#carnationspeckle

[rippleclan]

Picrew cats of RippleClan, living and dead!

In order: Applepelt, Burdockcreek, Carnationspeckle, Clammask, Downstar, Duskkit, Fennelspot, Halibutdusk, James.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 35

Shadowdrop made Carnationspeckle laugh again and again.

[Image ID: Shadowdrop talks with Carnationspeckle. Rattlepelt watches from afar. Under Rattlepelt, it says LEVEL UP! PREY CLEANER -> LEATHER ARTIST.

(Rattlepelt: 18, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Shadowdrop: 27, male, codekeeper, sneaky, eloquent speaker, good teacher)

(Carnationspeckle: 37, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

Downstar calls for a Clan meeting and declares Mousepaw to be a codekeeper. She is now called Mousesong.

[Image ID: Mousepaw, now Mousesong, faces Rattlepelt. Mousesong says “Thanks, I suppose.” Under Mousesong, it says LEVEL UP! MOUSEPAW -> MOUSESONG, ODDLY OBSERVANT -> KEEN EYE.)

---

Rattlepelt wanted to start a new tradition in the warrior’s den. Rabbitjoy was all for helping her collect the needed materials, so all the pair had to do was wake up early and prepare. It gave Rattlepelt something else to think about other than Shadowdrop.

It wasn’t that Rattlepelt disliked him. He was a fine codekeeper and helped Rattlepelt improve some recipes on occasion. But he was not the right fit for Carnationspeckle. Carnationspeckle was selfless, kind, talented, and understanding. Shadowdrop simply wasn’t. Carnationspeckle assured Rattlepelt that she was just friends with Shadowdrop, and while Rattlepelt believed her mother, she didn’t think Shadowdrop felt the same. That, combined with her sister’s codekeeper ceremony the night before, made it hard for Rattlepelt to sleep. So, she worked.

“I don’t think she’ll like it,” Rabbitjoy muttered as dawn rose. The brown molly plucked down from between her claws. She and Rattlepelt sat outside the warrior’s den. Their Clanmates walked around them

“We might as well see,” Rattlepelt sighed just as the newly named Mousesong entered camp. The name did not fit the way the white molly held her head high and walked through camp without a glance at anyone else. Rattlepelt swallowed hard as Mousesong trudged to the warrior’s den.

“Mousesong!” Rattlepelt called as the newly named codekeeper approached. “Congratulations on your ceremony.”

“Thanks,” Mousesong muttered. “Where can I sleep?”

“That’s what we wanted to show you,” Rabbitjoy explained. She slipped behind Rattlepelt and into the den. She stopped beside Mousesong’s new nest. There was an odd, furry lump sitting in the nest. It was made of mouse pelts, held together with twine. Mousesong pawed the bundle and it squished under the pressure. It fluffed back up when she moved her paw.

“What is this?” Mousesong asked.

“Something we invented,” Rattlepelt chirped. “I tanned some mouse leather and Rabbitjoy tied them together. We stuffed down and moss in between the two. You can lay your head on it, and it’s like resting on someone’s side. I picked mouse pelts since I know you like mice.” Mousesong crawled into her new nest and slowly put her head on the fluff-ball. “I’m hoping we can make little gifts like these for new graduates in the future.”

“Why?” Mousesong huffed, lifting her head.

“Because it shows that we appreciate everything you’ve done,” Rattlepelt insisted. Mousesong eyed both Rattlepelt and Rabbitjoy. Rabbitjoy squirmed under Mousesong’s cold eyes, but Rattlepelt stood firm.

“Thanks, I suppose,” Mousesong muttered. “You didn’t have to do that. Either of you.” She laid back down and said, “I’ll catch something good for you both after I sleep.”

“That’s a promise,” Rattlepelt chirped. “We’ll let you rest. Sweet dreams, Mousesong!” Mousesong stared at her the whole way out of the warrior’s den. Rabbitjoy glanced back a dozen times as she and Rattlepelt made their way to the “artisan’s corner” of camp, where they had their tanning rack and other crafting tools set up.

“I can’t tell if she liked the fluff-ball,” Rabbitjoy sighed. “I’m impressed she didn’t rip into you.”

“She cares, even if she doesn’t admit it,” Rattlepelt said. “I know she does. It scares her, that’s all.”

“You show her more grace than I can,” Rabbitjoy said, shaking her head with a soft chuckle.

“She’s my sister,” Rattlepelt huffed. “Of course I do.”

(Rattlepelt: 18, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Rabbitjoy: 72, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Mousesong: 12, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

Palekit found a hole in the rocks and, curious as all kits are, stuck her paw inside. The whole camp comes running when she screeches in pain. It seems a snake was living in that hole.

[Image ID: Weedfoot, Fennelspot, and Scrubmask run toward Palekit, who is screaming “Momma!” Under Palekit, it says + NEW SKILL: PICKY NEST BUILDER. + CONDITION: SNAKE BITE,]

---

Palekit’s scream stirred a sleeping fear in Weedfoot that she thought had long since faded.

She had been sharing stew with Fennelspot and Scrubmask, admiring the petals the former now kept tucked into his white patch. Clammask was on nursery duty, and Weedfoot could hear her children’s giggles from the other side of camp. There shouldn’t have been a reason to be on edge. And yet, as Weedfoot dipped her muzzle into the bowl for another sip of soup, a kitten’s wail pierced the peace hovering over camp.

Weedfoot was running before she even processed what she saw. Palekit, whose eyes were shifting to match her father and whose strong legs had been the first of her litter to walk, now cradled one leg close as a slick black snake stuck its head out of a hole in the rocks.

“Momma!” Palekit wept. Fear-scent flooded her tiny body as she stared at the snake. Even with Weedfoot’s head start, Fennelspot was faster. He snatched Palekit by the scruff and dragged her away from the snake. Carnationspeckle had been sharing tongues with Downstar and bolted out of the leader’s den at the little kit’s cry. The young caretaker spotted the snake and pounced. Her fangs sunk into the snake’s neck. She shook the snake wildly and flung it over the rocks and out of camp.

“Palekit, when did you leave the den?” Clammask hurried out of the nursery. Weedfoot’s four other children lingered behind her. Poor Weedfoot’s attention was solely focused on her oldest daughter, who shook as she wailed. 

“Momma’s here, Palekit,” Weedfoot cooed as Fennelspot examined the bite on Palekit’s leg.

“What do you need?” Downstar barked, already running for the medicine den.

“It’s not venomous!” Fennelspot yowled, waving Downstar off. “The bite is not venomous.”

“How do you know?” Scrubmask asked as the rest of RippleClan gathered around Fennelspot and Weedfoot.

“Do you see how the bite wound forms an arch?” Fennelspot explained as Weedfoot groomed Palekit’s head. “That means the snake does not have venom. I believe it was a black ratsnake. They can hurt, but they aren’t deadly.”

“Is she okay?” Downstar huffed, glaring at Fennelspot with more fire in her eyes than Weedfoot had seen in moons.

“She will be,” Fennelspot promised. “We just need to clean the bite and make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“I want my dad,” Palekit cried, burying her little face in her mother’s fur.

“Has anyone seen James today?” Scrubmask called to the crowd.

“He took a walk with Parsley and Rustshade,” Carnationspeckle said, spitting snake blood out of her mouth. “I can find them.”

“Go,” Downstar huffed, nodding. Carnationspeckle looped around the crowd and jogged out of camp.

“I don’t like this,” Palekit moaned.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” Weedfoot promised, picking Palekit up by the scruff. As she did so, her head swam. She steadied her paws and shoved the dizziness back. She may have still been weak from the difficult birth, but stars-damn it, she was going to carry her daughter to the medicine den.

[Image ID: Waspkit, Lavenderkit, Ripplekit, and Puddlekit hog the screen. Under Ripplekit, it says + NEW SKILLS: AVID PLAY-FIGHTER, SPLASHES IN PUDDLES. Under Puddlekit, it says + NEW SKILL: MORBID CURIOSITY. Under Lavenderkit, it says + NEW SKILL: LOVES TO SING. Under Waspkit, it says + NEW SKILL: INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY.]

As Weedfoot and Fennelspot brought Palekit into the medicine den, four pairs of blue-tinted eyes watched them from the nursery. Clammask stood in front of them with her tail running over each of their little backs.

“Did any of you notice Palekit leave the nursery?” Clammask sighed, turning back to the kits.

“She was playing with Puddlekit,” Waspkit immediately said, pointing his tail at his younger brother.

“I didn’t think we had to stay in the nursery,” Puddlekit whined. Without his white blaze and deep blue eyes, he would look just like his injured sister, albeit a bit more pathetic (in Waspkit’s eyes at least).

“Puddlekit is in trouble,” Lavenderkit sang, trotting around Puddlekit. “Puddlekit is in trouble!”

“No he isn’t!” Ripplekit whined, smacking her white-splashed brother’s flank. “It’s no one’s fault!”

“Ripplekit is right,” Clammask added. “This was a bad accident. The snake could have bitten anyone. If anything, I’m to blame for not keeping an eye on your sister.”

“Clammask is in trouble, Clammask is in trouble,” Lavenderkit sang, throwing himself on Clammask’s leg.

“I’m going to sit outside,” Clammask sighed, gently shoving Lavenderkit off. “Keep yourselves entertained, you four.” She stepped off the leather floor and onto the warm sand. She laid across the entrance, trapping the four remaining kits inside the nursery.

“Listen!” Waspkit yowled. He waved his tail wildly to catch his littermates’ attention. “Palekit’s hurt! No more getting hurt, everyone.”

“I promise,” Puddlekit said quietly.

“I’ll do what I want!” Lavenderkit huffed. He launched himself on his front paws, but his headstand attempt proved futile. He tumbled forward and his flank landed right in Waspkit’s face. Waspkit growled and launched into a full assault on his brother. Ripplekit squealed and joined the fight. Puddlekit watched from the sidelines. 

Unbeknownst to any of the small kits, their laughter warmed the frigid air suffocating the camp.

(Weedfoot: 84, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Fennelspot: 92, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Scrubmask: 52, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Palekit: 1, female, kit, impulsive, picky nest builder)

(Carnationspeckle: 37, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Clammask: 29, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Downstar: 93, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Waspkit: 1, male, kit, bossy, interested in clan history)

(Puddlekit: 1, male, kit, polite, morbid curiosity)

(Lavenderkit: 1, male, kit, noisy, likes to sing)

(Ripplekit: 1, female, kit, know-it-all, avid play-fighter, splashes in puddles)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 36

Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle have become mates.

[Image ID: Oilstripe says to Carnationspeckle, “You’re already a hero, Carnation.” Under Oilstripe, it says + MATE: CARNATIONSPECKLE. Under Carnationspeckle, it says + MATE: OILSTRIPE. Rustshade, Rattlepelt, and Applepelt watch from afar.]

Oilstripe watched Downstar and Rustshade quietly share tongues below the Shiprock as she steadied her nerves. Would Downstar be annoyed if Oilstripe interrupted? She knew Downstar spent the most time with Rustshade when her mood was low (Duskkit kept her up one night complaining about it), was now a good time? It had to be. Oilstripe couldn’t wait much longer.

“Dad?” Oilstripe said, approaching the two founders. “Do you have a minute to talk with me?” Rustshade paused with his tongue on Downstar’s ear.

“What about?” Rustshade asked. Oilstripe hesitated as Downstar’s sharp amber eyes studied her ginger pelt.

“I can explain in private,” Oilstripe finally said. Rustshade brushed his tail against Downstar and got up. Downstar silently slunk back to her den. Duskkit’s spirit peeked out from the nursery and ran into the leader’s den. Rustshade followed Oilstripe’s gaze but could not see the star speckled kit. 

Oilstripe led Rustshade around the Shiprock and said “I’m taking Carnationspeckle out hunting, and I need you to do me a favor. Can you find Rattlepelt a few minutes after we leave and follow us?”

“Why would I do that?” Rustshade huffed.

“I’d feel bad if she didn’t get to see this,” Oilstripe admitted. “Carnation told me the reason she always asks for both of us to help her with her tasks is because she wants us to be mates. She should get to see Carnation’s reaction.” It took a moment for Rustshade’s mind to catch up with Oilstripe’s implication.

“You want to make your relationship official?” Rustshade hummed.

“I think it’s time,” Oilstripe said with a stiff nod. 

“Stars right, it's about time!” Applepelt’s shimmering spirit cheered from the top of Shiprock. Oilstripe flinched as Applepelt chanted, “My friends are becoming mates! My friends are becoming mates!”

“More ghostly advice?” Rustshade asked, glancing in Applepelt’s direction. “If StarClan is excited for you, then I’m happy for you. I’ll bring Rattlepelt. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Yes, Dad,” Oilstripe said as the object of Oilstripe’s affections shifted in the corner of her eye. Carnationspeckle played with the kits outside the nursery, giving James a break (the ginger tom looked like he’d been tossed through a thunderstorm and dried with a bolt of lightning). 

Palekit snuggled with James while Puddlekit and Waspkit tried to drag Carnationspeckle down. 

“If you’re sure, you’re sure,” Rustshade hummed, spotting Carnationspeckle. “Good luck, Oilstripe.” Oilstripe shook the sand out of her pelt and marched up to the nursery. She only got part way to Carnationspeckle before tiny fangs dug into her ankle. Oilstripe yelped and stumbled forward. Ripplekit giggled underneath her, batting the long strands of fur that dangled from Oilstripe’s belly.

“She’s going to be good in a fight!” Carnationspeckle giggled.

“Are you too busy?” Oilstripe asked, trying to get Ripplekit out from under her. The quick kit kept darting back under her belly.

“It’s as though they feed on each other!” Carnationspeckle laughed as Lavenderkit appeared behind her and grabbed onto her tail. “They just keep going!”

“Sleep is for kits!” Lavenderkit yowled, jaw tight around Carnationspeckle’s tail.

“But we are kits,” Puddlekit pointed out, slipping off Carnationspeckle’s head.

“I can wait until you’re finished,” Oilstripe promised as the greedy little kit in her head screamed at the injustice of it all.

“I can watch the kits.” Downstar left her den, Duskkit hovering behind her. Downstar grabbed Waspkit by the scruff and lifted him off Carnationspeckle.

“Really?” Carnationspeckle said with wide eyes. 

“I could use some time with the next generation,” Downstar chuckled. Duskkit trotted past Oilstripe with her tail held high. Oilstripe playfully flicked a paw at Duskkit while all eyes were on Downstar. Duskkit laughed and charged out of camp, vanishing with a twinkle.

“Downstar, Downstar!” Ripplekit cheered, pouncing on the tortoiseshell leader as she took Carnationspeckle’s spot outside the nursery. “Do you want to hear what Scrubmask taught me?”

“Please share,” Downstar purred. All five of Weedfoot’s kits swarmed Downstar while Carnationspeckle crept up to Oilstripe.

“Since you’re free now,” Oilstripe chuckled, licking her bitten ankle, “can we go hunting together? I found a patch of trees where the squirrels love to play.”

