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rippleclan · 8 months ago

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RippleClan: Moon 67

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Tempestshade had stopped breathing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scaleripple needed that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We should get him out of camp.”

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

“Scaleripple, it will all be okay.”

“I understand you, Scaleripple!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Weevilkit saw it all.

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

And then it happened again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Weird dream,” he muttered.

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

“You look like Weedfoot,” Anchovykit gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s the normal way?”

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

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

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

“Do I know you?” Tempestshade asked.

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

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

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

“Why?” Anchovykit groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?” Anchovykit said.

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

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

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

“In a sense,” Ripplefern chuckled.

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

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

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

“Oh,” Tempestshade muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Billowkit can’t stop sneezing.

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

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

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

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

47 notes · View notes

rippleclan · 8 months ago

Text

RippleClan: Moon 69

Waspdawn brought a litter of four kits to camp with the hopes that a WheatClan queen can nurse them.

[Image ID: Leathermask says to Waspdawn, “They’re quite cute, Waspdawn.” Four gold and white newborns sit in nests. The mostly yellow kit has the caption NEW PLAYER: YELLOWKIT, 0, FEMALE, NOISY. The white kit reads NEW PLAYER: SANDKIT, 0, MALE, SELF-CONSCIOUS. Below him, the dark golden kit reads NEW PLAYER: STORMKIT, 0, FEMALE, KNOW-IT-ALL. Lastly, the white and gold kit reads NEW PLAYER: LITTLEKIT, 0, MALE, SKITTISH.]

The Clan was a hive of chatter when Weedfoot and James returned from their slow walk around the territory. Weedfoot’s pregnancy weighed on her aging bones, but she wouldn’t let that stop her from taking some time to be with her mate. That meant when the pair entered camp once more, a light dusting of snow clinging to their heels, winter’s final push, they had no idea what was going on.

Paleseed, recovered from her bought with whitecough, raced past her mother, her tail weave of red feathers smacking Weedfoot in the face. Spikecrash hurried behind her, ducking between Weedfoot and James. Before Weedfoot could ask them what was the matter, they were gone.

“That’s not like Paleseed,” James muttered. “Do you suppose something’s happened?”

“Our Clan is riled about something,” Weedfoot sighed. Cats sat throughout the camp, eagerly explaining the unknown situation to their kin. A large crowd stood around the nursery. They peered into the nursery with soft gasps and excited whispers. Oilstripe, Lemmy, Clammask, and Harvest herded their kits into one group, keeping them entertained as whatever happened in the nursery unfolded.

“Mom, we should really get Rattlepelt away from the nursery,” Anchovykit whined. He tried to run past Harvest, but the reddish-brown molly blocked his escape.

“She’s allowed to look,” Harvest huffed. “Why are you so worried about Rattlepelt?”

“Well, um,” Anchovykit gulped, “she, uh…”

“She can get really angry sometimes,” Robinkit said as he paced in front of Clammask and Lemmy, who worked as a team to stop Robinkit and his little patrol of friends from causing mischief.

“Rattlepelt is having a rough time,” Oilstripe said, taking a break from her story with the well-behaved kits. “None of you need to concern yourself with her. Rattlepelt will be alright.”

“Just sit down!” Lemmy groaned. She jumped in front of Vervainkit before she could squirm around her guards. Weevilkit acted on the gap in their defense before anyone even realized there was a gap. She charged out of the swarm of kits. Clammask swiped at her tail, but the young tortoiseshell acted too quickly for her. She scampered to the dirt place, free from the queens’ imprisonment. Lemmy groaned, but did not chase her daughter.

“Oilstripe, if you’re all out here,” Weedfoot muttered, approaching the chaos, “then what is everyone looking at by the nursery?” Oilstripe’s troubled gaze brightened at the sight of her former mentor.

“It would be better if you went to look for yourself,” Oilstripe chuckled.

“Congratulations,” Slushkit chirped from her spot beside her mother. Weedfoot chuckled, for that was all she could think to do.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“And here I thought you were the wit in our relationship,” James chuckled. “Weed, it’s the nursery.” The spark of truth danced in Weedfoot’s mind a moment later. She quickly looked through camp. Paleseed had left, no need to count her. Puddlewhisper spoke to Downstar by the leader’s den. Lavendertwist and Scaleripple were a part of the crowd around the nursery. One kit missing.

“Waspdawn?” Weedfoot muttered, paws leading her to the nursery. James trotted after her, tail high. As the mates neared the nursery, Scaleripple, who stood near the back, took note of their approach.

“Let my mom in,” Scaleripple said. Though he spoke softly and to no one in particular, the rest of the Clan took notice of Weedfoot’s arrival. They quickly scampered to either side, purring and giggling and staring. Lavendertwist stayed where he was, kneading the sand, dry for the first time in moons.

