, avid play-fighter, splashes in puddles)

Rattlepelt confessed her feelings to Wildclaw and they have become mates.

[Image ID: Rattlepelt says to Wildclaw, “I think I’m ready… ask me again, Wildclaw.” Under Wildclaw, it says + MATE: RATTLEPELT. Under Rattlepelt, it says + MATE: WILDCLAW.]

(Wildclaw: 37, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Rattlepelt: 28, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

Interested in herbs even in her kithood, Troutpaw is eagerly apprenticed to Fennelspot.

[Image ID: Troutpaw, in her apprentice sprite, faces Fennelspot, who says, “I hope I do right by you, Troutpaw.” Under Troutpaw, it says LEVEL UP! TROUTKIT -> TROUTPAW, INSECURE -> COMPASSIONATE.]

(Fennelspot: 102, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Troutpaw: 6, female, cleric apprentice, compassionate, morbid curiosity)

Shadowdrop’s kits are apprenticed. While Tempestpaw is eager to explore the territory, Mosspaw and Trumpetpaw’s thoughts are on their dead father. Their mentors are Carnationspeckle, Clammask, and Halibutdusk.

[Image ID: Tempestpaw, Mosspaw, and Trumpetpaw all have apprentice sprites. Under Tempestpaw, it says LEVEL UP! TEMPESTKIT -> TEMPESTPAW. Under Mosspaw, it says LEVEL UP! MOSSKIT -> MOSSPAW, BULLYING -> SHAMELESS. Under Trumpetpaw, it says LEVEL UP! TRUMPETKIT -> TRUMPETPAW, NERVOUS -> TROUBLESOME, + NEW SKILL: LOVER OF STORIES.]

(Tempestpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, troublesome, loves to eat)

(Mosspaw: 6, male, caretaker apprentice, shameless, stares at fire)

(Trumpetpaw: 6, female, warrior apprentice, troublesome, plays in mud, lover of stories)

Downstar stands above the Clan and proclaims Elmpaw shall be known as Elmsprout, honoring her amity.

[Image ID: Elmsprout is in her full, long-furred, adult sprite. Under her, it says LEVEL UP! ELMPAW -> ELMSPROUT, CAREFUL LISTENER -> HELPFUL INSIGHT.]

(Elmsprout: 12, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

Downstar, Rustshade, and Puddlepaw find a wounded loner with a mangled tail.

[Image ID: Downstar, Rustshade, and Puddlepaw stand in the back while Fennelspot talks to a black bengal tom with a white underside. Under the black tom, it says NEW PLAYER: DARKKICK, 105, MALE, LONESOME, TALENTED SWIMMER, UNDERSTANDS NATURE, + CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL.]

---

The black and white tom wasn’t trained to fight. He’d only gotten into a few scrapes in his many moons wandering the wilds surrounding his old home, learning what he could from the friends he made. He’d never been in a fight like this. He was never meant to be in a fight like this. Never meant to be in a fight at all.

He wasn’t about to join his ancestors that day, however. He was still too mad at them.

The brown tom chased the loner all the way from the northern human settlement. It was like he had been waiting for the loner, following rumors of a starkly colored tom offering medical treatment to any strays who needed it. You’d have to be mousebrained to get mad at someone for that, but considering how the loner’s feathery tail was now coated in blood, he wouldn’t argue with the maniac.

The loner’s paws skidded against the edge of the river. It still had its freezing winter chill to it, despite the coming of spring. Thick Clan scent flooded the loner’s nose. Oh, to go home… but he knew full well that he was not welcome there anymore. If he crossed the river, he would suffer their wrath. Yet with how vicious his attacker was…

The loner could hear his pursuer getting closer, stomping over new growth in his mad dash. The loner could handle a random Clan patrol. He steadied his paws against the stones and dirt leading into the water and plunged in. 

The loner’s blood drifted in the current. His long fur weighed him down, but he kicked with the flow like he was running on water. He arched over stones and curved his body like an otter, letting the river do most of his work for him. He threw his head over the surface of the water for a deep, shaking breath. He looked back. The brown tom stood by the river, glaring at the loner. The loner dove back into the water.

He kept swimming until his muscles began to ache and his lungs started to burn. The current pushed him toward a wall of stone, where the river pushed on only a paw deep. The loner splashed onto the shallow rocks. He laid in the low flow, gathering his breath. He’d go treat his tail soon. He just… needed a moment to rest. He wasn’t as young as he used to be.

“Stay there!” someone yowled. Wonderful, more company. The loner’s eyes were blurry from water, strain, and pain, but he squinted at the figure approaching from the southern side of the river. He saw gray spots against a well-muscled body and blue eyes studying his drenched pelt.