“Oh, alright,” Carnationspeckle purred, “but may I suggest we head to the ocean? I’d love to show you some of the diving techniques I’ve been practicing. I’m hoping to teach the kits what I can do once they’re apprenticed!”

“I don’t think I want to get wet right now,” Oilstripe admitted as Applepelt stuck their face between the pair. Their ethereal eyes sparkled as they bounced between Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle. Oilstripe tried to pretend she didn’t see her old friend and instead led Carnationspeckle toward the camp exit. As she did, however, she could see Rustshade speaking with Rattlepelt beside her tanning rack. Oilstripe forced back a purr.

It wouldn’t be long before sunhigh hit, but the dappled shade of the conifers kept Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle cool. The smell of prey blanketed the mossy floor, although large human tracks left deep prints in the warm dirt. Applepelt appeared and disappeared from between the tree, battering Oilstripe with wild rambles. Oilstripe could barely keep an eye on the prey with all of Applepelt’s cheering.

“I had a feeling you would get together,” Applepelt purred as Oilstripe stalked a pair of playful squirrels. “I don’t simply mean as long as I’ve been dead, either. I joined the Clan and saw you two together and knew you would be a wonderful pairing! Then again, I imagined I would be there to celebrate. I suppose in a way I am here, though. You’re simply the only one who can hear me celebrate!” Oilstripe pounced on one of the happy squirrels. Its partner scurried away as the unfortunate critter stopped squirming.

“I hereby bless this catch!” Applepelt laughed as Carnationspeckle trotted up.

“Applepelt, please, I can’t hear my own thoughts right now,” Oilstripe finally snapped, dropping her squirrel. “If you’re going to be here, can you watch from the side, quietly?”

“Applepelt’s here?” Carnationspeckle gasped. “Hello, Applepelt! I’ve missed you. I hope StarClan is treating you well.” Carnationspeckle guessed where Applepelt stood, but looked about a tail-length off from where the dead cat actually was.

“It is, thank you Carnationspeckle,” Applepelt purred, bowing slightly to her old friend.

“Stars, I’m sorry,” Oilstripe groaned. “It must be weird to hear me talking to the dead like this. I try not to when others are around.”

“I think it’s amazing that you can speak to StarClan as easily as you speak to me,” Carnationspeckle sighed. Applepelt’s face grew still and oddly serene as she stepped back. Copper and heather eyes glinted from the other side of the brush behind Carnationspeckle. “What do they talk to you about?”

“Well, typically they visit to check on those they’ve left behind,” Oilstripe explained, whiskers twitching. She licked drops of squirrel blood off her muzzle. “When I see them and I’m alone, I like to ask them about their lives. It’s not the sort of prophetic, supernatural knowledge they have to be careful with, so they’re happy to share their stories with me.”

“That must be wonderful, knowing what StarClan does in the territories like that,” Carnationspeckle hummed. She shifted awkwardly, glancing at where she thought Applepelt stood, and asked, “Do they talk about me at all? Do they watch over me?”

“As much as anyone else, I suppose,” Oilstripe admitted. She left her squirrel on the sun dappled grass and sat closer to Carnationspeckle.

“Do your ancestors visit you?” Carnationspeckle asked. “Rustshade’s parents, your littermates, Sunstrike?” Oilstripe rubbed a paw deeper into the grass.

“I haven’t seen Sunstrike at all,” Oilstripe muttered. “I don’t know where she is. Locustseeker and Twinekit don’t like to talk about her. I think she’s ignoring me.”

“Sometimes I feel the same way about StarClan as a whole,” Carnationspeckle sighed. Her fur drooped with her whiskers as she stared downwards. “I’ve been in RippleClan since the beginning, but I haven’t done anything amazing like you or Downstar or anyone else. I’ve just minded the camp. StarClan would rather put their efforts towards the heroes than the campbodies, I imagine.” 

Oilstripe pressed her nose into the soft fluff of Carnationspeckle’s neck. The brown molly gasped softly as Oilstripe gently groomed her fur.

“You’re already a hero, Carnation,” Oilstripe assured her. “You don’t need to speak to ghosts or come back to life to be one. I’ve never met a kinder molly, or anyone I would rather share my life or nest with. That’s enough for me.” Carnationspeckle met Oilstripe’s eyes. She didn’t breathe. 

“You want to be mates?” Carnationspeckle whispered.

“I already feel like your mate,” Oilstripe laughed, tucking her tail over Carnationspeckle’s, “so could we make it official? I want to put you first the way you put everyone else first.” Carnationspeckle nodded furiously as a soft whine built inside her.

“I would really like that,” Carnationspeckle cried. She pressed into Oilstripe as hard as she could. Oilstripe pressed back, wrapping around her new mate. Applepelt stood to the side, beaming like the brightest star in Silverpelt.

“Have fun, you two,” she chuckled. Oilstripe blinked, and all that remained of Applepelt was a shimmer of stardust dangling in the warm, still air.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Oilstripe laughed into Carnationspeckle’s ear, “but I had my father bring a witness. Come out, Rattlepelt.” 

Carnationspeckle gasped and pulled away as Rattlepelt and Rustshade stepped out of the brush. Rattlepelt wore the fox pelt covering she and Rabbitjoy had collected from Wildclaw’s unfortunate victim moons ago, but it nearly fell off as Rattlepelt ran to Carnationspeckle.

“You’re going to be so happy together,” Rattlepelt purred, rubbing against Carnationspeckle. Carnationspeckle laughed through her joyful cries and groomed Rattlepelt’s face. Oilstripe joined in, sharing tongues with both of her new family members. Their deep purrs scared away any ghostly worries that swam through Oilstripe’s mind.

(Oilstripe: 40, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Rustshade: 80, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Downstar: 95, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

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

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

(Carnationspeckle: 38, female, caretaker compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(James: 112, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Palekit: 2, male, kit, impulsive, picky nest builder)

(Waspkit: 2, male, kit, bossy, interested in clan history)

(Puddlekit: 2, male, kit, polite, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)

(Ripplekit: 2, male, kit, know-it-all, avid play-fighter, splashes in puddles)

(Lavenderkit: 2, male, kit, noisy, likes to sing)

(Rattlepelt: 19, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

Shadowdrop is happy to find his body finally pain free. Yet he watches Carnationspeckle’s celebration from afar, thinking of what could have been. Weedfoot tries to comfort him to no avail.

[Image ID: Weedfoot faces Shadowdrop, who watches a crowd surrounding Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle in the back. Under Shadowdrop, it says - CONDITION: BROKEN BONE. Under Weedfoot, it says - CONDITION: BLOOD LOSS.]

(Shadowdrop: 28, male, codekeeper, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Weedfoot: 85, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 38

Oilstripe purrs for a long time at one of Carnationspeckle’s lame jokes.

[Image ID: Oilstripe sits with Carnationspeckle while Shadowdrop watches in the background.]

Even though Carnationspeckle was confident that she would have a small litter, she was as exhausted as a queen with eight kits squirming inside her. As such, Oilstripe went to her in the nursery rather than have her tired mate trudge across camp for a chat. Taking a sunhigh nap in the nursery with five rambunctious kits was rather hard, but Oilstripe made do.

Oilstripe couldn’t stop purring as she left the nursery come afternoon. Carnationspeckle had a funny habit of muttering in her sleep, and by the stars, the things she muttered… how could Oilstripe not purr? Maybe Oilstripe could join the next hunting patrol to the coast and catch some fish, a special treat in exchange for the warmth Carnationspeckle unknowingly gave her.

To Oilstripe’s surprise, Puddlespeckle was in camp. He sat on the Shiprock, staring at Shadowdrop while he groomed himself. The flowers tucked into his fur did little to upset the chill in his eyes. Oilstripe stopped purring. She’d never seen a StarClan spirit look so… angry.

A border patrol passed in front of Oilstripe, blocking her line of sight. When her Clanmates got out of the way, Puddlespeckle was gone. Shadowdrop, however, was looking right at her. Oilstripe’s fur prickled.

“Is something wrong?” she called. She slowly approached Shadowdrop. The black tom’s eyes never deviated from her.

“Is Carnationspeckle feeling well?” Shadowdrop asked.

“She’s rather tired, but she’s happy,” Oilstripe assured him, taking a seat. “Downstar, Parsley, and Weedfoot keep her company when I’m out. I can’t wait to say hello to my kits.”

“They aren’t really your kits, though,” Shadowdrop muttered. Oilstripe stiffened. Shadowdrop’s green eyes burrowed under her pelt. “They have a sire lounging about in a human den somewhere in the north. They’ll grow up without a father.”

“They don’t need a father, they have me,” Oilstripe huffed. “Why would you say something like that? You grew up without a father, or did you forget?”

“It’s better to have no father at all than a second parent who's more focused on the dead than the living,” Shadowdrop growled, getting to his paws. Oilstripe’s shock shifted into fury. She sneered and stood, meeting Shadowdrop eye to eye.

“What do you have against me?” Oilstripe snapped, lips curling. “I thought we were friends. Our parents are mates now, we shouldn’t fight like this.”

“Carnationspeckle needs someone who can focus on her,” Shadowdrop growled. “I don’t think you can be that cat.” Shadowdrop stepped closer.

“Are you threatening me?” Oilstripe gasped, steadying herself, refusing to move back. “What are you doing? Where is this coming from?” 

“Oilstripe, are you alright?” Carnationspeckle peered out of the nursery. Her big blue eyes bounced between Oilstripe and Shadowdrop. The cats of RippleClan watched the pair, trying to decide if they should intervene. Shadowdrop squirmed under Carnationspeckle’s eyes.

“Treat her well,” Shadowdrop spat. He stormed into the warrior’s den. RippleClan moved around him like water moved around a swimming fish. Oilstripe slowly backed toward the nursery. The ginger molly got the distinct feeling that she was a hunter who just stole salmon from a bear.

(Carnationspeckle: 40, female, caretaker compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Oilstripe: 42, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Puddlespeckle: 156, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

(Shadowdrop: 30, male, codekeeper, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 37

Oilstripe was seen in a very serious conversation with a kittypet, who ran away when another patrol arrived.

[Image ID: Rattlepelt, Wildclaw, and Weedfoot approach Oilstripe, who is speaking to Froggy. Under Weedfoot, it says - CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH.]

“Thank you for coming with me,” Rattlepelt sighed as Wildclaw and Weedfoot walked behind her with baskets. “Last night’s storm is sure to have produced some good clay.”

“Now that I’m not exhausted,” Weedfoot said, adjusting her basket, “this seems like a good way to stretch my legs.”

“I’m just here to keep you safe,” Wildclaw huffed, matching pace with Rattlepelt. “We don’t want any rogues attacking you.”

“They would be fools to attack a fox risen from the dead, wouldn’t you think?” Rattlepelt laughed. Her fox pelt covering included the fur of the dead beast’s head, which covered Rattlepelt’s sun sensitive head. With the way the leather pelt hid her from the burning sun, a stranger in the distance would likely think she was a very, very sick looking fox.

While clay deposits were not as fruitful as they were in SlugClan, the Great Northern River still offered its fair share of clay for RippleClan’s use. The gentle water would cool Rattlepelt as she dug up the needed clay. It would be better than roasting in camp on that particularly hot day. 

It seemed Oilstripe had a similar idea! As Rattlepelt’s patrol approached the river, the young molly spotted her mother’s new mate sitting on one of the half submerged rocks in the middle of the river. A fluffy black kittypet sat on the other side of the river, talking to Oilstripe. A newcomer to RippleClan, perhaps?

“I recognize that kittypet!” Wildclaw gasped. “That’s Froggy!”

“Your sire?” Rattlepelt asked as Wildclaw dropped her basket. Rattlepelt had heard of the wandering kittypet a few times; Carnationspeckle frequently bumped into him near AshClan. 

“Let’s see if he needs something,” Weedfoot said, setting her basket aside and taking the lead. As the group got closer, however, Froggy’s fur fluffed up. He nodded to Oilstripe with a soft meow and trotted away from the river.

“Come back!” Wildclaw yowled, but her father vanished into the shrub. She growled and clawed the wet earth of the river’s shore. 

“I think Rattlepelt’s leather scared him,” Oilstripe admitted with an awkward chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” Rattlepelt said as her ears burned.

“We were finished anyway,” Oilstripe sighed. She hopped back to dry ground and groomed her wet paws.

“Is Froggy doing well?” Weedfoot asked with one ear cocked in Froggy’s direction.

“His humans are still hunting, and he still joins them,” Oilstripe explained. “I’m glad I found him, though.”

“What do you need a kittypet for?” Wildclaw asked, squinting at Oilstripe. 

“I suppose I can tell you,” Oilstripe gulped. She kept her gaze on the ground. “Carnationspeckle and I have talked, and… we would like to be parents.”

“That’s wonderful!” Rattlepelt gasped. She shoved her face into Oilstripe’s fluff. The face of her fox pelt smacked into Oilstripe’s muzzle. The ginger molly laughed and shoved it aside to groom Rattlepelt’s head.

“You must be looking for a sire, then,” Weedfoot purred.

“I asked Froggy if he knew any ginger toms who would be willing,” Oilstripe explained. “Carnationspeckle and I don’t want a sire with Clan connections. We want to be the parents of our children, not share that with someone else.”

“Why a ginger tom?” Rattlepelt asked as she rubbed against Oilstripe.

“Carnationspeckle’s planning to carry the kits, isn’t she?” Wildclaw realized. “You want the kits to look like you.”

“Can you blame me?” Oilstripe laughed.

“I suppose we can’t,” Weedfoot purred. She touched noses with her former apprentice, tail twitching high overhead.

(Rattlepelt: 20, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Weedfoot: 86, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Wildclaw: 29, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Froggy: 106, male, kittypet, rebellious, maintains the territory, great speaker)

(Oilstripe: 41, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Carnationspeckle announces she is expecting kits. She doesn’t believe she can effectively perform her duties while expecting kits and moves into the nursery.

[Image ID: Fennelspot speaks to Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe. Oilstripe yowls, “It worked? It really worked!”. Under Carnationspeckle, it says + CONDITION: PREGNANT.]

---

“It worked? It really worked!”

The yowl snapped Shadowdrop out of his conversation. He had been sharing a meal with his littermates in the shadow of the shipwreck, tearing apart a large kelp wrap to get to the meat inside. Halibutdusk paused, about to take another bite.

“Was that Oilstripe?” Wildclaw asked, cocking her head. Shadowdrop nodded. He recognized the historian’s voice. The yowl came from the medicine den. It caught the attention of the other cats lounging around camp, enjoying a meal before sunhigh.

“What do you suppose she’s talking about?” Halibutdusk asked his littermates. Realization sparked in Wildclaw’s eyes.

“Oh!” Wildclaw gasped. “That was quick.”

“What is it?” Shadowdrop asked. As he spoke, Carnationspeckle, Oilstripe, and Fennelspot left the medicine den. Shadowdrop’s heart twinged as Carnationspeckle wove her tail with Oilstripe’s. Something twisted in Shadowdrop’s chest at the sight, and yet, he couldn’t look away.

“Downstar!” Carnationspeckle called into the leader’s den, paws dancing. “Downstar, are you still in there?”