“Come look!” Lavendertwist cheered in a whisper. Weedfoot’s heart thrashed in her throat as she and her kin entered the nest-covered den.

Leathermask was with Waspdawn inside, constructing a new nest lined with leather. Neither noticed the change to the crowd outside. Waspdawn sat on the edge of Lemmy’s nest, looking down into Weedfoot’s freshly prepared nest. Four little drops of pale honey squirmed in her nest. Weedfoot’s whole face melted at the sight. The four kits couldn’t have been much older than a quarter moon, their fur just beginning to grow out. Each kit was a mixture of gold and white, from the darkest honey to the palest yellow.

“They’re quite cute, Waspdawn,” Leathermask chuckled, turning from his task. He froze when he saw Weedfoot and James staring inside.

“I’ll be good to them,” Waspdawn promised. He dipped a paw into the nest, gently petting the largest of the four kits. The yellow spotted kit mewed loudly and cuddled closer to their father. “I’ve had good mentors in parenthood.”

“I thought Lavendertwist would give us our first grandkits,” James said. Waspdawn’s ears perked up, paw retracting. He turned to the beaming faces of his parents and brothers.

“Wait, you did?” Lavendertwist said. James gently smacked his tail over his son’s face and let it rest there.

“Waspdawn…” Weedfoot whispered. She crept closer to the four kits in her nest. She couldn’t look away.

“Leathermask, could you give us a moment?” James asked.

“A fair request,” Leathermask said awkwardly, ducking his head. He squeezed around Scaleripple, who backed out of the den entirely to give the other warrior room to leave.

“They look just like you,” Weedfoot breathed. She stuck her muzzle into the nest. The darkest colored kit squealed, blind face angling toward the new scent as best she could. The litter was an even split; two toms, two mollies, gold and white splashed equally between them all. The biggest molly looked exactly like Waspdawn had when he first laid nursing at Weedfoot’s belly, a tiny blob named after the apprentice that never got to shine.

“I know you have questions,” Waspdawn sighed, laying beside the nest. “I want to answer them as best I can.”

“The code says you don’t have to,” Scaleripple said, creeping back into the den and examining Leathermask’s newly crafted nest.

“I remember how hurt and confused everyone was when Shadowdrop and Wildclaw brought Tempestshade, Trumpetspore, and Mosspounce to camp,” Waspdawn said. “I don’t want anyone to believe I’m repeating his mistakes.”

“We’re listening, then,” Weedfoot said. She moved closer to her son. Scaleripple sat in the new nest. James and Lavendertwist watched from the nursery’s edge.

“About two months ago, I was by the southern border,” Waspdawn began, “when a loner called me over. Her name was Gwen. She was new to the area and wanted to meet her neighbors. Regardless, we talked for a while. As you might be able to guess, instincts overtook us, and we mated.” Scaleripple draped a paw over his muzzle at the thought, unable to look at his brother. “Soon after, a monster slowed to a stop beside us. Gwen decided to approach them. The humans inside picked her up and took her into the monster before running down the path. I would have thought nothing of it if I didn’t reunite with Gwen half a moon ago.

“Around that time, one of our patrols told Downstar of a confused queen they escorted off the territory. I overheard them. Their description matched that of Gwen. I decided if she had come back after over a moon, she was likely looking for me, so I set off to find her. It didn’t take me long. She was taking shelter with a few of the barn cats in the nearest farm. She had deteriorated since I saw her last. Her fur was poorly kept and she was far too thin for how pregnant she was. She took a while to recognize me. Eventually, I learned the humans she had left with were of the wicked kind. They took her to a small human den with a Clan’s worth of cats trapped inside. They couldn’t leave and had little food.”

“I heard tales of humans like that in my youth,” James sighed, sneering. “Waspdawn, your friend was taken by a human we call cat-minded. They believe themselves to be cats and feel compelled to bring as many cats into their den as possible. Those dens become graves for the unfortunate cats they claim.” Lavendertwist squirmed, shoulder rubbing against his collar.

“Gwen and another pregnant queen eventually managed to escape,” Waspdawn explained. “I agreed to offer some of my Clan training to further Gwen’s recovery. I’ve spent much of my free hours there, learning from the barn cats just as much as they learned from me. They were able to safely deliver Gwen’s litter a quarter moon ago.” Waspdawn set his chin on the nest with his kits. “When I realized how much they looked like me, I began to see them as mine, not just Gwen’s. The kitting made Gwen’s mind clear, and we were able to discuss what had happened between us. Gwen has no interest in living in the Clans, or any packed colony again. That’s when I offered to claim the litter and raise them here. Gwen decided that it would be better for them to grow up in stability rather than with a wanderer like herself. When they were strong enough to travel, I asked Puddlewhisper and Honeybuzz to assist me in bringing them home.”