“Puddlespeckle?” the loner coughed, water dripping from his nose. His eyes cleared a bit; no, not Puddlespeckle. Puddlespeckle had no white blaze on his face.

“That’s my grandfather’s name,” the lookalike gasped. “I’m his granddaughter, Puddlepaw. How do you know my grandfather?”

“Puddlepaw, who have you found?” Two more figures approached the river. The loner’s vision was clear, and there was no mistaking the two cats coming closer.

“Rustshade and Downdapple,” the loner laughed softly, shaking his dripping head. “I heard RippleClan became a reality, but I wasn’t sure if you were part of it.”

“Darkkick?” Rustshade muttered. The ginger tom and tortoiseshell molly shared the same shocked look. Puddlepaw slipped back to Rustshade’s side. The loner, Darkkick, pulled himself out of the river and shook out his pelt. His tail burned and he couldn’t help but hiss.

“The one and only,” Darkkick huffed, grooming his tail.

“You’ve misnamed Downstar,” Puddlepaw said, glancing up at her leader. “Downstar, is this the same Darkkick from the stories?”

“I should have guessed you tell stories about me,” Darkkick scoffed. “I suppose you paint me as Autumnstar’s victim, then? Thrown out for doing what StarClan asked?”

“We’re sorry that happened to you,” Downstar said, bowing her head. “We thought you left the territories long ago.”

“I traveled for a few moons,” Darkkick sighed. “My better nature got the better of me though. Couldn’t let loners die when I know how to help them.” Darkkick spat out a chunk of wet black fur. “I would have thought you’d pick Paleshade as leader.”

“She didn’t live to see RippleClan’s founding,” Puddlepaw muttered.

“Ah,” Darkkick said softly. The fur along his spine bristled. It would have been easy for Autumnstar to kill the brave molly without Darkkick around. He’d covered for Paleshade and Weedfoot so many times as cleric…

“Fennelspot would want to see you,” Downstar said. “He could help you with your tail.” Darkkick studied his tail. The wounds were big, and it would take Darkkick a while to set up a temporary medicine den, especially with the maniac from the human settlement looking for him.

“Let’s see how that tom’s been taking care of you,” Darkkick sighed, padding away from the river. “Now what part of the coastline has your little group mangled into a camp?”

Rustshade and Puddlepaw took position on either side of Darkkick (codekeepers, always so wary) while Downstar escorted the long-lost cleric to RippleClan’s camp. Darkkick had heard stories of the shipwreck by the sea, had even seen it from a distance on day-long patrols to collect resources from the ocean, but he would never have imagined it safe for cats to camp in. Even if you ignored the old stories (which apparently no one was telling the younger generation from the look on Puddlepaw’s face during Darkkick’s musings) of terrifying wraiths wandering the shipwreck, how long would the wood last and keep the Clan sheltered? Somehow, though, the shipwreck was still standing strong, protecting the blossoming Clan under its wind-worn wood.

Although Darkkick knew better than to needlessly flame anyone’s pride, he could admit to himself at the very least that RippleClan was doing well. Young apprentices proudly joined their mentors. Elders rested in the shade (although… was one of them wearing a ribbon collar? Did Fennelspot forget how a collar could choke a wild cat? Was this some odd new tradition the RippleClan founders invented?). It was, by every definition Darkkick knew, a true Clan. 

A familiar ginger tom sat by a large rock near the shipwreck, slowly sharing a meal with a long-furred cream and white molly. Fennelspot’s gaze drifted over the returning patrol. At first, he glazed over Darkkick. Then he choked on his prey.

“Fennelspot!” the young molly yelped. She patted Fennelspot’s back as the cleric collected his breath.

“Don’t kill yourself on my behalf,” Darkkick purred as his escorts led him toward his old colleague.

“Darkkick…” Fennelspot coughed.

“Troutpaw, can you leave us be for a moment?” Downstar asked the cream-colored apprentice.

“You’re Darkkick?” Troutpaw gasped. “The exiled cleric?”

“I haven’t been a cleric in many moons,” Darkkick sighed. He couldn’t stop himself from purring at Troutpaw’s wide-eyed expression. “Don’t tell me I’m famous.”

“You play a role in some of my mother’s stories about AshClan,” Puddlepaw said, shrinking slightly beside the black tom.

“He flopped out of the river with a mangled tail,” Rustshade sighed. 

“Yes, Troutpaw, get a spot ready for our new patient,” Fennelspot gulped, taking the last bite of the roasted mouse. 