“I’m here, I’m here,” Downstar huffed, trotting outside. She spotted Oilstripe in the back. The ginger molly’s sunny disposition quivered under her leader’s gaze.

“Downstar, do you remember what I told you before the last Gathering?” Carnationspeckle purred, stepping in between her mate and former mentor. The twinge in Shadowdrop’s chest gripped him like fangs on his scruff as Carnationspeckle brushed her tail against her belly. “We picked a good sire. We just spoke with Fennelspot. He confirmed how I’ve been feeling. I’m going to have kits!” 

RippleClan flowed around Shadowdrop, moving toward the ocean that was Carnationspeckle’s unending joy, but Shadowdrop was a rock whose peak stuck out of the water. He couldn’t move with the current’s flow, even if he wanted to. Downstar touched noses with Carnationspeckle. Wildclaw slipped between them with a crude joke. Halibutdusk spoke to Oilstripe, congratulating her. He shouldn’t have been congratulating her! She shouldn’t be the second mother of Carnationspeckle’s kits! It shouldn’t have been her!

The rock pushed back against the river’s flow.

Shadowdrop slipped out of camp without a single glance his way. He should have said something to Carnationspeckle sooner. He should have made his intentions clear. Carnationspeckle should be preparing to nurse his kits! He could have been a great father! He could have had a family who chose him over all others, rather than hiding in their dens or chasing foxes or staring at the clouds.

Maybe he still could.

(Oilstripe: 41, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Shadowdrop: 29, male, codekeeper, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Halibutdusk: 29, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Wildclaw: 29, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Carnationspeckle: 39, female, caretaker compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Downstar: 96, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

Burdockcreek’s mangled tail has healed, but the injury left him scarred. He bats his injured tail for a while, entertaining himself.

[Image ID: Burdockcreek’s tail is lined in scars. Under Burdockcreek, it says - CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL.]

(Burdockcreek: 31, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

Wildclaw confessed her feelings to Rattlepelt but got rejected. She immediately slipped on some rocks and dislocated her paw.

[Image ID: Wildclaw walks away from Rattlepelt. Under Wildclaw, it says + CONDITION: DISLOCATED PAW.]

---

Shadowdrop may have been unlucky in love (and grumpy, and gloomy, and strangely absent as of late) but Wildclaw would not repeat her brother’s mistakes. If she had feelings for someone, she would act on them before anyone else could. And by the stars, she had feelings.

And she had the perfect opportunity, too; Rattlepelt had a meeting planned with LynxClan and SlugClan artisans to share the latest knowledge and tricks of leather-making, and she would need an escort. Sure, technically escorting artisans like that was a warrior’s job, and Downstar initially asked Scrubmask to join the young artisan, but a bit of confidence (and a lot of begging) let Wildclaw take the lead.

Sitting through the meeting was a bit like when the fox bit into Wildclaw’s tail moons ago. Rattlepelt had no time for her caretaker escort, and instead showed a new apprentice how to properly prepare leather for future crafts. The other escorts wandered around the Gathering grounds and had decent conversation, but Wildclaw wasn’t there for small talk. She was there to secure her future, even though it meant sitting through a storm and getting soaked through her skin.

Sunset was half over by the time Wildclaw and Rattlepelt finally started for home. Rattlepelt’s fox pelt burned in the dusk light peeking through the thinning clouds, a gift from Wildclaw to the molly of her affections. Wildclaw steadied herself and cleared her throat. Rattlepelt watched Wildclaw from the corner of her eye.

“Rattlepelt,” Wildclaw began, dragging her paws along the wet grass, “there’s something I’m hoping to try with you.”

“What would that be?” Rattlepelt asked. The fox head slipped off her slick gray skin, revealing her pointy white ear.

“It doesn’t have to be anything serious,” Wildclaw said. She picked up speed as her usual confidence surged back into her voice. “I was thinking that we could start seeing each other romantically. We don’t have to call each other mates yet, I know that may be too sudden, but if you want to—”

“But I don’t want to,” Rattlepelt gulped.

“You don’t?” Wildclaw snapped, spinning to face Rattlepelt. However, as she turned around, she stepped on a slick rock at an awkward angle. Her paw flew out from under her. She fell on her shoulder. Her head smacked into the mud. When Wildclaw scrambled up and stood on her offending paw, pain shot through her leg and forced her back down.

“Oh, oh, are you alright?” Rattlepelt yelped, hurrying to Wildclaw’s side.

“My paw hurts,” Wildclaw growled. She swore she could see her paw swell already. She slipped on a rock? Really? She wasn’t an elder, for StarClan’s sake!

“Lean on me,” Rattlepelt said, nudging Wildclaw up. Ears burning, Wildclaw pressed into Rattlepelt and held her injured paw close. She couldn’t stand to look at Rattlepelt. “We’ll take the walk home slow. Fennelspot can take care of you then.” 

Wildclaw limped forward, but almost fell again. Rattlepelt slipped under her and caught her, almost losing her fox pelt in the process. Rattlepelt’s gentle, bony weight against Wildclaw’s chest was too much. She fell on her flank and forced her question out.

“Why don’t you want to see me?” Wildclaw huffed. Rattlepelt shifted awkwardly. The front of her fox pelt fell off and dangled at her side.

“I don’t want to be in a relationship right now,” Rattlepelt explained. “I’m hoping to mentor one of Weedfoot’s kits, and I need to help my mother with her pregnancy. I don’t get to be much of a sister to Mousesong, so I want to be a good sister to the new litter.” 

Oh. Of course that was it. For someone who thought she was so smart, Wildclaw could be rather mouse-brained at times. Why should she put her own feelings over the needs of her other Clanmates? Rattlepelt had important things to do, others to care for. Wildclaw would be a distraction. That wasn’t her place in the Clan.

“That’s understandable,” Wildclaw chuckled, her shoulders tense as she cradled her injured paw and wounded pride. “I didn’t mean to make a fuss back there.”

“Anyone can slip,” Rattlepelt assured her. “Let’s get back to camp.” Rattlepelt fixed her fox pelt and joined Wildclaw’s side. Wildclaw tested her paw, but it hurt to stand on it. So she leaned on Rattlepelt as they made their way back to RippleClan territory, just the same as they were when they left.

(Wildclaw: 29, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Rattlepelt: 20, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

Palekit’s snake bite has healed! But both she and Ripplekit got heat exhaustion.

[Image ID: Palekit and Ripplekit sit on screen. Under Palekit, it says - CONDITION: SNAKE BITE, + CONDITION: HEAT EXHAUSTION. Under Ripplekit, it says + CONDITION: HEAT EXHAUSTION.]

(Palekit: 3, female, kit, impulsive, picky nest builder)

(Ripplekit: 3, female, kit, know-it-all, avid play-fighter, splashes in puddles)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 26

The dog came back and Downstar once again bravely fought it off, breaking her back leg.

[Image ID: Downstar faces a large red dog. Under Downstar, it reads + CONDITION: BROKEN LEG.]

Fennelspot saw it in a dream, apparently; a massive dog with pointed ears and cat blood on its fangs, racing between the shadows, searching for prey. There were two clear facts in his mind; the beast was a darkhound, and it was the same one that attacked Downstar just two moons prior. Fennelspot must have taught Oilstripe about the Spirits of Shadow, as she launched into a speech on their weaknesses as soon as Downstar made the announcement at the Clan meeting. Downstar bit her tongue and let her speak. The Clan needed to know, so she could handle listening to Oilstripe’s strange knowledge for a while.

Downstar had a plan as soon as Oilstripe finished speaking. There was no killing this hunter of the Dark Forest, but it could be chased away with a few brave souls at Downstar’s side. Burdockcreek, Rustshade, and Scrubmask each rose to the challenge. Oilstripe claimed the spirits of the Dark Forest, those who spent their haunted afterlives in whatever sense of peace they could find, would lead darkhounds to churning, powerful rivers so they would be swept away. It was as good a plan as any. 

Fennelspot invoked two spirits of StarClan to protect the patrol. First, he called for Ternpath, Celestial of Dogs and Hounds, to shield the group from the darkhound’s fangs. Then he asked Beaversneeze, the unfortunate Celestial of the Great Northern River, to take the darkhound far away and leave the Clan cats where they are. As he recited his prayers, he kept glancing at Oilstripe like she could help him. Downstar tried to block the ginger molly from her mind and focus entirely on the task ahead.

Rustshade’s job was to find the darkhound. A few patrols had scented the beast in the north, not too far from where it attacked Downstar during the anniversary celebration. As a codekeeper, Rustshade knew how to track something down. Downstar trusted. Once Rustshade found the darkhound, the other three cats would spread out, heading toward the thickest waters of the Great Northern River. 

Downstar would be the one to make sure the river took the beast. She had the lives to spend, after all. She waited in the spray of the cool river under the glare of the hot midday sun. Her tail caught on the water’s edge and drifted toward the ocean. Oddly enough, she thought of little as she waited. The world simply existed around her. Her mind mixed with the churning of the water. If the darkhound took her life again, so be it. That was her duty. It was hard to feel scared when she knew what death felt like.

She heard the darkhound before she saw it. Its vicious bark spooked birds from the trees. Downstar tensed and stood, water dripping off her tail. The smell hit her just as Scrubmask burst through the trees. The pale warrior scrambled up a thick sugar maple and crouched in the leaves, just as planned. A moment later, the darkhound sprinted into the sunlight. 

It looked exactly as Downstar remembered from the sporadic flashes of her second death. It looked more like a wolf than a dog. Its stocky frame could crush Downstar underfoot. Its wild brown eyes bounced about, searching for its missing prey. Its heavy black fur was only broken by sporadic gray markings like light trying to break through thick shadow. The darkhound ran toward the sugar maple and jumped on the trunk. It barked and howled at Scrubmask, scratching up the bark.

“Over here!” Downstar yowled. The darkhound’s head snapped toward her. Its piercing bark stung Downstar’s ears. The darkhound jumped off the trunk and sprinted at Downstar like a bat through the sky. Downstar turned and jumped onto a half-submerged rock in the river. Water flowed over her paws and tried to drag her under. Deep water stretched out before her. Downstar breathed deep and dove into the deadliest portion of the Great Northern River.

Her ears hummed along to the heavy flow of the water. Her fur reached eastward with the flow of the river. Downstar’s legs burned as she swam hard and deep. Her paws touched the smooth mud and stones of the river’s bottom. She could barely see through the stinging water. The dog splashed into the river, its bark drowned by the sudden rush of water. The impact shoved Downstar aside and sent her spinning. Wild paws paddled toward her. Her chest tightened as she frantically tried to right herself.

Long fangs dug into Downstar’s back leg. She yowled, water bubbling around her muzzle as blood stained the river. But this was the darkhound’s mistake. If it wanted to hold onto her so badly, it could join her in a frantic rush to the ocean, far away from the Clan she worked so hard to build. 

The pair spun through the darkening water. Downstar wasn’t sure which way was up. Her leg and the darkhound’s muzzle smashed into a large stone that jutted from the bottom of the deep river and peeked out over the surface. The darkhound let go and tumbled further toward the ocean. Downstar’s vision blurred. She needed air. But where should she go to get it? She tried to swim, but she couldn’t move her limbs. She was so heavy…

Something grabbed Downstar’s scruff. Splashes of brown and white dragged her toward a distant light. Her senses burned as her head breached the water. She choked on the air, water rushing out of her lungs. What was happening? Had she reemerged in StarClan’s ocean? No, she wouldn’t feel so miserable if she had died. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t hear, it was all she could do to force air down her water-logged throat.

The first thing Downstar heard when her ears cleared was “I’ve got you, Downstar. I’ve got you.” The brown and white blobs began to take shape. Carnationspeckle stood at Downstar’s side, soaked and panting.

“Where did you come from?” Scrubmask hopped out of the sugar maple and ran toward Carnationspeckle and Downstar.

“I couldn’t let you drown yourselves,” Carnationspeckle huffed. “I followed the darkhound’s scent.”

“It could have killed you,” Scrubmask growled. “You’re nowhere near fast enough to outrun a beast like that.”

“Yes, but I can outswim anyone in this Clan,” Carnationspeckle said, wrapping her tail around Downstar. “I couldn’t let her drown.” Rustshade and Burdockcreek appeared, following the long-gone beast’s scent. 

“Scrubmask, hurry back to camp and fetch Fennelspot,” Rustshade barked, slipping beside Downstar. “Her leg is severely mangled.” Scrubmask was gone before Rustshade finished speaking, following the river toward the ocean and the shipwreck. Rustshade sighed, shaking his head, and continued studying Downstar’s leg. It was hard for the tortoiseshell leader to process everything around her, as her Clanmates were still blurry and her ears were still clogged. But she could think, and her thoughts were not pleasant.

“Carnation,” Downstar coughed, watery eyes glaring at the young caretaker, “I have nine lives. You have one. You should have let me drown.”

“Having nine lives doesn’t mean we should waste them if you don’t need to,” Carnationspeckle sighed. She licked the water dripping into Downstar’s eyes, but Downstar batted her away.

“I don’t need you to risk your life for me,” Downstar growled. Carnationspeckle stepped back, nodding softly as her ears fell back. Downstar coughed up more water as the pain of her bitten leg swam through her muscles.

If the darkhound was going to kill anyone, if anything would get one of her Clanmates killed, Downstar would be the one to die.

(Fennelspot: 83, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Oilstripe: 30, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Downstar: 85, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Burdockcreek: 20, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Rustshade: 70, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Scrubmask: 43, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Carnationspeckle: 28, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

James and Weedfoot go hunting together.

[Image ID: James and Weedfoot follow a rabbit.]

---

James was shockingly quick for a large (and Weedfoot had to be honest, lazy) former kittypet. He chased after a brown speckled rabbit, matching its pace leap for leap. There were a lot of places the rabbit could escape to in RippleClan’s more open southern territory, but James looped back and forth, scaring the rabbit away from any escape routes. In a few moments, the rabbit dangled from James’ jaws.

“Wonderful!” Weedfoot chirped, jogging down a steep slope to join her hunting partner. “I really thought it was gone when the wind shifted.”

“My humans used to hunt rabbits,” James said, resting the rabbit at his paws and licking his lips. “I am well acquainted with the need for speed when stealth fails in a rabbit hunt.”

“Once we cook this, this rabbit should feed most of the Clan,” Weedfoot purred. She glanced at the darkening sky and added, “A meal for tomorrow, however. Let’s return to camp.”

“Finally,” James purred, stretching his back. “I can sleep.”

“You’re in camp all day,” Weedfoot chuckled with a twitch of her whiskers. “I would be begging to leave camp if I were you, but you’re always itching to get back.”

“Because I like staying in camp,” James groaned. “If I could spend all my time in camp and never leave, I would be content.”

“You have to be one of the laziest cats I have ever met,” Weedfoot laughed. 

“Not lazy,” James purred, adjusting his tattered black ribbon. “I am simply not a fan of moving.” 

“Not moving sounds like a dream at the moment,” Weedfoot admitted, sheepishly ducking her head. “With Downstar resting in the medicine den, I’ve been doing both her job and mine. All I can think about is when to send out the next patrol and what we’ve already done for the day.”