“You could have told us,” Weedfoot said. Her paw touched Waspdawn’s.

“I only made the decision to claim them a few days ago,” Waspdawn admitted. He sat up and added, “I made sure I didn’t break the code by helping Gwen. I only provided her with my time and knowledge and took none of the Clan’s resources. I’ll stand trial if I have to and declare my innocence to the entire Clan.”

“You’re not going to trial,” Lavendertwist scoffed. “Really, Waspdawn, everyone knows Rustshade had his second litter with his old WheatClan mate, and no one did a thing about that. Nothing about your story sounds wrong to me.” Lavendertwist made his way around the many nests in the den and bunted heads with his brother.

“Alright, let’s not make that rumor into history,” Weedfoot reminded her brown and white son.

“Paleseed and Spikecrash went to WheatClan to ask for someone to nurse them,” Waspdawn explained. “With no one having milk, I wanted to make sure they ate well. Puddlewhisper is still discussing the situation with Downstar. She… may be annoyed that I didn't tell her about the kits.”

“She will get over it as soon as she sees these cute furballs,” Lavendertwist laughed. He waved his tail over the kits’ tiny noses, drawing their limited attention.

“They’re old enough for names,” Scaleripple noted with a twitch of his ears.

“I let their mother name them,” Waspdawn said. “Her last gift to them.” He carefully stepped into the nest with his kits. He nosed each one, naming them as he went. “Yellowkit… Sandkit… Littlekit… and Stormkit.”

“I like those names!” Lavendertwist cheered. “I might take naming inspiration from you when I have kits of my own!” Lavendertwist’s expression softened as he stared at his nieces and nephews. He hummed softly, thoughts unknowable. Eventually, he puffed up his chest and said, “I’ll be back soon.”

He marched out of the nursery like a warrior on a mission. He quickly found his target by the warrior’s den. Weedfoot looked outside; Lavendertwist was staring at Elmsprout.

“Elmsprout!” Lavendertwist called, tail hooked overhead. Elmsprout, who had been making the finishing touches on the Clan’s evening meal with Rabbitjoy, looked up quickly. “How would you like to have my kits someday?” Weedfoot groaned, turning her head from the disaster. Scaleripple, in an uncharacteristic show of playfulness, snorted. James shook his head, sighing.

“Why would you phrase it like that?” Elmsprout yowled across camp as the entire Clan stared at her and Lavendertwist. Their heads flicked back and forth as though watching birds flutter through the trees.

“Because I want to have a family with you someday!”

“And you ask me now?”

“Why not?”

“Why yowl at me from the other side of camp?”

“I didn’t want to wait!”

“If you want to be my mate, just ask me that!”

“Okay! Do you want to be my mate?”

“Is this really working?” James muttered, sticking his head out of the den.

“I’ve wanted that for moons,” Elmsprout laughed. She bounded away from the oven and joined Lavendertwist outside the nursery. The Clan cheered as they rubbed pelts, laughing all the while. James joined his son, bunting his shoulder in congratulations.

“Now you’ll say you’re planning to have kits,” Weedfoot purred, looking over at Scaleripple.

“I don’t,” Scaleripple said, literal as ever. “I don’t think Tempestshade and I ever planned to have kits. I just wanted to be their companion.” Weedfoot could think of nothing to say. She turned back to her grandkits. Her first grandkits! StarClan, did that make her feel old. How much of the gray in her pelt was from her age?

“Sandkit looks more like you than me, I think,” Waspdawn hummed as his kits searched for a warm belly. “Who knows? Maybe one of them will be like you, Scaleripple.” Scaleripple left the nest and joined his kin by the newborns. He stared at the four golden lumps, squirming and settling into deep sleep. Something in his eyes sparkled.

“I would kill for them,” he said. He locked his eyes on Waspdawn with a more focused stare than Weedfoot had ever seen from her youngest son.

“I think we all would,” Weedfoot purred. She nuzzled her grandkits, bathing in the warm joy of their tiny bodies.

(Weedfoot: 118, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(James: 145, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Anchovykit: 4, male, kit, charming, curious about StarClan)

(Harvest: 57, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Robinkit: 4, male, kit, unruly, avid play-fighter)

(Oilstripe: 73, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Lemmy: 46, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Weevilkit: 4, female, kit, bullying, curious about StarClan)

(Slushkit: 5, female, kit, polite, quick witted)

(Scaleripple: 22, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Lavendertwist: 35, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Leathermask: 17, male, warrior, nervous, great speaker, good fighter)

(Waspdawn: 35, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Yellowkit: 0, female, kit, noisy)

(Sandkit: 0, male, kit, self-conscious)

(Littlekit: 0, male, kit, skittish)

(Stormkit: 0, female, kit, know-it-all)

(Elmsprout: 36, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

While showing Harvest around the territory, helping her find a place in the Clan as she raises her kits, a kittypet asks about joining the Clan with her five kits.