“Yes, sir,” Troutpaw said before dutifully bounding off to what Darkkick assumed was the medicine den. 

“Come here and share tongues with me, you old fool,” Darkkick chuckled. Fennelspot touched noses with Darkkick.

“If I’m old, then so are you,” Fennelspot chuckled softly. He began to share tongues with Darkkick, grooming the remaining water from his fur. He licked blood off Darkkick’s tail as best he could. In between that grooming, he asked, “You must have so many questions! So do I. Where have you been? Why come back after all these moons?”

“It’s more of a visit than a homecoming, Fennel,” Darkkick huffed. “I could use some help with these wounds I got.”

“You’re going to leave again?” Fennelspot gulped, meeting Darkkick’s eyes. 

“Do you really think Autumnstar will be pleased if you announce my arrival at the next Gathering?” Darkkick scoffed.

“Autumnstar has passed on,” Downstar explained, touching her tail to Darkkick’s shoulder. “And we don’t care what AshClan thinks of us. They chose to exile you. We’d be happy to take you in.”

“Your nest is ready, Darkkick,” Troutpaw called, sticking her head out of the medicine den.

“Let’s see how well you’ve fared in all this sand, Fennelspot,” Darkkick muttered, trying to shake wet sand off his paws. His entourage followed him to the medicine den. His eyes took a minute to adjust to the shadows in the overturned boat. The familiar scent of concoctions and ointments and dried herbs threw him into the past, to days when he had an eager ginger apprentice and the respect of both AshClan and StarClan. Now he lacked both.

“Father?” The voice brought Darkkick back to the present. A brown molly, her back covered and restrained in a tight splint, stared at Darkkick with huge, owl-like amber eyes. Another gray spotted molly, this one almost the perfect reflection of Weedfoot, sat by her side, her conversation suddenly interrupted.

“Father?” Puddlepaw, Troutpaw, and the lookalike gasped.

“Spike,” Darkkick muttered. For a moment, he checked his daughter’s pelt for stars, wondering if she was some ghostly vision. 

“Darkkick is your father?” Downstar asked, moving between the pair.

“You broke your oath,” Fennelspot mumbled, his tall tail falling.

“That oath became meaningless the moment I was exiled,” Darkkick snapped, sneering. Fennelspot quickly bowed his head. Darkkick collected himself, his half-wet fur weighing him down, and looked back at his long lost daughter. “Last I saw your mother, she told me you were dead.”

“I would have been without RippleClan,” the brown molly admitted. “It’s Spikecrash now though, Father. I’ve joined their ranks as a mediator. Palepaw here has been sharing some of her lessons with me.”

“Why am I not surprised that’s the name of one of Weedfoot’s kits,” Darkkick sighed, purring as Palepaw’s shocked expression grew. “Don’t be so stunned. The relation is more obvious than a dog in a tree.”

“Puddlepaw, Palepaw, come outside with me,” Rustshade sighed with a twitch of his tail. “I can better explain what’s happening.” Palepaw hesitantly slunk between Darkkick and Fennelspot as she joined her sister outside. The two littermates followed Rustshade to a quiet spot to talk.

“Your mother thought you had died,” Darkkick said, risking a step closer to Spikecrash. “She… she was not well when I last saw her.”

“We went to find her shortly after Spikecrash officially joined the Clan,” Downstar explained. “She’s being cared for by humans.”

“Yes, thanks to me,” Darkkick huffed, glaring at Downstar. “I took her. I couldn’t stay to care for her.” Darkkick hissed as a sharp sting ran down his tail. Fennelspot had snuck behind him and rubbed an ointment on his tail.

“You aren’t sitting down, and we can’t let you bleed all over the medicine den,” Fennelspot huffed, dipping his paw back into a small jar of ointment and continuing the process.

“Part of me is glad things happened this way,” Spikecrash admitted, her eyes softening as she watched Darkkick squirm. “Fennelspot says my back is healing well. Mom is living with beings who can better care for her. I know we haven’t spent much time together, Father, but we could grow closer as part of a Clan! You could meet Cinderella’s kits, they’ve just been apprenticed.” Darkkick didn’t answer. The medicine den felt too small. How could he stand under the gaze of his ancestors again when StarClan…

“Stay.” Fennelspot walked in front of Darkkick, placing his tail on Spinecrash’s splint. “If not for her, then for us. RippleClan could use your knowledge in the medicine den.”

“I’m not a cleric anymore,” Darkkick huffed, his gut tensing at the very thought. He didn’t want to look at the disappointment covering everyone’s faces. He grit his teeth. He spoke to the ground. “If you find yourselves overwhelmed, I can help treat patients, as I have been for years now. But if I join RippleClan, I am just a warrior. I cannot bear the cleric’s name.” He locked eyes with Fennelspot (the shine in his old friend’s eyes made him want to groan from the sheer overwhelming sentimentality). “Is that understood?”