“You’ve been a radiant deputy,” James said softly. He patted her on the back with his long, soft tail. “Just as I have been a wonderful caretaker since I found your humble Clan.” James puffed out his fluffy chest.

“Let’s go home before you start taking yourself seriously,” Weedfoot chuckled, headbutting James’ shoulder. The former kittypet picked up his rabbit and followed Weedfoot back to camp.

When the pair returned, RippleClan was winding down for the night. Clammask stomped out the remnants of a smoker while Oilstripe groomed herself. James rubbed against Weedfoot as he made his way to the fresh-kill pile. Oilstripe stopped grooming and trotted up to Weedfoot.

“Yum, rabbit,” Oilstripe cooed. “That will taste amazing tomorrow.”

“James is quite the hunter,” Weedfoot sighed. She watched James as he said goodnight to Scrubmask with a gentle purr and a shake of his pelt. When Weedfoot looked back at Oilstripe, however, her former apprentice had a curiously mischievous look on her face. “What are you thinking, Oilstripe?”

“You like James, don’t you,” Oilstripe said, flicking her tail at the pale ginger tom.

“He’s stepped up when he’s been needed,” Weedfoot said as her stomach suddenly tightened.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Oilstripe purred. She sat next to Weedfoot and said, “You’re in love.” 

Oh StarClan. Oilstripe was right. She did like James. She didn’t have time to pursue a mate! She had to step up for Downstar while she recovered. She was the deputy. She couldn’t be distracted! No, no, that wasn’t the worst of it. Weedfoot already had a mate. Paleshade had been the greatest companion she could have asked for. They were together every step of the way. How could she enter StarClan one day and face Paleshade if she fell in love with someone else?

“She wants you to be happy,” Oilstripe said quietly, dragging Weedfoot out of her thoughts. Oilstripe had a hazy, unnerving look in her eyes and kept glancing away from Weedfoot. What was she even looking at? A fearful itch climbed up Weedfoot’s spine.

“How did you know what I was thinking?” Weedfoot gulped.

“Uh,” Oilstripe gulped, staring at the ground, “I just know you well, is all. And I’ve heard so much about Paleshade, I feel like I know her too. And from what you’ve told me, I think she would want you to find someone who makes you happy in RippleClan.”

“Maybe,” Weedfoot muttered. An odd warmth filled her chest. “Maybe.”

(James: 102, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Weedfoot: 75, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Oilstripe: 30, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 18

Both RippleClan and AshClan tire of the war, wishing for it to end.

[Image ID: Rabbitjoy and Weedfoot sit to the right and face Eelgrowl and Shellstripe, a golden tabby. Eelgrowl says “I don’t expect you to understand, but Autumnstar and I are doing what we think is right.”]

“I don’t like this, Rabbitjoy,” Weedfoot muttered as Rabbitjoy led her toward the AshClan border. Since the Gathering had only occurred the day before, the moon was almost full and shone through thin clouds high above. Longest Night was still half a moon off, but lately, whenever Weedfoot left camp, the sun was gone or on its way out. There had yet to be any snowfall, leaving the duo to avoid twigs and leaves as they got closer to the deeper stretches of forest.

“I’m not happy about it either, Weedy,” Rabbitjoy admitted, glancing over her shoulder. “I wanted to spend my Gathering with my family in WheatClan, not hashing out secret meetings with AshClan mediators.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them to trick me into their claws,” Weedfoot sighed. “I don’t know why else they would ask me to come with you.”

“I’m trying to have an open mind,” Rabbitjoy gulped. “A new name means a new mindset and all that.” Rabbitjoy nearly crossed the freshly marked border before she caught herself and stepped back. The AshClan border was back to its old spot from moons prior, but the scent of both Clans was thicker than ever before. There was already two cats waiting for them on the other side. Shellstripe, a wirey golden mediator with a white-dipped face, stood with shifting paws beside a scratched tree. An oh-so-familiar tom with burnt paws stood tall beside him.

“Rabbitjoy, get back,” Weedfoot growled. She stood in front of her long-lost friend and stared at Eelgrowl with all the burning hate she wished she could show at Gatherings.

“Why would I ask for you if all I wanted to do was hurt you?” Eelgrowl huffed.

“Why would you want to talk to me at all?” Weedfoot snapped.

“He wasn’t trying to kill Paleshade, Weedfoot,” Shellstripe stammered, inching close to the border. “He didn’t mean for her to die. We couldn’t disobey Autumnstar.” Rabbitjoy’s tail slunk between her legs.

“We aren’t here to talk about that, Shellstripe,” Eelgrowl sighed, resting his tail on Shellstripe’s back. “Weedfoot doesn’t want to hear it, anyway.”

“Is Autumnstar waiting behind the bushes?” Weedfoot scoffed, peering through the shadows.

“He doesn’t know we’re meeting,” Eelgrowl explained. “He wouldn’t approve of it.”

“But you’ve always been loyal to him,” Rabbitjoy said, peering around Weedfoot. “You were loyal enough to let your Clanmates die. What changed?”

“StarClan did,” Eelgrowl sighed. He sat across from Weedfoot, his narrow face turned to the clouded sky. “I don’t expect you to understand, but Autumnstar and I are doing what we think is right. Autumnstar may not believe the other clerics, but I do. They wouldn’t all lie to us. StarClan has accepted you. Now that your leader’s had the bright idea to declare war, Autumnstar sees RippleClan as a bunch of rogues. He’s taken to calling Downstar by her old name. I won’t see him be damned by the stars for trying to honor them.” There was a weight to Eelgrowl’s tone that reminded Weedfoot of her younger days, when Eelgrowl had nursery duty, when he let the smallest kits play with his pink paws as he explained how dangerous fire could be. Weedfoot stayed half-pressed into Rabbitjoy but pulled her tail over her paws.

“What do you want, then?” Weedfoot said.

“Autumnstar backed down before thanks to pressure from the other Clans,” Eelgrowl explained. “It’s why he didn’t want you to have unfettered access to SlugClan and LynxClan. If you can speak to Gougestar, he could convince Autumnstar to give you the respect you’re owed. Sanderlingstar and Mistlestar want nothing to do with this, but Gorgestar is close to Downstar, isn’t he? He might help.” 

Weedfoot wouldn’t say it aloud, but it was a solid plan. But who would deliver the message, and when? How? WheatClan didn’t want to face AshClan’s wrath by letting RippleClan stroll through their land. If Autumnstar saw them as rogues, what would he do if he saw one of their ranks sneaking toward SlugClan?

“Autumnstar would be furious if he knew you said this,” Weedfoot said softly.

“I’m hoping, when this is over, that I can truly talk to Autumnstar about the future,” Eelgrowl sighed. “I can’t do that until he’s willing to listen. Take my advice or don’t. It’s your pelts that’ll get torn up.” Eelgrowl nudged Shellstripe and the pair turned back home. Rabbitjoy fidgeted as they crossed through the bushes. She licked her lips, pulling into herself.

“Thank you!” she suddenly called just as the tip of Shellstripe’s tail slithered out of sight. She squirmed as though she ate a worm. 

“What do you think, Rabbit?” Weedfoot sighed, still watching the bushes. “Should we bring this up with Downstar?”

“If it’ll make Autumnstar listen?” Rabbitjoy gulped. She straightened out, took a deep breath, and said, “We have to.”

(Weedfoot: 66, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Rabbitjoy: 54, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

Locustpaw tells Burdockcreek to count on them.

[Image ID: Locustpaw faces Burdockcreek. Locustpaw says, ““Hey, have I let you down before? I can handle this.” Burdockcreek replies, “I can’t let you take all the credit.” Under him, it says LEVEL UP! CONFIDENT -> COMPETITIVE.]

---

“No,” Rustshade snapped from the depths of Downstar’s den. “We aren’t sending anyone out there, especially not alone!”

“They’re less likely to get caught if they go alone,” Downstar sighed. Locustpaw could hear Downstar sag as she said that from their spot between the Shiprock and the shipwreck itself. Most of RippleClan was still getting out of their nests, but Locustpaw got up early, ready for Weedfoot to give them a new task. Yet when they got up, Weedfoot was in Downstar’s den. According to Scrubmask, who had been on guard duty, she had been there since she got back earlier that night. Why wouldn’t Locustpaw listen in? With AshClan on their tails, everything that went on in Downstar’s den was sure to be important. They had to preserve it for future generations. Yes, that was it.

“But if they are caught, they’ll be at AshClan’s mercy!” Rustshade groaned. “Send Scrubmask! She’s faster.”

“And bigger,” Weedfoot huffed. “Rustshade, I’m sorry, but this isn’t a discussion. We brought you in here because we thought you deserved to know first.”

“Why them?” Rustshade moaned.

“Locustpaw, why are you back there?” Locustpaw peeked around the Shiprock. Burdockcreek stared back at them in plain view of Downstar’s den.

“They’re planning something,” Locustpaw whispered, cocking their ears toward the den. “I think it’s a mission through AshClan territory!” Burdockcreek leaned closer, but his pupils suddenly narrowed.

“They’re coming out!” Burdockcreek hissed, scampering back. Locustpaw backed out of the hidey-hole, emerging on the other side of the Shiprock. A moment later, Weedfoot wandered past, focused on the apprentice’s den. She saw Locustpaw in the corner of her eye and stopped.

“Locustpaw, just who I was looking for,” Weedfoot sighed as Downstar and Rustshade appeared beside her. “We have something important to ask of you.” 

“I’ll do it, whatever it is,” Locustpaw chirped as Burdockcreek listened in.

“We need someone to visit SlugClan,” Downstar explained, getting closer and locking eyes with Locustpaw. “You need to speak to Gorgestar and convince him to pressure Autumnstar into submitting to our demands.”

“It won’t be easy,” Weedfoot added. “AshClan will attack you if they see you. You’re lithe, and smaller than your littermates. We think you have the best chance of getting in and out.”

“Not that I’m not willing,” Locustpaw groaned, “because I am, but why not have Fennelspot pass on the news at the cleric’s meeting?”

“We need an immediate response,” Downstar huffed. “Newtstream attends those meetings, as well. He’ll overhear the news and report back to Autumnstar. He’s more loyal to Autumnstar than StarClan’s wishes.”

“No heroics,” Rustshade grunted, nudging Downstar aside. “This isn’t a battle patrol. You’re just to speak to Gorgestar.”

“I understand, Dad,” Locustpaw said, nodding. “I can go right now. They won’t see me.”

“Wait until sunhigh,” Weedfoot said. “I’ll have Graypaw start the oven and cook some prey. You’ll do better with food in your belly.” She groomed Locustpaw’s neck and added, “I believe in you, Locustpaw.” She touched Locustpaw’s nose and headed for the apprentice’s den. Downstar entered the medicine den and left Rustshade to stare at his child. Locustpaw wasn’t sure what to say, but thankfully, Rustshade broke away for the warrior’s den. Now it was just Locustpaw and Burdockcreek.

“I wish I was going,” Burdockcreek grumbled, sitting beside Locustpaw. “I’m the historian here. Why send an apprentice?”

“I won’t be an apprentice after this,” Locustpaw laughed, kicking their brother. Burdockcreek chuckled, but there was a strain in his face that made Locustpaw pause. They nudged Burdockcreek and added, “Hey, have I let you down before? I can handle this.”

“I can’t let you take all the credit,” Burdockcreek sighed, partially chuckling. “I might have to tell future generations I came along.”

“And I can tell them that you’re a big fat liar,” Locustpaw said, sticking out their tongue. 

(Rustshade: 62, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Downstar: 77, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

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

(Weedfoot: 66, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Burdockcreek: 12, male, historian, competitive, learner of lore)

Locustpaw sacrificed themself by taking on the role of a messenger, delivering important information that could save the clan. They were killed while investigating enemy territory.

[Image ID: Locustpaw faces Autumnstar down. Locustpaw growls, “Heh… hope you’re proud of yourself. I’m coming back to haunt you.” To which Autumnstar huffs, “I’d love to see it, rogue.”]

---

Fennelspot remembered Rustshade telling him how sturdy Rabbitjoy’s baskets were, but now that he got to carry his collection of juniper berries back to camp in one of the most well-woven baskets he’d ever held, he knew he’d have to thank the long-lost artisan for her hard work. He could hold it in his jaws and let it bounce on his chest without chafing or scratching. It was wonderful! The sweet smell of the juniper berries carried him through the trees and lifted his heart for the last stretch back to camp. The ground wasn’t cold enough for the new snowfall to stick quite yet, but Fennelspot was certain the territories would be pure white when he woke up the next morning.

“How are we supposed to bury you?” someone whined. Fennelspot pricked his ears. Was that Oilstripe? He carefully set his basket down. Snowflakes landed on the juniper berries and the tips of Fennelspot’s whiskers.

“No, because how else will Dad know you’re dead?” Oilstripe yowled. Fennelspot stalked toward his Clanmate, his basket forgotten. He hopped over the remnants of a dead fern and clung to the side of a pine. Oilstripe was a few tail-lengths ahead of the cleric, staring into the trees. The fur along her back arched and her droopy tail thrashed about.

“You’re supposed to be back any moment now,” Oilstripe growled. “What am I supposed to tell everyone?” Her tone was not that of malice, but of fear and a deep insecurity, the sort of voice Fennelspot all-too-often heard in his head. He realized she wasn’t staring into the trees, but rather to an empty spot just in front of her.

“Downstar thinks I’m crazy,” Oilstripe whined, her whole body sagging. “Everyone’s seen me talking to myself. Fennelspot won’t believe me. He’ll say I’ve lost my mind, that I’m seeing things. So tell me how I’m supposed to tell them about you, Locustpaw!” A gasp escaped Fennelspot’s mouth before he could stop himself. Oilstripe’s head whipped around. The fear plastered over her eyes made Fennelspot tremble. It only lasted a moment, as she turned back to the empty space with curled lips and a voice that commanded more pity than fear.

“Show him you’re here!” Oilstripe begged. “We both heard the stories, you can do that! Please! I need to know I’m not crazy!” Fennelspot slowly approached Oilstripe like a hunter would approach a skittish rabbit.

“Oilstripe…” Fennelspot gulped.

“But you do have something to tell him!” Oilstripe cried. “You have to tell him you died! Dad can’t wait for the half-moon meeting! He needs to know, and I can’t tell him!” She stomped her paws like an angry kit.

“Oilstripe, do you see Locustpaw standing next to you?” Fennelspot asked softly. “Can you look at me?” Oilstripe growled and squeezed her eyes tight.

“I can’t carry two conversations at once!” she snapped. 

Before she finished speaking, Fennelspot’s ears began to ring. He rubbed his ears to clear the tinnitus, but the sound grew louder. It didn’t sound like typical tinnitus. In fact, Oilstripe seemed bothered too; she rubbed her ears just like Fennelspot did. The sound grew louder and developed new layers. It wasn’t just a humming noise. It was a fast, high-pitched chirping sound. It was thousands of those sounds, thumping and vibrating together. It was a chorus of a thousand—

“Locusts,” Fennelspot gasped.