[Image ID: Estherfern, a brown tabby with sunlit eyes, says “It seems your ancestors have an interest in me.” Under her, it says NEW PLAYER: ESTHERFERN, 103, FEMALE, BLOODTHIRSTY, GREAT MEDIATOR, PROPHECY SEEKER, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. Beside her are five kits. The solid lilac molly reads NEW PLAYER: THUNDERKIT, 1, FEMALE, BULLYING, MOSS-BALL HUNTER. The dark brown kit says NEW PLAYER: BOUGHKIT, 1, FEMALE, QUIET, CONSTANTLY CLIMBING. The gold tom reads NEW PLAYER: BRIGHTKIT, 1, MALE, SHY, LOVER OF ART. The ticked kit reads NEW PLAYER: FOAMKIT, 1, FEMALE, UNRULY, ALWAYS WANDERING. The last brown molly reads NEW PLAYER: WOLVERINEKIT, 1, FEMALE, SKITTISH, ALWAYS ASKING QUESTIONS.]

---

When Oilstripe was a WheatClan kit, she spent a lot of time asking the various cats of the Clan whether she would make a good warrior or artisan or whatever role they held. Considering how much she loved hearing their stories, the path of a historian seemed obvious to her now. Yet if that worked for her, perhaps Harvest, who had yet to declare herself in any official role beside a humble queen, needed that same chance to hear what it was like to follow a certain path through the Clans.

Oilstripe, Puddlewhisper, Carnationspeckle, and Halibutdusk sat with Harvest on a hill in the open southern lands, where sunhigh reminded them all of spring’s return as they bathed in its yellow beams. It was the perfect spot to survey the territory. While cold air still nibbled at their pelts and the trees showed no sign yet of newborn buds, the longer days left rich mud and life across the land. Harvest sat with her tail twitching while everyone else lounged about, sinking into the dull, tan grass.

“If you choose to be a warrior, there isn’t much you have to learn,” Halibutdusk explained, stretching out his front legs. “You’ll help out where needed and go on patrols. Your old friend taught you how to fight, so you won’t need extra training.”

“It sounds nice,” Harvest admitted, head tucked down, “but Oakface would brag about the other positions in Clan life. I feel I’d be dishonoring him if I didn’t consider them.”

“If you want to spend more time in the nursery,” Carnationspeckle purred, laying in an awkward looking yet shockingly comfortable heap, “you can become a caretaker. Some caretakers choose to spend all their time in the nursery as permanent helpers. Would that interest you?”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me,” Harbest gulped, “I love raising my kits, but I don’t want to be stuck in the nursery forever.”

“If you have an interest in order and justice, you should become a codekeeper,” Puddlewhisper pointed out as she itched her back paw. “We spend a lot of our time assisting Downstar and Weedfoot in organizing the Clan and honoring the code.”

“Don’t forget historians!” Oilstripe chirped, stretched out in an arch along the grass. “There’s a lot to learn, but our stories are important.”

“It’s just as overwhelming as when Oakface described them,” Harvest laughed awkwardly. “It’s so strange to say I’ll only do certain tasks the rest of my life.”

“That’s not what we’re saying, don’t worry,” Carnationspeckle promised. She tapped her paw against Harvest’s. “You can always make a change later on. No one will blame you if you take more time deciding!”

“You might need to join some patrols, though,” Puddlewhisper pointed out. “It’s important to contribute.”

“Of course,” Harvest said. “There’s so much to do now that I’m here. I hope to experience as much as I can.”

“And I hope we can fulfill your dreams,” Carnationspeckle chirped. Puddlewhisper lifted her head, ears turning south. She squinted, pupils narrow in the shiny sunlight.

“Someone just crossed the border,” she said, getting to her paws. Oilstripe, Carnationspeckle, and Halibutdusk followed her lead, claws out. “You can see them in the distance.” The Clan cats quickly followed Puddlewhisper’s gaze.

The intruder was nothing more than a speck in the grass from that distance. Oilstripe couldn’t even smell if they were a tom or a molly. Their dark fur was a shard of dull ocean rock thrown into the middle of the land, smooth from moons upon moons battered by the waves. They wandered deeper into RippleClan as though they were on patrol.

“If this is one of the same barn cats that keep trespassing,” Halibutdusk sighed, “we might have to show force.”

“Something feels different about them,” Puddlewhisper muttered, eyes narrowing even more. “I can’t explain it.”

“I can,” Oilstripe said. As the intruder drew closer, Oilstripe saw another shape slipping through the grass. His ginger fur and white-wrapped torso were stuck in Oilstripe’s memory. He seemed to lead the newcomer toward the small gathering. Now why was Fennelspot leading a stranger over the border?