“We can make it work,” Fennelspot promised. He once again touched noses with Darkkick. Troutpaw purred in the back at the sweet display.

“Now tell me,” Darkkick grunted, taking a seat in front of the daughter he thought dead as the others settled around him, “what in the name of the four— er, five Clans has happened while I’ve been away?”

(Darkkick: 105, male, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Puddlepaw: 11, trans female, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)

(Rustshade: 89, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Downstar: 104, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Fennelspot: 102, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Troutpaw: 6, female, cleric apprentice, compassionate, morbid curiosity)

(Spikecrash: 20, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Palepaw: 11, female, mediator apprentice, insecure, picky nest builder, never sits still)

[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 74

Rattlepelt starts weaving lavender through her fox pelt to mark her changed self since her possession. Splashtuft cuts his leg on ocean debris and develops a scar.

[Image ID: Rattlepelt now has a sprig of lavender by her ear. Under her, it reads + ACCESSORY: LAVENDER, - CONDITION: BITE WOUND. Splashtuft now has a small scar on his left hind leg.]

(Rattlepelt: 57, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Splashtuft: 22, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Moon 74, Part 2)

Estherfern’s kits become apprentices.

[Image ID: Estherfern’s five kits now have apprentice sprites. Under Thunderpaw, it says LEVEL UP! THUNDERKIT → THUNDERPAW, BULLYING → ADVENTUROUS. Under Boughpaw, it says LEVEL UP! BOUGHKIT → BOUGHPAW, QUIET → RIGHTEOUS. Under Brightpaw, it says LEVEL UP! BRIGHTKIT → BRIGHTPAW, SKY → LONESOME, + PERMANENT CONDITION: SOCIAL ANXIETY. Under Foampaw, it says LEVEL UP! FOAMKIT → FOAMPAW, UNRULY → TROUBLESOME. Under Wolverinepaw, it says LEVEL UP! WOLVERINEKIT → WOLVERINEPAW, SKITTISH → COMPASSIONATE.]

---

“Let me be the first to say that you five have a hard apprenticeship ahead of you,” Downstar declared over the camp as Estherfern sat behind her kits. All five sat as groomed as Estherfern could get them, trying to remember their mother’s lessons on decorum. Brightkit shook harder than anyone else, ears threatening to tilt down. Wolverinekit and Foamkit’s tails poked at the other, unable to keep their excitement hidden. Thunderkit sat just a bit closer to the Shiprock while Boughkit remained the only one still and politely attentive, as Estherfern taught her to be. The rest of RippleClan listened with similar captured attention to their leader.

“On top of some of the personal struggles you face,” Downstar continued, “I’m afraid you won’t have the same freedoms most of your Clanmates had at your age. We can’t risk you being caught unawares by the spirit that claimed our beloved deputy.” Estherfern would make sure of that. She had already performed a ritual over the apprentice’s den with Honeybuzz and Weevilpaw, guarding the incoming apprentices from harm.

“Despite that,” Downstar said, “RippleClan will ensure you are ready for the challenges ahead. The five of you have reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. Thunderkit, from this day forward until you receive your full name, you shall be known as Thunderpaw. You have expressed interest in the path of a caretaker, and I have chosen Drumtooth as your mentor.” The newly named Thunderpaw jumped up, scanning the crowd behind her mother for her new mentor. Drumtooth slipped around Estherfern and the other kits. Thunderpaw was almost Drumtooth’s size, making it easy for her to touch his nose. Her whole pelt shivered with excitement. 

“In order to give you the best pawhold on your future,” Downstar added as Drumtooth and Thunderpaw returned their gaze to her, “Troutpool and Paleseed have arranged for you to receive some lessons in Clan-sign from Mummichogleap, a deaf warrior of SlugClan. I’ve already informed Drumtooth of this arrangement and with his help, you shall become an excellent caretaker.”

“I’ll try, Downstar,” Drumtooth promised with a deep nod.

“Me too,” Thunderpaw chirped.

Clan-sign? Estherfern had never heard of any lesson plans. She was Thunderpaw’s mother, why hadn’t she been informed? She found Troutpool to the side of the crowd, seated with Tallowpaw and Slushpaw. Troutpool’s focus was on Thunderpaw as she and Drumtooth moved aside for the next kit of the litter to earn their name. Why would Troutpool agree to these lessons? How much time would this Clan-sign take away from Thunderpaw’s important lessons? Why did she have to learn such a trick when she should use that time to hone her survival skills? If they had to talk to someone outside the Clan for these lessons, obviously no one in RippleClan knew Clan-sign. What would be the point of learning something no one else understood?