“I guess she wasn’t crazy after all,” a disembodied voice whispered, the sound mixed with the chirping of the unseen locusts. With that, the sound faded as quickly as it arrived. Oilstripe was out of breath, glancing between Fennelspot and the empty space he no longer believed was actually empty.

“You heard that?” Oilstripe asked. “Please say you did.”

“You can speak to StarClan?” Fennelspot whispered. He sat before he realized he needed to and stared at where he could only assume Locustpaw’s spirit lingered.

[Image ID: Fennelspot and Oilstripe face each other. Fennelspot says “You aren’t a cleric. How can you see StarClan wherever they wander, while I barely see them over the course of the year?”]

“I see them when they visit, even if they don’t want me to,” Oilstripe gulped. She slowly approached Fennelspot and sat across from him. “I’ve seen them since Twinekit died.”

“You aren’t a cleric,” Fennelspot stammered, suddenly conscious of how his posture slumped and his claws plucked at the dead grass. “How can you see StarClan wherever they wander, while I barely see them over the course of the year?”

“I didn’t ask to see them,” Oilstripe huffed, “it just happened. Why do you think I asked you to teach me how StarClan works?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Fennelspot whined.

“Would you have believed me?” Oilstripe snapped with a thrash of her tail. “I tried telling Downstar that Duskkit was sorry for being troublesome in life, but she got mad at me. I didn’t want to repeat that. I don’t want to be a cleric. I would hate mixing medicine all day.”

“You don’t have to be a cleric,” Fennelspot insisted. He suddenly remembered just why he grew so startled in the first place and he held his breath. “You were talking to Locustpaw. Does that mean…”

“Autumnstar’s patrol found them,” Oilstripe muttered, staring at the space beside the two ginger cats. “They spoke to Gorgestar and were coming home. Their body is somewhere in AshClan territory.” Fennelspot held his emotions close as he prayed to see whatever Oilstripe could see. He stared at where he thought Locustpaw stood, trying to sense the apprentice beside him.

“I can help you tell the Clan about your abilities, Oilstripe,” Fennelspot suggested. “You can tell your father about Locustpaw.”

“I ruined it last time,” Oilstripe said, violently shaking her head. “I’m no conduit. I don’t share messages. Can’t you say you had a vision, Fennelspot?”

“I don’t receive many visions,” Fennelspot groaned, the fur on the back of his neck itching.

“They won’t argue with you,” Oilstripe said. “They’ll be worried when Locustpaw doesn’t come back tonight. Why make them hope for something that won’t happen?” Fennelspot shrunk into himself.

“I need to collect my juniper berries,” Fennelspot muttered. “If we can’t get Locustpaw’s body, we still have to host a vigil. I’ll figure out the right words to say. Come with me.” Fennelspot climbed back toward his hiding place.

“Fennelspot?” Oilstripe called softly. Fennelspot turned back. Oilstripe nodded to the empty spot beside her and said, “They said thank you.”

(Fennelspot: 75, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Oilstripe: 22, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

In order to honor the dead cat, Fennelspot and Downstar give them their historian name in StarClan; Locustseeker.

[Image ID: Locustseeker stands as a StarClan cat. Under them, it says LEVEL UP! LOCUSTPAW -> LOCUSTSEEKER.]

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

Downstar gives Clampaw her full name of Clammask, honoring her as a caretaker of RippleClan.

[Image ID: Clammask stands in the middle of the screen. Under her, it reads LEVEL UP! CLAMPAW -> CLAMMASK, LONESOME -> RIGHTEOUS, INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY -> LORE KEEPER, + NEW TRAIT: GOOD TEACHER.]

(Clammask: 12, female, caretaker, righteous, lore keeper, good teacher)

Carnationspeckle, Shadowpaw, and Parsley all have whitecough.

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle, Shadowpaw, and Parsley stand in a row. Under each, it says + CONDITION: WHITECOUGH. Under Shadowpaw, it also reads - CONDITION: SORE.]

(Carnationspeckle: 20, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Shadowpaw: 10, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)

(Parsley: 112, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

Parsley finds the way Rabbitjoy acts increasingly uncomfortable.

[Image ID: Applepelt and Parsley watch Rabbitjoy from the side as Rabbitjoy says “We’re fine! We’re all going to be fine!” Applepelt says, “I don’t think she’s fine…” Under Applepelt, it says - CONDITION: CAT BITE.]

(Parsley: 112, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

(Applepelt: 27, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Rabbitjoy: 54, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 28

Downstar calls a Clan meeting to honor Parsley for her service and guide her to the elder’s den.

[Image ID: Parsley, now laying down in an elder’s sprite, says to Puddlespeckle, “It looks like you aren’t alone anymore, Mr. Puddlespeckle.” Puddlespeckle says, “How wonderful…”]

(Parsley: 122, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

(Puddlespeckle: 154, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

Clammask, Shadowdrop, and Rustshade find another abandoned kit near the gardens.

[Image ID: Clammask, Shadowdrop, and Rustshade face a white kit with gray stripes and sage green eyes. Under the kit, it reads NEW PLAYER: MOUSEKIT, 5, FEMALE, KNOW-IT-ALL, ODDLY OBSERVANT.]

---

Rattlepaw was not a stalker. She had a perfectly normal interest in Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe. Why shouldn’t she want her mother to find someone that made her giddy? Oilstripe was the perfect choice! How else could Rattlepaw and Carnationspeckle grow their little family? They deserved more than just one another. They deserved a bigger family. As such, while Rattlepaw practiced a song with Rabbitjoy, she had one ear cocked toward Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe, who were happily sharing tongues before their sunset patrol. Recruiting them to practice dancing for the Harvest Moon had been the perfect plan!

“Mom?” Shadowdrop marched into the camp, scanning for Downstar. The sand caught on his muddy paws, making it look like he had white mittens. “Mom?”

“Fennelspot took Downstar out to exercise,” Rabbitjoy explained, looking over her shoulder at the black tom.

“Well then is Weedfoot around?” Shadowdrop sighed.

“I heard my name!” Weedfoot jogged out from the dirt place. “I’m here, I’m here. Hi, Shadowdrop. Was there an issue with your hunt?”

“You could say that,” Shadowdrop admitted. “We were hunting by the gardens and you’ll never guess what we found.”

“What, a kit?” Oilstripe scoffed. Shadowdrop went eerily quiet. Oilstripe’s eyes exploded. “Wait, am I right?” Rattlepaw’s leather pelt slipped off her back as she scurried up to Shadowdrop. Carnationspeckle stood beside her, her tail brushing against her side.

“That’s where you found me,” Rattlepaw gulped, catching Carnationspeckle’s eye.

“Tell us about the kit,” Weedfoot said. “I assume it isn’t a Clan kit from the way you’re acting.”

“We think so,” Shadowdrop admitted.

“You think so?” Carnationspeckle repeated with a tilt to her head. “Does the kit have a Clan name?”

“Yes, but when we spoke to her, she said she didn’t come from a Clan,” Shadowdrop explained. “I don’t remember anyone in the last few Gatherings mention a Mousekit, unless she’s lying about the name.”

“No one outside the Clans would name their daughter Mousekit,” Rabbitjoy pointed out.

“Rustshade is checking the borders in case the kit’s description matches a kit from another Clan,” Shadowdrop said. “Clammask is bringing the kit along.”

“Carnationspeckle, wake up James and make sure the nursery is ready for a guest,” Weedfoot sighed with a soft flick of her tail.

“We won’t be long,” Carnationspeckle chirped, bouncing where she stood. She seemed more like a kit than a grown molly as she hurried to the warrior’s den. 

“She might be cold…” Weedfoot muttered, glancing at the windy sky. “Rabbitjoy, can you start a small fire? Oilstripe, I want you to fetch Fennelspot. A lone kit like this will likely need a check-up.”

“Downstar might get mad at me if I interrupt her exercise,” Oilstripe gulped, avoiding eye contact.

“I saw them not long ago, I’ll get Fennelspot,” Shadowdrop grumbled. Just as he turned around, however, a wirey white molly strolled past him, flicking her tail while Clammask followed behind. The kit had the faintest of stripes and fur paler than Rattlepaw’s ashy skin. She couldn’t have been much younger than half a year. 

“This is RippleClan?” the kit scoffed. “You live in a big boat? How has it not fallen over?”

“You must be Mousekit,” Weedfoot purred, stepping in front of the newcomer. “Welcome. Hopefully we can get you home soon. What Clan are you from?”

“I already said I’m not from a Clan,” Mousekit huffed, sneering. 

“You have to be with a name like Mousekit,” Clammask sighed. “If you ran away because you were being hurt, you can tell us. We won’t drag you back.”

“I’m called Mousekit because my furless, spineless, coward of a mother spent my whole life telling me everything she knew about the Clans,” Mousekit snapped, turning on Clammask. “She’s the one who brought me out here. About time, too. I was sick of catching mice for humans.” Rattlepaw’s stomach twisted as she held her breath. No wonder Mousekit didn’t react to her.

“Your mother was furless too?” Rattlepaw gulped. She slowly approached Mousekit, who studied her with a cold glimmer in her green eyes. “Was her name… Rebecca?”

“How do you know that?” Mousekit said as the fur on her neck bristled. Rattlepaw couldn’t stop herself. She squealed and dove at Mousekit. She shoved her face into her shockingly soft fur.

“She was my mother too!” Rattlepaw cheered. “You’re my sister!” 

“Get off of me!” Mousekit snapped. She shoved Rattlepaw away. Rattlepaw tumbled onto her back. The sand scratched her fragile skin.

“Rattlepaw!” Carnationspeckle hurried out of the nursery. She and Oilstripe helped Rattlepaw back to her feet. Oilstripe brushed sand off Rattlepaw’s skin while Carnationspeckle licked her white ear.

“That was a hard tumble,” Oilstripe huffed. “Are you alright?”

“A little sore, but I’m alright,” Rattlepaw said.

“So you’re Rattlesnake,” Mousekit said, whiskers twitching with a strange contempt. “Our mother talked often about how she had to ‘save you’ from a breeding life.”

“How is she?” Rattlepaw asked. She braced herself for a venomous response as Mousekit’s tail flicked about.

“Why should I care?” Mousekit snapped. “She didn’t care about me. All she talked about were her plans to take me away as soon as she got the chance. I guess she took it.”

“If you like to hunt, you’ll like this place,” Carnationspeckle purred. “I took in your sister when she arrived here. If you wanted to, we could get to know each other more.” Carnationspeckle rested her tail over Rattlepaw. Rattlepaw pressed into Carnationspeckle with a soft purr.

[Image ID: Mousekit stares down Carnationspeckle and Rattlepaw. She yowls, “I had a mom, and she was awful. You aren’t my mom, and you aren’t my sister!”]

“You want to treat me like your kit?” Mousekit scoffed. “I had a mom, and she was awful. You aren’t my mom, and you aren’t my sister!” Rattlepaw pressed harder into Carnationspeckle. Her big copper eyes poured unspoken needs over Mousekit, but the pale molly turned away and back to Weedfoot. “So where can I stay?” It took Weedfoot a moment to collect her words; the small crowd looked between Mousekit and Rattlepaw, unsure whether they should have said something or not.

“Come this way,” Weedfoot said softly. She guided Mousekit across camp to the nursery. Mousekit walked with her tail high, leaving Rattlepaw and Carnationspeckle in her dust. While Carnationspeckle continued grooming Rattlepaw, something hardened in Rattlepaw’s chest.

She was already trying to find her mother a mate, and she’d just been given a sister. If she could push Carnationspeckle to fall in love with Oilstripe, she could convince her own flesh and blood to love her back.

(Rattlepaw: 11, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, plays with prey)

(Shadowdrop: 20, male, codekeeper, sneaky, eloquent speaker, good teacher)

(Rabbitjoy: 65, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Weedfoot: 77, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Oilstripe: 32, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Carnationspeckle: 30, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Mousekit: 5, female, kit, know-it-all, oddly observant)

(Clammask: 22, female, caretaker, righteous, lore keeper, good teacher)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 27

Graythroat returns to camp with a bleeding tail and stories of a dead fox.

[Image ID: Graythroat stands proud while the text under her reads + CONDITION: BITE WOUND. Fennelspot and Downstar sit together in the upper corner.]

Downstar was not supposed to be so cooperative.

Fennelspot was only a couple moons younger than Downstar, so he vividly remembered how she plagued his apprenticeship; spunky and wild Downpaw would limp into the medicine den with scraps and bruises from her latest misadventure, with Shadowsun sighing behind her. At first, Fennelspot’s mentor Yellowflower gladly treated her, but she was in the medicine den so much, she finally said that young Fennelpaw would treat Downpaw for whatever injury or illness she brought in. It prepared Fennelspot well for being Downstar’s first cleric and for caring for her equally troublesome children.

Fennelspot remembered when Downstar broke a rib not long before he got his full name. No matter how much he insisted she had to rest, she wouldn’t stay in her nest, insisting she could watch over the nursery or guard camp or do whatever it was she thought interesting at the time. That was just her way. Now, though…

Downstar spent most of her time in her den, resting. When Fennelspot entered to check her leg or help her exercise, Downstar listened without fuss. She groomed her leg, kept it still, and took whatever advice Fennelspot gave her without question.

Something was deeply wrong with Downstar.

Fennelspot was deep in his worries as he placed a new splint on Downstar’s leg when suddenly, a manic laugh broke through camp. Both Fennelspot and Downstar’s heads snapped up as the strange laugh drew closer. Fennelspot left Downstar’s den just as others in the camp, in the midst of naps or sharing tongues, looked out of their dens to find the source of the odd sound.

“Hali!” the source of the laugh yowled. “Shadow! You won’t believe it!” Graythroat marched into camp with wild eyes and a tall tail. Foreign blood smeared her muzzle while her own dribbled down her legs from a huge wound on her tail. 

“Graythroat, what did you do?” Fennelspot gasped. He ran at Graythroat and forced her to a stop. RippleClan gathered behind him, staring at Graythroat’s bloody face. Halibutdusk and Shadowdrop pushed through the crowd, standing on either side of their sister.

“What did I do?” Graythroat laughed, flicking her tail as though it wasn’t bleeding profusely. “What did I do? Let me tell you, I killed a fox!” She cackled once more, giving Fennelspot just enough time to shove her flank down and pin her tail for a better look at the wound.

“You killed a fox?” Rattlepaw gasped, peeking out from behind Rabbitjoy and Carnationspeckle.

“Gray…” Halibutdusk gulped. The young warrior studied Fennelspot as he groomed the blood around Graythroat’s wound. It was no doubt a fox bite; Fennelspot didn’t know another creature with such a long mouth and sharp punctures. Still, Graythroat must have thrashed her tail hard in the fox’s grasp. There were multiple smaller bites that tore across the skin.

“There I was,” Graythroat said, ducking slightly as though stalking through the forest, “enjoying some time alone, when I see the biggest, fattest, reddest fox I have ever seen in my life, just mouse-lengths from the border!”

“Graythroat, you’ve only ever seen one fox,” Halibutdusk sighed.

“It was outside our territory?” Shadowdrop asked. 