Carnationspeckle was the first to trot downhill, silky fur swaying softly. The others followed single file, all eyes on the stranger. The wind carried a molly’s scent to Oilstripe’s nose. The brown molly had bright bicolored eyes, coolly watching the incoming patrol. Fennelspot stopped when the patrol grew close. He looked to Oilstripe, familiar eyes easing any concerns she had of the intruder. With a low nod and a quick blink, Fennelspot vanished, leaving just the brown molly to tackle.

“Excuse us,” Carnationspeckle coughed. The brown molly sat undisturbed, eyes drifting over each cat. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you’re trespassing on our Clan’s territory. You’ve crossed our border by the horse path.” The others spread out around Carnationspeckle.

“I’m aware,” the stranger purred. Her tone was light and airy, a whispering wind or tuft of smoke blown from an oven where stew simmered and watered the mouths of passersby.

“Then you know you’ll be escorted out,” Puddlewhisper huffed. “We don’t allow outsiders to wander into our land as they please.”

“I believe there is supposed to be an exception for me,” the stranger sighed. “My name is Esther, though from what I know, my name will change slightly when I join you. It seems your ancestors have an interest in me.” The patrol shared glances, shifting awkwardly, wondering if any of them had a good answer to Esther’s odd declaration.

“How would you know that?” Harvest asked, back arched slightly.

“I would be happy to tell you,” Esther said, getting up, “but first, would you help me with my kits?”

“Your kits?” Carnstionspeckle gasped, peering about like the kits would suddenly pop out of the grass.

“I’ve left them just by your border,” Esther explained. She flicked her tail the way she came. She sauntered off, but paused when no paw steps followed behind. “I didn’t wander into one of those territorial Clans, have I? The sort to leave a queen and her kits alone?”

“We’ll help,” Oilstripe promised. She gave everyone a cautious, knowing look. That was all Carnationspeckle needed to follow Esther toward the border. Harvest, Halibutdusk, and Puddlewhisper lingered behind while Oilstripe joined her mate. If Fennelspot was leading Esther into RippleClan (whether or not anyone knew he was there), then Esther couldn’t be a danger.

Esther led the patrol to the horse path, quiet of any rolling monsters. Esther was just another patch of mud in the recovering grass, a spot of brown in a sea of tan. Oilstripe could smell the kits before she saw the small dip in the ground some ways beyond the horse path. Esther crawled into the dip and nuzzled the tiny bodies tucked within.

“Hello, my darlings,” Estherfern purred. Five kits mewed with delight at their mother’s return. They were all earth-colored, ranging between brown and pale tan. Almost all of them sported Esther’s sunlit eyes. There was only one tom in the bunch. All five stared wide-eyed at the Clan cats. The tom and the brown tabby hopped over Esther and hid behind her. The dark brown kit stood on Esther to get a better view of them. The two pale mollies, however, scurried out of their makeshift nest and stared down Oilstripe.

“So many kits…” Puddlewhisper muttered as Esther pawed at her wayward daughters, urging them back to her side.

“Tom cats!” the brown tabby gasped, peeking out from behind Esther. “Are you tom cats? Momma, you brought tom cats!”

“I’m a molly,” Puddlewhisper huffed, tucking into herself. “Halibutdusk isn’t a tom, either. They’re separate from toms and mollies.” Where Puddlewhisper seemed like she’d rather sink through the grass at the comment, Halibutdusk simply nodded, tail sagging.

“You can be something else?” one of the pale colored kits gasped, eyes sparkling.

“Wolverinekit, don’t ask rude questions,” Esther warned, “and Thunderkit, don’t pester them.” Thunderkit stuck her tongue at her mother. A sharp glare from Esther sent Thunderkit scrambling toward her dark brown sister.

“They have Clan names,” Oilstripe realized. “How do you know how we name our kits?”

“I asked,” Esther purred. She glanced at the thin clouds above. “I’ve named my kits Thunderkit, Boughkit, Brightkit, Foamkit, and Wolverinekit.” Each kit jumped up at the sound of their name. Thunderkit and Foamkit were the pale mollies, one solid, one ticked. Boughkit was the dark brown kit, Brightkit was the golden-brown tom, leaving Wolverinekit as the curious long-furred tabby.

“I need an explanation before I lead you to our camp,” Puddlewhisper huffed, taking the lead. “It’s fine to ask to join our ranks, Harvest here did the same with her kits only a few moons ago.”

“Hello,” Harvest said with an awkward twitch of her tail.

“But claiming you’ve spoken to StarClan?” Puddlewhisper scoffed, unable to stop her ears from going flat. “I just don’t trust it, kits or no kits. So before I feel comfortable helping you, I want to understand what you’re suggesting.”