Estherfern got so caught up in herself, she nearly missed when Boughkit stepped forward and Downstar delivered her new name.

“From this moment on,” Downstar declared, “until you receive your full name, you shall be known as Boughpaw. You have chosen a historian’s path, and I have chosen Oilstripe as your mentor.”

“You did?” Oilstripe muttered so quietly Estherfern barely heard her. She crept out of the crowd, focus shifting between Boughpaw and Downstar.

“Weedfoot taught you well, Oilstripe,” Downstar sighed with a slow nod. “I want you to continue following in her pawsteps by training a new apprentice.” Oilstripe held her breath at the mention of the former deputy. She sighed, bowing softly with a quiet purr. She softly touched noses with Boughpaw and escorted her to the side.

“Brightkit,” Downstar called. Brightkit didn’t move at first, eyes locked on Downstar, paws stuck in the sand. Foamkit head-butted him from behind, making him skitter forward. He fought to his paws, staring up in awe at his leader. “From this day forward until you receive your full name, you shall be known as Brightpaw. In order to craft you into the best warrior you can be, Trumpetspore shall be your mentor. Her wisdom and skill shall guide you down the path you’re destined to follow.” Estherfern hid her disappointment when Trumpetspore came up. The black molly was too awkward for Estherfern’s tastes. Brightpaw needed a mentor with strength and confidence to supply him with what he lacked. Estherfern bit her tongue as Trumpetspore and Brightpaw touched noses.

“Foamkit,” Downstar said, but the ticked molly was up and ready before her name was even called. “From this moment on, until you receive your full name, you shall be known as Foampaw. You have decided to be a caretaker like your sister, so I have chosen Mosspounce as your mentor. Don’t get into too much trouble, now.” A chuckle rose through the Clan as Mosspounce bounded to his new apprentice. The pair smacked into one another’s faces in their eagerness to touch noses. Now if only Foampaw was a warrior and Brightpaw was a caretaker. Their mentors would have been good influences then. 

“Now Wolverinekit,” Downstar sighed, focusing on the youngest and fluffiest of the litter. “You have yet to tell me what path your paws wish to follow. As such, I will place you as a warrior apprentice, and you may change this path if you feel called to do so at any time. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Downstar,” Wolverinekit said. Estherfern tensed. Why was her confident, curious daughter unsure what to train as? It was her vision, Estherfern was sure of it. She felt insecure in her skills, she had to. How could she not? There had to be a way to cure her vision, no matter what anyone else said. Estherfern would find that cure.

“Then from this moment on, until you receive your warrior name,” Downstar declared, “you shall be known as Wolverinepaw. Leathermask shall be your mentor.” The Clan began to cheer before Leathermask even got close to Wolverinepaw.

“Thunderpaw! Boughpaw! Brightpaw! Foampaw! Wolverinepaw!” What a long chant! It seemed undignified for a priestess to raise her voice like everyone else. Still, her children deserved the honor. Estherfern yowled along with her Clanmates as her five kits beamed in the praise. 

“Can we all train together?” Thunderpaw asked, gently pawing Drumtooth’s shoulder. “Can we go see Battle Beach?” Wolverinepaw and Foampaw’s eyes glinted at the idea. 

“Maybe we should get you all settled in the apprentice’s den first,” Oilstripe suggested. “It’s almost sunhigh. We might as well make sure you all have a place to sleep, considering how little room there is in there.”

“I’m making my nest next to Vervainpaw!” Foampaw yowled. She charged across camp, ignoring Estherfern entirely.

“I already said I’m sleeping next to her!” Wolverinepaw huffed, running after her sister. The other cats trailed after the excited mollies, accepting the congratulations of their Clanmates as they passed. However, only four apprentices headed for the apprentice’s den. Brightpaw whispered something in Trumpetspore’s ear. Trumpetspore listened intently and nodded. Brightpaw scurried off toward the warrior’s den. Now what was so important that Brightpaw would run away as soon as his ceremony was over?

Estherfern trailed through the dissipating crowds after her only son. Brightpaw paused at the edge of the den, looking in and out. Estherfern paused outside the artisan’s supply den, pretending to nibble an itch on her paw. Spikecrash padded to the warrior’s den with a big yawn. From the corner of her eye, Estherfern saw Brightpaw paw at Spikecrash before she could enter. She turned her ear to the conversation.