“I wasn’t going to let it come in,” Graythroat scoffed. “It was the greatest fight of our generation. Our fangs dug into each other, we tumbled to and through—”

“And you can keep telling the story once I treat your wound!” Fennelspot snapped. “StarClan knows what diseases a fox could have. Medicine den, now.” Graythroat groaned, tilting her head back as far as it could go. Still, she obeyed (with a nudge from Halibutdusk). 

As Fennelspot led Graythroat (and most of the Clan) to the medicine den, he caught Downstar’s eyes shining from her den. Fennelspot should have been snapping at her to rest her leg as she made sure Graythroat was okay, or at least question her as to why she would attack a fox who had done nothing wrong. But Downstar was still. She just watched Graythroat bleed. Fennelspot had been aware of Graythroat’s issues for a while, but Downstar… 

She scared him.

(Fennelspot: 84, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 86, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Graythroat: 19, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Rattlepaw: 10, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, plays with prey)

(Halibutdusk: 19, male, warrior, gloomy, great storyteller, clever)

(Shadowdrop: 19, male, codekeeper, sneaky, eloquent speaker, good teacher)

Rattlepaw teaches Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe a special dance in the water.

[Image ID: Rattlepaw waits for Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe as Carnationspeckle says “I’ll dance if she will!” Under Carnationspeckle, it says LEVEL UP! TALENTED SWIMMER -> FISH-LIKE SWIMMER. Under Oilstripe, it says LEVEL UP! GHOST SIGHT -> GHOST SPEAKER.]

(Rattlepaw: 10, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, plays with prey)

(Carnationspeckle: 29, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Oilstripe: 31, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 22

Rustshade tried to confess his feelings to Fennelspot, but got rejected.

[Image ID: Fennelspot leaves Rustshade in the upper right corner. Graythroat stands behind Rustshade and says, “Too bad, Rusty.” Under her, it says LEVEL UP! VALUABLE INSIGHT -> TRUSTED ADVISOR.]

Rustshade was not the nervous sort. He could only remember three times where he was truly, distinctly nervous. First, when he admitted to WheatClan that he was one of the Ripple followers. Second, when Twinekit got sick. Third, when Locustseeker went on their mission and never came back. In each of those moments, Rustshade’s future hung in the balance. Was this one of those moments? Hard to say. But if things went well, the future he imagined looked pretty good.

There weren’t many cats in camp that late afternoon. Shadowdrop was out of camp with a few others, investigating a new monster-path the humans started following on the edges of the territory, beyond any of the Clans. Carnationspeckle was with Rattlekit, trying to convince the furless molly that she needed to keep her leather pelts draped over her if she wanted to stay warm and safe from the sun. Puddlespeckle was thankfully out on a begrudging walk with his daughter (he was the last cat Rustshade wanted around when he put his plan into action). The only other cats in camp were Fennelspot and Graythroat, huddled around the cleric’s grillstone. 

The cleric’s grillstone was built in an offshoot of the camp where the heat wouldn’t endanger the shipwreck. It was a tamed fire built underneath a long, flat stone. When Rustshade approached, Fennelspot and Graythroat sat staring into a pot placed on the hot stone.. There was another pot sitting in the bigger pot that contained a dark bubbling mixture. Water filled the bigger pot and steam drifted overhead.

“What’s this?” Rustshade asked. 

“We’re making wax,” Graythroat hummed with a playful twitch of her whiskers. “I found a big hive and all us caretakers agreed we could harvest it. I only got stung twice!” Sure enough, there were a couple spots on her flank covered in one of Fennelspot’s ointments.

“You’re lucky you aren’t one of those poor souls who die when they’re stung,” Fennelspot sighed. “Do you need anything, Rustshade?”

“I can wait until this is done,” Rustshade promised, taking a seat a couple tail-lengths away. A minute later, the pair seemed satisfied with their work. Graythroat kicked sand over the fire until nothing remained but smothered smoke. 

“Once that cools,” Fennelspot explained, “we need to strain the beeswax through a filter Rabbitjoy weaved for me. That will collect the thick elements we don’t want. Then we will let the wax cool and I can melt it as needed.” He paused, thinking for a few moments, before adding, “In SlugClan, one of our artisans invented a way to craft leather so we could shield our mouths from heat and take pots off the grillstone immediately. Remind me when Rabbitjoy comes back that I want to speak to SlugClan about that.”

“Anything else?” Graythroat asked, stretching.

“I plan to cook some infusions later, so if you’ll help me prepare for that, I would be grateful,” Fennelspot said. He turned his focus to Rustshade, and once more the younger tom seemed caught by how Fennelspot’s eyes blended with the color of his fur to form a gorgeous pattern of ginger and white. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” Graythroat had been about to leave, but her ears stayed pointed toward the two, even as she pretended she was minding her own business. Oh well. It wasn’t like Rustshade wanted to hide his emotions.

“It’s not a medical issue, if you’re concerned,” Rustshade said with an awkward flick of his tail. “It’s a personal question. It’s about something us founders agreed on when we started RippleClan.” Fennelspot nodded, eyes serious and focused as he sat in front of Rustshade. “One of the big issues we wanted to change in this Clan was how clerics, like yourself, were forced to abstain from romance and parenthood due to a misguided belief about your connection to StarClan. RippleClan won’t follow that part of the Code of Clerics. As such, I was hoping you and I could give a relationship a chance.” Graythroat suffocated a poorly hidden gasp, masking it as a cough. Rustshade glared at her with enough fire in his eyes that Graythroat stepped away.

“A…” Fennelspot gulped, ears twitching rapidly.

“I haven’t won someone’s heart in a while,” Rustshade chuckled, whiskers twitching, “but we could take it slow. Perhaps a walk or two?” Fennelspot tensed. His eyes looked everywhere but at Rustshade. As the moments stretched on, Rustshade slowly realized that this wouldn’t end the way he hoped.

“It’s important to me that future clerics have the chance to be mates and parents,” Fennelspot said, “but I… swearing to that part of the Code of Clerics was important to me. It’s my choice to keep that oath. I wouldn’t be comfortable taking a mate, even with our Clan’s laws.” Rustshade nodded softly. His whiskers stilled and his face, as it so often did, betrayed nothing. Fennelspot shifted awkwardly, glancing for a way out. “I’m sorry, Rustshade. I’m going to prepare some herbs.” Fennelspot shuffled back toward the medicine den. Rustshade’s gaze stayed on him until he slipped into the shadows of the small boat.

“Too bad, Rusty,” Graythroat hummed. She had somehow slipped behind Rustshade during the conversation. “Don’t hold it against him. Knowing Fennelspot, he’ll probably try extra hard to not make you feel bad about it.”

“I don’t want your advice, Graythroat,” Rustshade muttered, walking past her. He headed for the empty warrior’s den. It was fine. It was a disappointment, but it was fine. He could live without Fennelspot. It was fine.

(Rustshade: 66, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Graythroat: 14, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Fennelspot: 79, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

Puddlespeckle scares Rattlekit with a story.

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle and Rattlekit stand together, facing Puddlespeckle. Carnationspeckle snaps, “Puddlespeckle!” To which Puddlespeckle says, “It’s good for her!”]

---

“It is said,” Puddlespeckle purred as Rattlekit sat in front of him, “that the Harvest Moon is the most dangerous day of the year. There is a reason the Clans gather for the whole day, Rattlekit. Without the protection of every star-fearing warrior, we would get pulled into the machinations of the Spirits of Shadow.” 

“Is this a real story?” Rattlekit gulped, “or one of those stories Rabbitjoy makes up?”

“Maybe a little of both,” Puddlespeckle said. The pair lurked in the quiet elder’s den while the rest of RippleClan shared tongues outside. Rattlekit had discarded the leather pelt Carnationspeckle always made her wear to the side. Although Puddlespeckle’s joints creaked as he told the tale, there was a certain look of wonder in the furless kit’s eyes that kept him going. 

“Carnationspeckle has told you about the Dark Forest, hasn’t she? That those cursed by StarClan spend their days there, chased by the memories of all they did wrong?” Rattlekit nodded. “Well, some of these cats grow to hate the living Clans and seek to meddle in the affairs of the living. They make up a number of what we call the Spirits of Shadow. They are forces beyond our living reality that seek to harm us and spread chaos. There are many, but when the Harvest Moon approaches, their powers grow with the coming of the autumn chill.”

“What can they do?” Rattlekit asked.

“Many things,” Puddlespeckle explained. His tail waved dramatically as he spoke. “The souls of the Dark Forest try to reach out to the living to further their own twisted plots. A skin ‘n bones will suck your stomach dry until you are so hungry, you eat your fellow cats. A wraith… well I don’t know if you can handle hearing about them.” With the mention of each dark spirit, Rattlekit’s copper eyes grew bigger and bigger.

“Rattlekit?” Carnationspeckle called from the clearing. “Where did you go?”

“I’m in here, Carnation!” Rattlekit yowled. Puddlespeckle grumbled and laid down. A few moments later, Carnationspeckle entered the den.

“Why are you making that face, Rattlekit?” Carnationspeckle asked, cocking her head as she spotted her adopted daughter’s huge eyes.

“Puddlespeckle says there’s a monster that makes you eat your friends,” Rattlekit gulped.

“Puddlespeckle!” Carnationspeckle snapped, drawing her tail around Rattlekit.

“It’s good for her!” Puddlespeckle insisted. “She’ll be an apprentice in less than a moon. She can handle some scary stories.”

“You never entertained me with stories as a kit,” Carnationspeckle muttered. She studied Puddlespeckle carefully, but the old tom couldn’t care less what she thought.

“Well I didn’t entertain anyone when you were a kit,” Puddlespeckle huffed. “Maybe a few moons in RippleClan have softened me up a bit.” Carnationspeckle draped Rattlekit’s leather back over her.

“It’s almost time to sleep,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “Hopefully you don’t have any nightmares tonight.” Carnationspeckle nudged Rattlekit out of the den. Rattlekit looked helplessly at Puddlespeckle, but a simple nod from the elder seemed to assuage her worries. The two mollies left Puddlespeckle alone in the elder’s den once more. 

Oh well, he thought as he settled deeper into his nest. That was the life of the Clan elder, he supposed.

(Puddlespeckle: 148, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

(Rattlekit: 5, female, kit, insecure, plays with prey)

(Carnationspeckle: 24, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

Applepelt ventures out on patrol soon before a massive flood.

[Image ID: Oilstripe faces Applepelt, who is now a StarClan cat. Applepelt says, “Oh… I didn’t get out, did I?”]

---

It had been a brutal storm. The waves crashed so high that they nearly reached the shipwreck. Downstar evacuated the dens closest to the water, which included the nursery. Oilstripe huddled beside Carnationspeckle and Rattlekit in the packed apprentice’s den as rain pummeled the sand outside. Fennelspot kept worrying that the rain would leak through the shipwreck and ruin his stores. Scrubmask practically had to hold him back to stop him from running to the medicine den. 

When the storm finally passed, a tree not far from camp laid on its side, budding branches reaching toward camp. Weedfoot and Downstar split the Clan into teams; one to clean up the camp and the other to take care of the tree. After all, everyone in RippleClan had been in camp during the storm.

Everyone but Applepelt.

Oilstripe paced around the trees as the rest of her team harvested the fallen tree for resources; after all, why let a tree go to waste when it had bark and buds and other things to support RippleClan? Oilstripe couldn’t focus, though. Fennelspot stood nearby as she gazed out, searching for signs of brown fur.

“Fennelspot, what if she’s hurt?” Oilstripe groaned. “We should go out and look for her.”

“The storm hasn’t been over long,” Fennelspot reminded her, glancing at the dark clouds. “She could still be sheltered somewhere.”

“I hate waiting,” Oilstripe muttered, sitting on the soaked grass. Fennelspot sat next to her and groomed her ear. 

“Oilstripe!” a familiar voice called. Oilstripe shot up. A moment later, a brown figure hurried through the trees.

“Applepelt!” Oilstripe gasped. “There you are! What were you thinking, staying out in a storm like that?” Oilstripe and Applepelt met halfway. Applepelt panted and shook out their fur.

“I didn’t think the storm would be that bad,” they laughed. “Oh, you should have been there, Oilstripe. I was at the Great Northern River when the storm hit. It was beautiful, in a frightening way. The waters surged up and rumbled toward the ocean. I was so caught up in watching it, I fell right in!” Applepelt must have noticed the look of horror on Oilstripe’s face, as they quickly stammered, “Oh, don’t worry! It was terrifying for a while, and I think I passed out, but I woke up on the shore! I feel great! I can’t believe I got out! Do you think Rattlekit will be impressed?”

“Let’s have Fennelspot look you over first,” Oilstripe sighed. “Fennelspot…” She looked back at Fennelspot and the words faded before they formed. He watched her with big, pitiful eyes. His wet fur sagged and his ears drifted to the side.

“Oilstripe, I don’t see her,” he gulped. A cold weight settled on Oilstripe’s chest. She turned back to Applepelt. Her fur was too dry to have just come out of the river. As she looked, she realized that she could see the grass through Applepelt’s body. 

“Oh…” Applepelt said softly, “I didn’t get out, did I?” Stardust climbed up their legs. Their fur glittered in the dull light and their eyes shone like stars. In a few moments, they looked like every other StarClan spirit that wandered through RippleClan’s camp.

“Apple…” Oilstripe gasped. A gentle twinkle filled her ears. Twinekit slipped out from behind a tree beside Oilstripe and Applepelt.

“It’s alright, Applepelt,” Twinekit promised. “I’m here to take you to StarClan.”

“So you are real,” Applepelt muttered. Her voice had never been so dull before.

“We won’t hold it against you,” Twinekit chuckled.

“I…” Applepelt gulped. She cleared her throat and braced herself to meet Oilstripe’s eyes. “Looks like I’m off, then. Take care of Rattlekit for me, I… I was hoping to mentor that little freak of nature.” She had to clear her throat again before her grief overtook her voice. “I’m sorry we didn’t spend much time together. Uh, if it helps, I remember those stories you told me, about StarClan watching over us. I’ll be doing that.”

“It’ll be like you never left,” Oilstripe said quietly. Applepelt hesitated, glancing between Oilstripe and Twinekit.

“On to the next adventure,” they said, unable to hide a crack in their voice. Twinekit trotted deeper into the forest. Applepelt closed their eyes and raced after Oilstripe’s long-dead sister. 

Oilstripe blinked, and they were gone.

(Oilstripe: 26, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Fennelspot: 79, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

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

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

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 20

The war between RippleClan and AshClan comes to a formal end, and everyone in RippleClan celebrates.

[Image ID: A crowd of RippleClan cats, including Oilstripe, gather to frame Downstar, who says “It’s over, everyone!”]

Oilstripe hated the wait. 

All of RippleClan lingered in their camp’s clearing, the light of a central fire throwing shadows onto the shipwreck. A soft snowfall danced overhead, fizzling out well before it reached the warm camp. Everyone’s minds seemed far from camp, however. Weedfoot paced around the exit while Puddlespeckle watched her with a tired, but oddly soft gaze. Burdockcreek and Clammask silently shared tongues with Rustshade. Oilstripe sat close to the fire with Carnationspeckle and Applepelt. There were no StarClan spirits in camp that night to distract her. All she had were two friends stuck in the same state of mind.