“Take a deep breath, Puddlewhisper,” Oilstripe said. She touched her tail to Puddlewhisper’s side. “Believe me when I say, there’s at least some truth to what Esther is saying.” Oilstripe turned to Esther and added, “She is right, though. I want to know what led you here.”

“Are you expecting my life’s story?” Esther sighed. Her son crawled under her chin. Esther groomed Brightkit’s head, earning a purr.

“Tell us how you know about StarClan,” Oilstripe said, sitting at the edge of the dip.

“Where I come from,” Esther sighed, “far to the west, prophecy is commonplace, if not more straightforward than what your ancestors love to craft. A prophecy is no more than a message from our God. When my God told me to travel east and find the five Clans, who was I to say no? I am needed here, apparently. I would have been here moons upon moons ago, if not for the human who snatched me in my sleep and threw me into her den. It was not the sort of place one could escape from, all filth and violence and too many cats in too small a space.”

“That…” Puddlewhisper muttered, pacing to the other side of the dip, “sounds familiar.” She studied the five kits, who all watched her like she would become a fearsome bear, ready to strike at any moment. “Esther, do you know a cat named Gwen?”

“She and I found a way out of that cesspool close to a moon ago,” Esther said. “By then, I had fallen pregnant, but I made do. They’re quite cute, after all.” Boughkit slid off Esther’s back with a small squeal, earning Thunderkit’s mockery. “While I rotted away, however, I began to hear more from your ancestors in my dreams. I was thrown off guard by their way of speaking, but I grew to find the meaning in their metaphors. Their prophecies told me how to find you, how to escape, and how to name my kits.” Wolverinekit stared bug-eyed at Puddlewhisper as the gray molly thought through Esther’s story.

“Do you believe her, Oilstripe?” Puddlewhisper asked. Oilstripe loafed at the dip’s edge, carefully staring at Esther.

“Can you describe any of the cats from your dream, Esther?” Oilstripe wondered.

“Oh, there were a few over the moons,” Esther sighed. “None gave me their name. The most common sight in the last few moons has been… a tailless tortoiseshell, gray and ginger.”

“Parsley?” Carnationspeckle gasped. While Harvest was unphased by the name, everyone else paid a bit more attention to Esther.

“If StarClan has called you here,” Halibutdusk asked, “then you must have some idea as to why.”

“I can give you their last prophecy to me,” Esther purred as Wolverinekit and Brightkit started nibbling at each other. “But I need to know you’ll escort me to your camp. I need to secure a safe home for my kits.”

“There’s no reason we wouldn’t, right Oilstripe?” Harvest said with a friendly cock of her tail.

“If you have so much experience with prophecies,” Oilstripe said as Foamkit once again left the dip and sniffed around the Clan cats’ legs, “RippleClan could use your expertise as one of our clerics.”

“I want to hear this prophecy, first,” Puddlewhisper huffed. Foamkit pawed at Puddlewhisper’s leg. Puddlewhisper peered down, curious. Foamkit wiggled her flank and launched at Puddlewhisper. She clawed up Puddlewhisper’s leg and stood on Puddlewhisper’s back. Puddlewhisper could only stand stunned for a moment before she suddenly started laughing. “Oh, do you want a horse ride?”

“What’s a—” Foamkit said, but she wasn’t fast enough. Puddlewhisper kicked and bucked like a frantic horse. Foamkit dug her claws in, squealing and laughing the whole way. The other kits wooed and awed at the sight, running toward Puddlewhisper. They chased after her as Foamkit held on for her short life.

“Well, while you’re busy mangling my daughter,” Esther sighed, “I’ll give you the prophecy.” Esther climbed out of the dip and cleared her throat. “Ferns spread spores across fertile soil. There is much to learn from their growth, good and bad.”

“Sounds like your average prophecy,” Oilstripe admitted. “I don’t think Downstar and Weedfoot will have any issues with you joining the Clan as another cleric. I’m sure Honeybuzz and my daughter, Troutpool, would appreciate the extra paws.”

“I know you gave your kits Clan names,” Carnationspeckle pointed out, “but you don’t have to change your name if you don’t want to. There are plenty of cats who keep their old names in RippleClan, like James!”

“Thank you, but I actually decided on a Clan-like name while I was recovering from my kitting,” the strange brown molly said. “I was hoping to be called Estherfern. I believe the name to be appropriate

(Oilstripe: 73, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Halibutdusk: 60, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Harvest: 57, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Carnationspeckle: 71, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Puddlewhisper: 35, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

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

(Estherfern: 103, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Wolverinekit: 1, female, kit, skittish, always asking questions)

(Thunderkit: 1, female, kit, bullying, moss-ball hunter)

(Boughkit: 1, female, kit, quiet, constantly climbing)

(Brightkit: 1, male, kit, shy, lover of art)

(Foamkit: 1, female, kit, unruly, always wandering)

Rattlepelt eavesdrops on Wolfkit.