“That was horrible,” Brightpaw gulped. “I thought you said the ceremony wouldn’t be bad!”

“It wasn’t, I promise,” Spikecrash insisted, tail to Brightpaw’s shoulder. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“My heart makes me more scared than I need to be around others,” Brightpaw muttered, head sinking, “but I need to trust my heart too, don’t I?”

“Social anxiety can be a deceitful disorder of the mind, Brightpaw,” Spikecrash said. “When it comes to these moments, your heart wants to run away, but just remember, you don’t have to. Whatever you may think, it’s not what everyone else thinks. Try to remember that the next time you have to talk to a lot of cats.” 

Social anxiety? Now what was that? Estherfern had never heard of a disorder of the mind before. She knew mediators dealt with those sorts of issues, but she had dismissed them as simple emotional problems. Was Brightpaw sick? How long had he been talking to Spikecrash? Why had he not told Estherfern what was wrong? Another kit of hers, sick, set apart from the Clan, placed at disadvantage…

Estherfern would not stand for this.

(Downstar: 133, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Estherfern: 108, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Brightpaw: 6, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, lover of art)

(Wolverinepaw: 6, female, warrior apprentice, compassionate, always asking questions)

(Foampaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, troublesome, always wandering)

(Thunderpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, adventurous, moss-ball hunter)

(Boughpaw: 6, female, historian apprentice, righteous, constantly climbing)

(Drumtooth: 22, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Oilstripe: 78, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Trumpetspore: 35, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Mosspounce: 35, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Leathermask: 22, male, warrior, nervous, good fighter, eloquent speaker)

(Spikecrash: 49, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

Stormkit is worried about Lightningkit, who whimpers in her sleep.

[Image ID: Stormkit approaches Lightningkit, asking "Lightningkit?"]

---

The nursery was so different from the one Stormkit saw in her earliest memories. That nursery had been so packed with kits and queens, there was barely any room to move come nightfall! But now, with Estherfern’s litter in the now stuffed apprentice’s den, only two nests remained. Stormkit was getting too big to sleep with her father and littermates in the same nest, but she stayed close to the warmth of Waspdawn’s chest regardless, at peace with the weight of his chin on her back.

She wasn’t sure what woke her up at first. Her droopy eyes took a while to adjust to the dark and empty den. Sandkit and Yellowkit were thrown on top of each other, lost in their dreams. Waspdawn breathed slowly, his escaping breath tickling Stormkit’s fur. Their nest was a dark golden blur in the deep shadow. Puddlewhisper slept in the back of the den with Lightningkit and Cobaltkit. She, her siblings, and James took turns sleeping with Lightningkit and Cobaltkit in the nursery ever since Weedfoot left camp and returned as still and limp as Littlekit had once been. Whatever woke Stormkit, the noise came from the back of the den.

Stormkit pulled herself out from under Waspdawn’s chin. His head plunked into the nest. Stormkit froze, waiting for Waspdawn to wake up, but he remained asleep, breath now fiddling with the loose moss at the nest’s edge. Stormkit crawled out of the nest and peered deeper into the nursery. A tiny whimper caught her ear. 

“Lightningkit?” Stormkit whispered. Deep blue eyes burst to life at Puddlewhisper’s side. Really, did neither adult hear her denmate’s cries? 

“Huh?” Lightningkit gulped with a crack in her voice. “Stormkit?”

“Were you crying?” Stormkit asked. She snuck closer to the long-furred kit. Cobaltkit and Puddlewhisper were still deeply asleep, but Lightningkit, tucked by Puddlewhisper’s leg, blinked sleep from her eyes.

“Was I?” Lightningkit mumbled. “Sorry.” She rubbed her face in her nest.

“Are you alright?” Stormkit asked. She sat at the edge of the nest, studying her kin’s dark face.

“Maybe,” Lightningkit said. “I… think I was dreaming about my mom.” Her voice quivered and her whiskers shivered. “I thought Puddlewhisper was her for a moment. I really wish she was here.” Stormkit licked Lightningkit’s shoulder. She gently nuzzled the red molly.

“I wish I could bring her back for you,” Stormkit mumbled. 

“It’s too quiet in here,” Lightningkit gulped, no longer able to keep her sorrow from her words. She pressed into Stormkit with another whimper.

“Puddlewhisper and my dad won’t be too mad if we walk around camp,” Stormkit suggested, pulling her face out of the mess of Lightningkit’s long fur. “Let’s walk around.” She gently nipped Lightningkit’s paw, pulling her out of the nest. Lightningkit swallowed hard. She crawled away from Cobaltkit and Puddlewhisper. Stormkit leaned against Lightningkit, nudging her onwards. The two crept out of the dark nursery and into the camp clearing, dimly lit by a small fire.