“This seems like a formality, don’t you think?” Applepelt sighed, front paws kneading the sand. “AshClan hasn’t done anything since last moon’s Gathering. I don’t know why everyone is so tense.”

“We don’t know what Autumnstar thinks of us now,” Carnationspeckle said as Oilstripe groomed her long brown fur. 

“I know exactly what he thinks,” Applepelt chirped. “He’s terrified to face me again!” She rolled onto her back and batted the air. 

“Terrified to face StarClan, maybe,” Oilstripe scoffed. “His whole argument fell apart the moment Downstar came back to life. He can’t chase out a Clan accepted by StarClan, it’s in the code.”

“So StarClan’s truly real, is it?” Applepelt sighed. She squirmed deeper into the sand while Oilstripe gave a half-hearted laugh.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Oilstripe said.

“Applepelt, scoot away from the fire, your whiskers will catch,” Carnationspeckle chuckled. 

“Make me,” Applepelt cooed. “It’s too quiet tonight. I’m gonna ramble for a while. Smack me if you wanna stop me.” She rolled back onto her belly. She ranted about WheatClan stories she picked up at the last Gathering, but Oilstripe tuned her out. She and Carnationspeckle groomed knots out of each other’s fur as the fire crackled and spat.

Soon enough, Downstar and Rabbitjoy both entered the camp. Weedfoot stopped pacing and joined them on their way to the Shiprock. Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe both kicked Applepelt, pausing her story mid-sentence. Applepelt seemed ready to whine, but spotted the returning leader and sat up. 

“All cats old enough to catch their own prey, gather below the Shiprock for a Clan meeting!” Downstar called before she even got to the rock. Halibutpaw had been sitting quietly outside the apprentice’s den but now called his littermates into the clearing. The small Clan huddled around the fire. Their eyes shone in the dim light like Silverpelt brought down. Rabbitjoy sat at the bottom of the Shiprock. Oilstripe put her paw over Applepelt’s and her tail over Carnationspeckle’s as she held her breath. Downstar could only keep her serious expression up for so long, though.

“It’s over, everyone!” Downstar yowled, tail high. “RippleClan and AshClan are at peace!” A great cheer tore through the clearing. Oilstripe’s muscles melted like her namesake. “AshClan will hereby acknowledge our position as a Clan ordained by StarClan. As the moons pass, we will establish the same relationships we have with the other Clans. AshClan will allow us to walk along the border to visit the other Clans.”

“Finally,” Halibutpaw scoffed. Graypaw batted his ear.

“Aww, you afraid of a fight?” Graypaw laughed. “You’re the warrior apprentice. You should be sad you can’t show AshClan what’s what anymore.”

“Maybe I don’t want another friend to die, Graypaw,” Halibutpaw snapped. Graypaw stepped back, blinking wildly.

“Alright, alright,” James cooed, stepping between the pair. “That’s quite enough. When I lived with humans, they always celebrated special moments with a good meal. I say we do the same!”

“I like that idea, James,” Downstar chirped. “Carnationspeckle, you’re the best swimmer we have. Would you take Graypaw to the coast and find some fish for the Clan?”

“The ocean’s freezing, Mom,” Graypaw whined. “Can’t I help at the oven?”

“You’ll be a caretaker soon, Graypaw,” Downstar sighed, shaking her head. “If I ask you to do something, you’ll need to do it. It won’t take long.” Graypaw muttered something, but didn’t put up anymore fight. 

“We have a bit of flaxseed oil from WheatClan!” Clammask said, jogging over to the portion of the shipwreck where the Clan stored jars and pots and baskets. “Let’s use that tonight!”

“Wonderful,” Downstar purred, hopping off the Shiprock. “We could use a feast. Enjoy yourselves tonight, everyone!” Weedfoot, Shadowpaw, Halibutpaw, and Rustshade surrounded Downstar. Carnationspeckle stretched and touched noses with both Oilstripe and Applepelt.

“I’ll catch a fish for us to share,” she promised. With a wave of her feathery tail, Carnationspeckle led Graypaw out of camp. 

“My humans used to catch fish, did I ever tell you that?” Applepelt chirped.

“A few times already, yes,” Oilstripe purred, her heart as warm as the fire.

“You should have seen the fish they would bring in,” Applepelt laughed, stretching her legs as far as they could go. “Some of them were this big! I’ve never seen others of them before, either. I think they got on a ship and caught them, but I don’t know how that works. I know James helps build rafts sometimes, but they couldn’t go far enough to catch these fish. I don’t know if I could call some of them fish…” 

Applepelt continued on, describing spider-like masses of flesh and fish with more teeth than she could count. As her words washed over Oilstripe, the ginger historian’s eyes drifted over the apprentice’s den. A cream-colored cat stood outside the den, shining as bright as the fire. Oilstripe nodded to her sibling and enjoyed her Clan’s victory.

(Oilstripe: 24, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Applepelt: 29, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Carnationspeckle: 22, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Downstar: 79, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Halibutpaw: 12, male, warrior apprentice, impulsive, quick witted, lover of stories)

(Graypaw: 12, female, caretaker apprentice, bloodthirsty, careful listener)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Clammask: 14, female, caretaker, righteous, lore keeper, good teacher)

Two apprentices graduate from their training without their brother. Shadowpaw was held back to catch up on missed training from whitecough.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Graythroat pose. Under Halibutdusk, it says LEVEL UP! HALIBUTPAW -> HALIBUTDUSK, IMPULSIVE -> GLOOMY, QUICK WITTED -> CLEVER, LOVER OF STORIES -> GREAT STORYTELLER. Under Graythroat, it says LEVEL UP! GRAYPAW -> GRAYTHROAT, BLOODTHIRSTY -> FIERCE, CAREFUL LISTENER -> VALUABLE INSIGHT.]

(Halibutdusk: 12, male, warrior, gloomy, clever, great storyteller)

(Graythroat: 12, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)

Graythroat attacks a fox without hesitation, but merely freaks it out.

[Image ID: Graythroat faces down a fox while Fennelspot and James watch in the corner. Under Fennelspot, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: GRAY & GRAY (OMEN).]

---

Fennelspot loved having a proper selection of caretakers to help him manage his gardens. It could be hard to properly tend to the selection of herbs he had begun cultivating in the southern half of the territory, but with caretakers, Fennelspot could focus on his medical and spiritual duties while they made sure the herbs grew well. Yes, it was the last moon of winter, and most of the growths wouldn’t begin showing up until the next moon, but it was the perfect time to plant some of his seeds. Besides, James and Graythroat hadn’t had much experience with the garden, so this was as good a time as any to introduce them.

“Humans have their farms and gardens,” Fennelspot explained as Graythroat and James walked behind him with baskets of thyme and sage seeds. “That taught us how to start our own fields and rise a step above herbal scavenging. There are a lot of plants we let grow wild, but some, like the sage and thyme seeds I’ve kept in storage all winter, grow well in gardens. I found the areas near the southern edge have better conditions for maintaining a garden.”

“Do you expect me to dig?” James scoffed, his words muddied by the basket in his mouth. “I don’t dig. I can barely tolerate the constant sand between my paws, I will not willingly coat myself in mud.”

“We’re caretakers, that’s our job,” Graythroat grunted.

“The mud’s not as bad as you think it is, James,” Fennelspot said, some of this enthusiasm seeping out. “It reminds me of SlugClan. It’s nice. At least I won’t ask you to help smoke out beehives. I don’t think you’d stay in RippleClan if you had to do that.” Fennelspot chuckled awkwardly as James tilted his head. The face Graythroat made told him all he needed to know on the subject.

The gardens were a section of an open field west of the RippleClan graveyard. At first glance, it seemed like any other field, but the grass was only half-grown and the remnants of plants that did not survive the winter sat in rows that would never have formed without an intelligent paw to guide them. A dusting of snow covered the gardens, but it wouldn’t stop the patrol.

Fennelspot was about to direct Graythroat to tear up the dead plants while he explained planting to James, but a gray shape on the other side of the gardens made him pause. It was a silver fox; its black fur was dusted white as though it had been caught in the snow. Brilliant orange eyes stared at Fennelspot. It stood in profile, watching the three cats, completely frozen.

“It’s likely passing through,” Fennelspot whispered as his companions noticed the fox. “We’ll wait for it to leave and come back later.”

“No,” Graythroat huffed, dropping her basket. “This is our territory. No fox is going to steal our prey.” Graythroat bolted past Fennelspot and James before either could respond. Graythroat hissed and screeched, catching the fox’s attention. The fox screamed at Graythroat, ears pulled back as far as they could go. Graythroat launched at the fox and dug her claws and fangs into its silver coat.

“Graythroat!” Fennelspot yowled. “It’s done nothing to us. Leave it alone!” StarClan, he wished there was someone in the Clan who could speak to foxes. James set his basket of sage seeds down and stood in front of Fennelspot, ready to defend the cleric.

Morning light bounced off Graythroat’s pelt. The sun illuminated the fox’s fur, blending the white flecks into its black undercoat. In that light, Graythroat’s pelt looked just like the foxes. Gray fur scrambled over gray fur in a shiny mixture of rage. A sudden sense of familiar clarity flooded Fennelspot’s mind as the fox scrambled out from Graythroat’s clutches and bolted toward the trees, barking madly. This was a sign. No, not a simple sign. An omen. StarClan may not talk to him like they talk to Oilstripe, but by the stars, he was good at his job and he knew an omen when he saw it.

What the omen meant, however, he could not say.

(Fennelspot: 77, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Graythroat: 12, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

James escorts the WheatClan deputy to camp.

[Image ID: James stands in the corner as Valleybrook, a golden tabby with Rustshade’s markings and lavender in his fur, speaks to Rustshade and Oilstripe. He says “I wish we were talking under better circumstances, Rust.”]

---

There were a lot of cats Oilstripe would have expected to walk into camp, but her uncle was not one of them.

Oilstripe and Rustshade were sharing one of their rarer moments of peace, quizzing Shadowpaw on the code so he could catch up to his littermates. They were halfway through the Code of Caretakers when James entered camp. Oilstripe would have paid him no mind if a slender golden tabby didn’t follow him in. The tom was so star-struck by the bulking shipwreck that he didn’t notice Weedfoot jogging his way.

“Valleybrook?” Weedfoot called. Rustshade snapped his head around. 

Valleybrook broke out of his trance and faced Weedfoot, saying with an awkward sigh, “I’m sorry. I’m very impressed by your camp. A shipwreck makes quite the statement.”

“I was enjoying my afternoon when he waved me over from the WheatClan border,” James huffed, scratching an itch behind his ear. “He asked to come to camp.”

“Downstar’s out on patrol right now,” Weedfoot said with a slight cock of her head. “What brings the WheatClan deputy to our camp?”

“It’s something of a favor,” Valleybrook admitted. His gaze shifted to Rustshade and he said, “I was hoping to speak with my brother.”

“Rustshade, you never told me you’re littermates with WheatClan’s deputy,” Shadowpaw said as Rustshade wandered over to Valleybrook, his tail stiff behind him.

“They haven’t talked much since we left WheatClan,” Oilstripe whispered. From what she remembered of the first half of her kithood, Valleybrook had been a loving uncle, encouraging Oilstripe to learn all about WheatClan’s crops. He was always the perfect image of grace at Gatherings, but his soft eyes rekindled Oilstripe’s old memories of him.

“Hello, Valley,” Rustshade sighed, gracefully sitting in front of his estranged kin.

“I wish we were talking under better circumstances, Rust,” Valleybrook sighed. He spotted Oilstripe watching and called to her. “Oilstripe, join us, please.” With a worried glance at Shadowpaw, Oilstripe joined her father and uncle. Weedfoot and James stepped away in a feeble effort to give the group privacy.

“What’s so wrong that we couldn’t talk about it during the Gathering?” Rustshade asked matter-of-factly. “You’d only have to wait a few days.”

“I didn’t want you to be blinded by the news,” Valleybrook sighed. He tucked his tail over his paws and took a deep breath. “Sunstrike came down with some sort of infection. I don’t fully understand what happened. She passed away yesterday.” 

Well that didn’t make sense. Oilstripe would have seen her. She spoke to Sunstrike at Gatherings, they were polite to each other, she knew she cared that Oilstripe was happy. She wouldn’t head to StarClan without visiting her kits. Should she even be thinking of her mother’s death in such simple terms? Should she feel more than she did? Rustshade seemed similarly stunned, at least. His unreadable expression gave no clues as to how he felt.

“I see,” Rustshade said. “Thank you for telling us before the Gathering.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Valleybrook said. “If you two want to share soup together at the Gathering, I think that would be nice.” Rustshade nodded softly. Valleybook gingerly reached a paw out and placed it on Rustshade’s head. Rustshade stayed still. “I’m sorry, Rustshade. I know things haven’t been wonderful between you and your old mate, but I understand what it’s like to lose someone you shared so much of your life with.” Valleybrook couldn’t have been more obvious about what he meant, but Oilstripe couldn’t tell if her father noticed. 

“Do you want me to escort you back to the border?” Rustshade asked.

“That would be nice,” Valleybrook sighed, moving his paw and standing. “I hope it’s alright if I visit your dirtplace first.”

“There’s a path looping around the shipwreck for you to follow,” Rustshade explained, nodding toward the dirtplace path. Valleybrook nodded and his gaze lingered on his brother as he crossed through camp.

“Oilstripe,” Rustshade muttered into Oilstripe’s ear. “Clammask and Burdockcreek will be back from Downstar’s hunting patrol before I get back. Will you tell them about Sunstrike?” Oilstripe nodded absentmindedly, then realized exactly what that would entail.

“You want me to…” Oilstripe gulped, locking eyes with Rustshade. Rustshade sighed and nodded.

“If they haven’t figured it out themselves,” Rustshade explained, “they deserve to know now. They should get a chance to mourn their mother.”

“I’ll tell them,” Oilstripe promised. She couldn’t predict how they would react, but her father was right. It was important for them to know where they came from.

Valleybrook returned soon after and walked with Rustshade out of camp. Oilstripe dismissed Weedfoot’s questions of concern and went off to a quiet corner of camp to think. Well, not really think; look. She scanned the camp and the trees beyond and the humming waves that brought the shipwreck to its home. 

Sunstrike was nowhere to be seen.

(Oilstripe: 24, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Weedfoot: 68, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Rustshade: 64, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Shadowpaw: 12, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)

Carnationspeckle finds an abandoned kit while on patrol with Weedfoot.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and Carnationspeckle face a silver kit with a white left ear and copper eyes. Under the kit, it says NEW PLAYER: RATTLEKIT, 3 MOONS, FEMALE, INSECURE, PLAYS WITH PREY. Weedfoot asks, “What happened to your fur, little one?”]

---

“I wish I could say I’m surprised that Graythroat attacked the fox, but I’m not,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “She’s always been more ready to fight than she should be.”