[Image ID: Anchovykit says to Wolfkit, “She scares me, Wolfkit! My mom won’t believe me!” Rattlepelt listens in from the side.]

---

A kit just couldn’t get any privacy in RippleClan, it seemed.

The first place Anchovykit tried to speak to Wolfkit was between the Shiprock and the medicine den. It was blocked off enough, so cats would have given them a bit of privacy. But new arrival Estherfern was causing a fuss in the medicine den, complaining about the herbs inside (“How can I focus on developing my relationship with your higher powers when you want me to crush leaves and roots all day?”). So that wouldn’t have been a good place to talk.

Anchovykit tried the quarantine den next. No one was there, so no one would interrupt. Except he then remembered just how many cats passed by to make dirt…. Not the right place.

He didn’t even stop to consider the nursery. Clammask and Lemmy were still talking to the visiting WheatClan queen about whether she needed to stick around and nurse Waspdawn’s kits, or if Estherfern could assist in the task. With well over a dozen kits of all ages inside, Anchovykit wouldn’t have been able to think, let alone talk to Wolfkit.

That was when he remembered that Mitepaw was the only apprentice in the Clan, and she had just left to collect wood with Rabbitjoy. The apprentice’s den was completely empty. The perfect place to talk.

“Anchovykit, why do you need to be so secretive?” Wolfkit sighed as Anchovykit led her into the apprentice’s den. The setting sun cast the entire den in deep shadow, better hiding the pair.

“Because this is really important!” Anchovykit huffed. With just the one nest inside, the den felt rather barren. The planks covering the roof seemed hollow in comparison to the secure stone walls of the nursery. Regardless, Anchovykit sat to the side, urging Wolfkit deeper into the darkness.

“So what is it?” Wolfkit asked. Anchovykit held his breath, trying to build up his courage and words.

“Did you talk to Spikecrash last moon about seeing things that weren’t there?” he gulped. Wolfkit pinned her big ears flat.

“How do you know about that?” Wolfkit whined.

“I overheard Spikecrash and Paleseed discuss it while I was making dirt,” Anchovykit admitted. “Wolfkit, I need to know! Do you see things glow, too? Do you see what’s wrong with Rattlepelt?” Anchovykit’s ears were as flat as Wolfkit’s.

“What’s wrong with Rattlepelt?” Wolfkit gulped.

“The ooze!” Anchovykit cried, stamping his paw. “The black stuff! The… oh what did she call it? The ichor! It’s all over her! She scares me, Wolfkit! My mom won’t believe me!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wolfkit whined.

“You know how mad she gets sometimes!” Anchovykit groaned. “Didn’t you see her yell at Mitepaw and Elmsprout yesterday?”

Anchovykit didn’t know what started the fight. He had been with Robinkit, Silverkit, and Vervainkit, learning a hunter’s crouch from Scaleripple. Mitepaw and Elmsprout had been talking about AshClan woodwork, the former showing off some of her pieces to Ravenkit. She had carved a bird’s wing out of a chunk of fallen wood, much to Ravenkit’s awe. It was in the midst of this happy moment that Rattlepelt appeared, giving into her own rage like a fire devouring the last of its fuel and surging upward in defiance. In Anchovykit’s unique eyes, Rattlepelt’s gaze shifted between the dark copper described by others and a burning, hateful yellow, her ichor smearing the sand. Oh how she had raged against Mitepaw and Elmsprout, screaming of traitors and false loyalty. It took both Puddlewhisper and Waspdawn to drag Rattlepelt away from the terrified mollies, the mediators hot on her trail, ready to uncover the truth of the outburst.

But Anchovykit knew. He’d known for moons.

“There’s something wrong with Rattlepelt, and no one will believe me,” Anchovykit groaned. “It’s more than anger. I think she’s cursed! I thought you saw it too!”

“That’s not what I talked to Spikecrash about,” Wolfkit muttered, staring at her paws. “I see something else.”

“Do you see the future too?” Anchovykit and Wolfkit jumped, backs arched comically high. Weevilkit stood at the den’s entrance, shaking sand out of her pelt.

“It’s not nice to eavesdrop, Weevilkit!” Wolfkit huffed as her sister joined the duo inside.

“I only heard the last little bit,” Weevilkit insisted. “Now tell me what it is you see!”

“No, wait,” Anchovykit said, trying to smooth out the surprise prickling his pelt, “did you say you see the future?”

“Well, I’ve been keeping it a secret,” Weevilkit chuckled with a cocky sway of her flank. “I want to shock the clerics when I become an apprentice. I don’t want them to be jealous of how special I am.”

“Do you get visions from StarClan?” Wolfkit asked.