It wouldn’t fill the nursery again, or the gaps in either molly’s lives, but it would help a bit. It was the best two kits could do for one another.

(Stormkit: 5, female, kit, know-it-all, loves to eat)

(Waspdawn: 40, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Lightningkit: 4, female, kit, self-conscious, always wandering)

Anchovypaw gets lost on patrol.

[Image ID: Anchovypaw is lost.]

---

Anchovypaw was not lost. He just wasn’t sure which part of the forest he was in. When you’re focused on the hunt, the trees all start to look the same! It wasn’t Anchovypaw’s fault. He was trying to feed his Clan! Still, the smell of autumn consumed his path from Halibutdusk and the rest of the hunting patrol. All he could smell were sharp orange leaves and the two dead mice in his jaws.

Anchovypaw set the mice at his paws and called, “Halibutdusk? Splashtuft? Billowpaw?” All he received in return was a flutter of leaves dancing overhead. One landed on top of his head. He chuckled and batted the leaf off. Alright then! If he couldn’t call out to his patrol, he would just go home. The camp was by the ocean; if Anchovypaw kept walking east, he would eventually hit the beach and would find his way back to camp in no time at all. Besides, being alone meant…

Anchovypaw pounced on a fat oak leaf. The crunch sent glee pounding through his pelt. He purred and wiggled his flank, no longer caring about the proper hunter’s crouch. He pounced on a pile of leaves blown into the crook of a thick trunk. He purred harder with each crack and crinkle. He rolled in the leaves, closing his eyes and enjoying the dappled light creating strange shadows on his eyelids.

Anchovypaw rested his head on the leaves and stared out at the mix of green, orange, and red that was the forest of RippleClan. Autumn was by far the best season to wash over the territories. Maybe he could convince Weevilpaw and Wolfpaw to sneak out and jump in the leaves. Except… no. It wasn’t safe to be out alone. No one else had been able to see the ichor covering Downstar as Rapidleaf carried her into camp, mixing with her blood. Not everyone understood what it meant for such danger to stain the walls of camp. Too many remembered the Shardling’s wild yellow eyes tearing into the nursery.

Anchovypaw hurried to his feet, the leaves scattering around him. Halibutdusk was likely getting nervous. No matter how much Anchovypaw wanted to enjoy the beautiful, cool day, he had to get home, for everyone’s sake. Yet as he reached for his mice, something black caught his eye. It had been hidden underneath the leaves at first, but now it absorbed the dappled light in the shape of a blurred paw print. The paw print was made of ichor.

Anchovypaw cleared away the leaves. He slapped and smacked them to the side, using his tail to clear as many as he could. He found three more ichor-stained paw prints under the leaves. They pointed toward the unseen ocean, but were thicker going the other way. The first paw print Anchovypaw found was the farthest along the stranger’s path, with only the slightest stain of ichor telling Anchovypaw what had happened. There was no way to know just where they were going, if they were heading for camp or somewhere else… but Anchovypaw could figure out where the paw prints came from. He had to. For his friends. For his siblings. For Robinkit and his mother.

Picking his mice back up, Anchovypaw traced the paw prints through the leaves and litter. He slowly followed the trail backwards, brushing aside leaves as he went. The trail looped around pines and firs, as though enjoying a humble stroll. But nothing that left paw prints like these could be considered humble.

The ichor pooled at the edge of a dark den dug under the weak roots of a thin tree. Anchovypaw took a deep breath, but could not smell anyone inside the den. All he smelled were herbs. Creeping around the thick paw prints, Anchovypaw peered inside the den.

A mushroom circle filled the interior of the den. Anchovypaw might have thought it natural at first glance, but each mushroom had been plucked, dried, and carefully placed within the den. A strange green poultice filled the holes in between the mushrooms. Anchovypaw couldn’t tell what herbs were used, but it reminded him of chats with Weevilpaw in the medicine den. The black ichor dripped out of the heart of the circle and into the dip near the den’s entrance. Someone made this strange circle, but who? Whoever left the ichor behind, Anchovypaw was the only one who could get rid of it. He would show the clerics, Weevilpaw, and Wolfpaw the den, but first, he had to handle the threat. This time, he’d be the one to defeat it. It was his gift to bring the things to life. It was his responsibility.

Anchovypaw set his mice aside and peered at the puddle of ichor. He could already taste it. It hadn’t been too long since the Shardling stampeded through the nursery, but in that moment, Anchovypaw felt both five moons and five hundred moons old, the tragedy both a day and a thousand days in the past. Anchovypaw dipped his muzzle into the ichor pool and grabbed hold. 