“Not like the clerics,” Weevilkit purred. “I see things just before they happen. Like when Estherfern arrived today! I saw her enter camp just before she actually entered camp. I’ve been seeing things like this for a while now. I didn’t know what it was at first, but now I know that it’s just what makes me special!”

“Oh, I know the word for that!” Wolfkit gasped. “Premonitions!”

“That’s it!” Weevilkit chirped, bouncing. “Do you have them too?”

“I see something else,” Anchovykit said, a bit more confident than when Weevilkit first interrupted. “I think it’s… influence. I see what StarClan touches, I think. If they like a place or person, it glows. I think I uncurse cats, too! I had a dream where a StarClan cat helped me uncurse Tempestshade so they could go to StarClan.” Wolfkit and Weevilkit looked at Anchovykit like they would look at a great hero of the Clans.

“So we’re both special,” Weevilkit gasped. She shoved Wolfkit and said, “What do you see, what do you see?”

“I don’t know if I actually see anything,” Wolfkit gulped, sitting with a plop, gaze stuck downward. “There was just something weird that happened last moon. I don’t think it’s happened since.”

“Well, try to make it happen again,” Weevilkit insisted. “What was it?”

“Um…” Wolfkit muttered. “I was playing with Yarrowkit, and I ran in front of her and glared at her like this.” Wolfkit lifted her eyes and stared at Anchovykit.

There was no moment between Wolfkit’s stare and what happened next. Anchovykit was on the ground, Weevilkit standing on his shoulder, smacking his head. Wolfkit crouched in on herself, shaking.

“Anchovykit!” Weevilkit yowled. She smacked Anchovykit’s face again. Anchovykit shoved her off.

“What was that?” he snapped.

“You weren’t breathing,” Wolfkit whined, swallowing hard. “You wouldn’t answer us. You weren’t doing anything. It was just like with Yarrowkit.”

“I don’t remember anything,” Anchovykit huffed, shaking out his pelt.

“Wolfkit, stare at me this time!” Weevilkit chirped, bounding away from Anchovykit and sitting in Mitepaw’s nest.

“Okay,” Wolfkit gulped. She turned her fearful gaze to Weevilkit.

Anchovykit stared, waiting for something to happen. Except nothing did. Anchovykit quickly realized that was the point. Weevilkit did not move a single whisker. She did not blink. She did not breathe. Her eyes seemed hollow, frozen in a memory, a moment that had passed her by but that she could not leave.

“How do you stop it?” Anchovykit gasped. Wolfkit blinked hard. Weevilkit snapped back to life, once again wiggling with anticipation for something that already happened. She realized what she had missed as soon as she looked over at Anchovykit.

“We’re all special!” Weevilkit cheered. She ran to Wolfkit, nuzzling her sister. “We’re all special! I love it! You freeze people, Wolfkit! You’re special!” Wolfkit beamed in her sister’s praise. “Let’s go, let’s go! Let’s celebrate! We’re special!” Weevilkit charged out of the apprentice’s den. Caught up in the moment, Anchovykit and Wolfkit ran after her.

Rattlepelt was sitting directly next to the apprentice’s den. Anchovykit skidded in the sand at the sight of the furious, unnatural yellow eyes that only he could see. The ichor that pooled around Rattlepelt’s legs stained the leather she had been mending. Her claws poked through the leather. Anchovykit’s legs went numb. How much had she heard?

“This way!” Weevilkit snapped, nipping at Anchovykit’s scruff. The excitement and joy that had consumed her a moment before had vanished, replaced with a stiff terror. Weevilkit led Wolfkit toward the dirt-place. Anchovykit ran after them, just as Rattlepelt got to her paws.

Weevilkit skirted around the shipwreck and dove into the empty quarantine den. Anchovykit and Wolfkit scrambled to keep up, panting as their little hearts beat hard.

“I had another pree-me,” Weevilkit gulped.

“Premonition,” Wolfkit said softly.

“Rattlepelt was about to get really, really mad at us,” Weevikit said, shivering. “Is she following us?” Anchovykit glanced outside. The dirt-place was empty. No sign of Rattlepelt.

“There’s something wrong with her,” Anchovykit huffed. “Special cats always use their powers for good in stories, right? I think we need to use ours against Rattlepelt.”

“Maybe we should tell an adult,” Wolfkit suggested, glancing outside.

“They won’t believe us,” Anchovykit huffed. “Waspdawn’s litter is so small! We have to keep them safe from Rattlepelt.”

“Would she hurt them?” Wolfkit gulped.

“You don’t see her like I do,” Anchovykit huffed, trying once more to be brave. “I think with her curse, she’s capable of anything.”

(Anchovykit: 4, male, kit, charming, curious about StarClan)

(Wolfkit: 4, female, kit, polite, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

(Weevilkit: 4, female, kit, bullying, curious about StarClan)

(Rattlepelt: 52, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)