The ichor pulled from the pool like flesh ripped from prey. This time around, Anchovypaw could keep his feet firmly planted as the supernatural goop dragged itself out of the circle, collecting in Anchovypaw’s jaws. He braced himself as the Dark Forest energy manifested in his grasp. It was the size of an apprentice, only slightly smaller than himself. But the size didn’t matter. Anchovypaw would deal with it.

As the manifestation opened its red eyes, forming feline ears and a sharp, swishing tail, Anchovypaw threw it to the grass. The beast was only prey to him; dangerous prey that had to be snuffed out like a dying fire. Anchovypaw dug his teeth into the spirit’s throat. It screeched and gurgled like bubbling mud. Anchovypaw stood on its flank and pushed down, biting harder and harder. The creature clawed at Anchovypaw’s pelt, taking out chunks of brown and white fur. Anchovypaw dug his claws in in return. The ichor pooled between his pads. 

Anchovypaw didn’t let go until the creature dissolved into nothing but dripping goop, leaking like salt water from the apprentice’s bared jaws. All that remained was a small pile of ichor, sloshing like wet clay. Anchovypaw sat beside it, panting and gagging on the taste. StarClan, he hated that part. Whatever energy remained over the strange den, it was gone. 

But how did it get there in the first place?

(Anchovypaw: 9, male, warrior apprentice, playful, curious about StarClan)

Estherfern senses a presence on patrol.

[Image ID: Estherfern sees the ghost of Harvest. Under Estherfern, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: BEWARE (PROPHECY).]

---

Estherfern rarely got moments alone when she lived with the cat-minded human. That den had been so packed and chaotic, she considered anything that didn’t hurt to be a blessing. But when she did get time to herself, when she could quiet her mind, the realms of the spiritual opened to her. That’s what made her so good at connecting with the afterlife of the Clans, how she won the admiration of the other clerics despite her disdain for medicine, how she found security. She was good at it.

So why were her prayers unanswered now?

“This should fix it,” Estherfern grumbled as she rubbed the earthy poultice in the gaps of the mushroom circle. The poultice had dried up the last time Estherfern visited her private den; that was likely why she was met with silence on her last visit. Either that, or her offering had been unsuited for her guest. A little trial and error was to be expected; there was only so much she could ask Terracottafoot about these summoning rituals without raising the odd cleric’s suspicion. The rest of it was pieced together from Troutpool and Honeybuzz’s lessons on channeling StarClan spirits (a ritual Estherfern hoped to see in practice sooner rather than later).

Estherfern rubbed the last of the fresh poultice into the dirt and licked her paw clean. She stepped out of the den and grabbed her new offering; a tuft of Lightningkit’s fur, plucked from her nest while the kit played with her sister. Sure, Estherfern’s earlier attempts had been partial successes, but she had yet to have a full conversation. She had only managed to recreate a pool of that strange ichor that peeled off Rattlepelt’s skin moons ago, but that splashed and rolled deep into the forest before she could do anymore. Perhaps Estherfern shouldn’t have focused on stories of a long-dead cleric, but heeded one of Oilstripe’s stories; a tale of a father who would do anything for his kits. Perhaps this approach, with this offering and Estherfern’s earnesty, would prove successful.

“I call upon the spirit of Hawthornstealer,” Estherfern said as she placed the offering inside the circle, “banished from StarClan for his disastrous pursuit of his offspring’s legacy. Despite your sins, your assistance is required. Return to the Clans, if only for a moment. Speak to us.” Estherfern sat at the edge of the circle and closed her eyes. The summer sun beat onto her spiky pelt and lulled her mind. She kept her ears pricked, waiting for the sound of bubbling mud.

“Estherfern!” The brown cleric jumped, her head smacking into the ceiling of her makeshift den. She turned, slightly dazed. The sun crowned a brown and white figure outside the den. Glowing white eyes glared through Estherfern. Starlight sparkled and shifted across the figure’s pelt. Estherfern had not known her for long, but she couldn’t forget Harvest and the fury which she fought for her kits. A fury that was now turned to Estherfern.

“Beware, Estherfern!” Harvest yowled. Unfelt wind buffeted her pelt. Estherfern’s spine curled. “The spread of spores produces nothing but decay! They grow not in light, but darkness! A path without sight, without sound, heart pushing out of your chest, is a blessing compared to the fate that awaits the rot!”

And with that, she disappeared. The wind stirred Estherfern’s heart in the dead queen’s absence.

(Estherfern: 108, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Harvest: 58, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

[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 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.]

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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)