She and Weedfoot were at the gardens, carefully planting some heal all seeds Rabbitjoy traded with SlugClan. The ground kept freezing as night fell, but Fennelspot insisted the frost wouldn’t hurt the seeds. The frost still clung to the grass when Carnationspeckle and Weedfoot arrived. Carnationspeckle found the simple practice of spreading seeds to be a mindful activity, allowing her to connect with the world around her. Weedfoot kept shaking mud out of her paws, but at least she was willing to help.

“If she wanted to focus on fighting,” Weedfoot huffed, “she should have trained as a warrior. Her brothers learned to curb their battledrive, I don’t know why she hasn’t.”

“StarClan only knows,” Carnationspeckle said. She studied the edges of the garden and asked, “Do you suppose there is a way to protect the herbs from rabbits and those sorts of creatures?”

“We would need some sort of wall,” Weedfoot muttered, tilting her small basket of heal all seeds onto the ground. “I don’t know how we would keep other animals out but let ourselves in.” Carnationspeckle hummed softly and shoved dirt over the heal all seeds.

“Mom?” a high-pitched voice called. Weedfoot and Carnationspeckle’s ears shot up. The wild growth beyond the garden was quiet, but distant plants swayed as an unseen figure pushed past them.

“Hello?” Carnationspeckle called into the trees. A soft gasp reached her ears and the plants shifted while the figure hurried toward the garden. Weedfoot tensed up and took a cautious step toward the approaching form. 

A silver face peeked out from the half-alive plants beyond the garden. Dark orange eyes shone in the light of the early morning. Carnationspeckle held back a gasp as she realized the silver coloration was not fur like it should have been, but skin. The kit lacked a single hair anywhere on her face. Wrinkles settled over her body like fluff. Her left ear was shiny and white like a fin sticking out of the water. Her face soured at the sight of Carnationspeckle and Weedfoot.

“You’re not my mom,” she huffed. She stepped back into the trees.

“Wait!” Carnationspeckle yelped. “Come back!” The kit emerged once more, studying Carnationspeckle just as the brown molly studied her.

“What happened to your fur, little one?” Weedfoot asked softly, getting down to the kit’s level.

“I never had any,” the kit said, hesitating. “Who are you? Have you seen my mom?”

“I’m Weedfoot,” the deputy explained. “This is my friend, Carnationspeckle. What does your mother look like, little one?”

“Like me,” the kit explained. “Have you seen her?”

“I’m sorry, we haven’t,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “What’s your name?”

“Rattlesnake,” the kit muttered. As she stepped further into the garden, Rattlesnake shivered violently. Carnationspeckle hurried up to her. Rattlesnake yelped, but Carnationspeckle brought her close and pressed her into her long pelt.

“You’re freezing,” Carnationspeckle gasped. “Stay here, please. I can keep you warm.” Rattlesnake shivered so hard, she almost knocked Carnationspeckle over. The skin of her needle-like tail was red and blistered. 

“She’s no Clan kit,” Weedfoot sighed. She sat next to Carnationspeckle. “Rattlesnake, when did you last see your mother?”

“She woke me up and brought me to the forest,” Rattlesnake explained. She buried her bony face into Carnationspeckle’s fur. 

“So you’ve been out here all night?” Weedfoot mumbled.

“Weedfoot, she has frostbite,” Carnationspeckle said, draping a paw over Rattlesnake. “I can’t warm her up here.”

“Rattlesnake, can we bring you to our home?” Weedfoot asked. “We have some warm leather and a fire you can sit by.”

“Mom said not to go with anyone unless they were a Clan cat,” Rattlesnake gulped, eyeing Weedfoot.

“Then you’re in luck,” Carnationspeckle purred. “We’re from RippleClan.” Rattlesnake purred and rubbed her cold nose against Carnationspeckle.

“I’m going to run ahead and make sure the Clan’s ready for her,” Weedfoot explained. “Will you escort her to camp?”

“I won’t leave her side,” Carnationspeckle promised. The pair touched noses and Weedfoot took off, grabbing the seed basket and leaving deep pawprints behind her. Carnationspeckle reached for Rattlesnake’s scruff, but paused. Without fur, would Carnationspeckle’s teeth pierce her gentle skin? She decided against it.

“Rattlesnake,” Carnationspeckle whispered, “have you ever had a horse ride?”

“What’s that?” Rattlesnake asked, peeking out from Carnationspeckle’s fur. Carnationspeckle crouched down so her belly touched the ground.

“Climb onto my back and hold on tight,” Carnationspeckle chuckled. Rattlesnake hesitated for a while, one paw gently reaching toward Carnationspeckle. Eventually she scaled Carnationspeckle’s back. Carnationspeckle gently stood and adjusted her stance for Rattlesnake’s weight. 

“Here we go,” Carnationspeckle chirped. She waddled out of the garden as quick as she could as Rattlekit’s tiny claws poked into her skin.

It was a long walk back to camp, but at least the frost melted underneath Carnationspeckle and Rattlesnake didn’t shiver so intensely. When the shipwreck came into view, Fennelspot was waiting for her outside camp.

“Let me see the frostbite,” Fennelspot gulped as Carnationspeckle ran toward him. Fennelspot walked alongside Carnationspeckle and studied Rattlesnake. Downstar and James tended a fire in the center of camp while Rabbitjoy set out a few soft leather pelts beside it. Weedfoot waited anxiously by the fire.

“Set her down here,” she said when Carnationspeckle got close. Carnationspeckle laid on her belly so Rattlesnake could drop off. She purred as she curled up on the soft vole pelts. Fennelspot examined her tail and ran a paw over the blisters. The rest of RippleClan watched from the sidelines.

“It’s in its early stages,” Fennelspot explained. “I can treat this easily. Put a pelt over her. She needs warmth.”

“I didn’t know cats could be born without fur,” Downstar muttered as Fennelspot jogged to the medicine den. Rabbitjoy set a rabbit pelt over Rattlesnake, furry side up.

“I know a furless cat!” Parsley stepped out of the crowd. “When I lived in the barn, I heard stories of a furless molly the humans kept as a breeder.”

“What do you mean?” Carnationspeckle gasped.

“Humans sometimes keep a molly around so she can keep kitting litters,” Weedfoot explained with a sneer. “They don’t care how exhausting it is.”

“What an awful fate,” Carnationspeckle growled. “Why did her mother leave her out here? If she could leave, why wouldn’t she join her daughter?” Rattlesnake had fallen asleep by this point. Her whiskers twitched peacefully in her dreams. Fennelspot returned with a salve in a small jar and spread it over Rattlesnake’s tail.

“Maybe she couldn’t leave for long,” James suggested. “If humans like the cat living with them enough, they’ll look for them if they leave. You said her mother wanted her to go with Clan cats, didn’t you? Perhaps she thought her daughter would have a better life without her.” Carnationspeckle curled around Rattlesnake and groomed her wrinkly head.

“She will,” Carnationspeckle promised. She met Downstar’s eyes and said, “I’ll raise her. I can’t let her sleep in the nursery alone.”

“I’m not surprised,” Downstar purred.

“It’ll be hard to explain this to her,” Weedfoot sighed, sitting by Rattlesnake and Carnationspeckle. “She can’t be much older than three moons.”

“Do you think she’ll want a Clan name?” James hummed. 

“If she does,” Carnationspeckle purred, “we could call her Rattlekit. That’s what you did with my name.” Downstar and Weedfoot nodded as Carnationspeckle rested her head by her new daughter. Yes, that was what she would be. The decision was as clear to Carnationspeckle as a cloudless sky. The small furless molly would not go through life without a mother.

(Carnationspeckle: 22, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Weedfoot: 68, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Rattlekit: 3, female, kit, insecure, plays with prey)

(Fennelspot: 77, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 79, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

[rippleclan]

Hey, Carnationspeckle! Thoughts on Rattlepelt becoming a full caretaker? How do you feel about Mousepaw? Also, how would you describe your relationship with Oilstripe and do you have any best friends besides her?

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle says, "StarClan, you ask a lot of questions! I’m very proud of Rattlepelt. She’s an excellent artisan. She loves crafting, and Rabbitjoy helped her leave her shell. She’s made some good friends, like Wildclaw and Oilstripe. I’m glad she isn’t lonely.

"Mousepaw confuses me. I was desperate for a family at her age, but she gets mad when Rattlepelt gets too close. She’s taken well to Clan life, but doesn’t trust many cats. I hope she can learn to lower her guard.

"As for Oilstripe... I know Rattlepelt wants us to be together. I think we would be a good pair. But since Oil told the Clan about her power, she’s had so much to do. I don’t want to overwhelm her. I think she would prefer we stay friends, anyway."]

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 23

Rattlepaw touches noses with Rabbitjoy, wondering if being an artisan is the right path for her.

[Image ID: Rattlepaw faces Rabbitjoy, who says, “You’ll be great, Rattlepaw.” Under Rattlepaw, it says LEVEL UP! RATTLEKIT -> RATTLEPAW.]

There was a lot Rattlekit didn’t want to get wrong. She didn’t want to make Carnationspeckle mad (because what if all the selfless reasons Parsley suggested weren’t true and her mom didn’t want her for something she did). She didn’t want to scare visitors to the camp when they saw her (because for some reason she couldn’t understand, not having fur seemed like a tragedy to others). She didn’t want to look dumb in front of the cats who took the time to talk to her, like Graythroat and Fennelspot and James (because she heard Downstar and Weedfoot question if she was too fragile to fight and if she couldn’t use her claws her mind had to be sharp). 

Most of all, she really wanted to choose the right path at her apprentice ceremony, because what if she got half-way through her training and found she hated everything RippleClan asked of her?

“You can change your path at any point,” Carnationspeckle promised her as her soft tail dusted sand off Rattlekit’s skin. “I heard Puddlespeckle was about to graduate as a caretaker when he decided to be a warrior instead. He turned out fine.” But he had fur. He had no expectations that he couldn’t do anything he wanted. Rattlekit ducked her head as Carnationspeckle finished grooming her.

No one had told Rattlekit she couldn’t train to fight. In fact, Rabbitjoy and Scrubmask had each told her not to let her odd appearance stop her from doing something she enjoyed. But how was she supposed to believe that when Oilstripe and Burdockcreek had no stories of a furless cat in the Clans? How was she to know that enemy claws wouldn’t slice through her with more ease, or that the summer sun wouldn’t cook her brain? How could she know anything?

“I promise, Rattlekit,” Carnationspeckle cooed, tucking her tail under Rattlekit’s chin, “you’ll be alright. I’m with you, every step of the way.”

“All cats old enough to catch their own prey, gather below the Shiprock for a Clan meeting!” Downstar’s voice rang into the nursery. Rattlekit held her breath. Her paw slipped into the dawn light, but Carnationspeckle’s tail tapped her flank.

“Before we join the Clan,” she said softly, “I have something to ask of you.” Before, Carnationspeckle had to crouch a bit to meet Rattlekit’s eyes, but now Rattlekit was the same height as her short adopted mother and could easily stare into her currently nervous eyes. “I know I wasn’t here for the first half of your kithood, but when it comes to the second… did I make it happy?”

“Of course,” Rattlekit said. It wasn’t even a question in her mind, but from the way Carnationspeckle’s whole body fluttered at the quick response, she knew there was more behind the question than she could see.

“Alright, let’s go,” Carnationspeckle purred, pressing her nose against Rattlekit’s chin. She walked alongside Rattlekit, protecting her from the expectant stares of RippleClan. She led Rattlekit to the front of the crowd and, with one last lick to Rattlekit’s head, she stepped back. 

“It’s always a good day in RippleClan when a kit reaches the age of six moons,” Downstar purred. “I’ll admit, we had to guess your age somewhat, Rattlekit, so we could be a day or two off. I think StarClan will forgive us, however. Rattlekit, have you decided where your paws are taking you?” Rattlekit lost her voice for a moment. She coughed and shivered as a dozen eyes traced her spine.

“An artisan,” Rattlekit croaked. “I want to be an artisan.” She could have sworn Carnationspeckle told Downstar that earlier. Maybe they wanted her to say it aloud? Were they worried the Clan would think it was forced upon her if Downstar spoke up?

Downstar nodded and said, “Rattlekit, you’ve reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day on, until you receive your caretaker name, you will be known as Rattlepaw. Being as we only have the one artisan…” Rabbitjoy stepped up before Downstar finished speaking. “Rabbitjoy, may your courage and strength infect Rattlepaw with all she needs to be a great artisan.” Rabbitjoy touched Rattlepaw’s nose with the sort of excitement that was more expected of an apprentice. Rattlepaw tried to breathe as she returned the gesture. RippleClan cheered her new name, but she couldn’t hear it over the sound of her own heart.

“You’ll be great, Rattlepaw,” Rabbitjoy promised. Rattlepaw nodded softly.

She really hoped that was true.

(Rattlepaw: 6, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, plays with prey)

(Carnationspeckle: 25, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Downstar: 82, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Rabbitjoy: 60, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

Halibutdusk is glad to have a brother like Shadowdrop. While on patrol, they run into an odd kittypet.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Shadowdrop stand to the side. A long furred, black sokoke tabby tom with blue eyes sits in the corner. Under him, it reads NEW PLAYER: FROGGY, 92, MALE, REBELLIOUS, MAINTAINS THE TERRITORY, GREAT SPEAKER.]

---

“I was so close to getting on the horse’s back,” Shadowdrop insisted as he and Halibutdusk walked through the territory in the cozy glow of afternoon in the depths of spring. “Those creatures spook so easily.”

“Why would you want to?” Halibutdusk laughed, shaking his head.

“It would be fun!” Shadowdrop said. “You say that like you wouldn’t have joined me.”

“When we were apprentices, maybe,” Halibutdusk admitted. 

“One of these days, I’ll convince you to join Graythroat and I on an adventure again,” Shadowdrop sighed, looping to the other side of Halibutdusk.

“I’ll be happy if you stay alive,” Halibutdusk scoffed. He intended the line to be more serious than it sounded, as he sneezed right at the end and earned an eye-roll from his brother. Shadowdrop jogged ahead as Halibutdusk rubbed his nose. As his nose cleared, he caught an odd scent on the wind. Halibutdusk looked left just in time to see a black tabby pelt move through the thick spring growth.

“Duskkit?” he gasped despite himself.

“Huh?” the cat in the shadows muttered. Deep blue eyes met Halibutdusk’s. Shadowdrop hurried to his brother’s side as a long-furred tom stepped into view.

“Who are you?” Shadowdrop asked, ears pinned.

“Don’t mind me,” the stranger chuckled. “I’m not staying long. Just needed to clear my head for a minute.”

“Clear your…” Halibutdusk muttered. “Do you know where you are?”

“The forest,” the tom said casually.

“That’s not what I meant,” Halibutdusk groaned with a thrash of his tail. “This is Clan land. We don’t allow outsiders free reign on our territory.”

“Now I’m just here with my humans,” the stranger sighed, flicking his tail behind him. “They like to set up camp around here and kill deer. The female stays at camp all day and likes to bring me with for company. Only so long I can watch her play with string, though. A tom needs to wander, as I’m sure you know.”

“You can’t wander here,” Shadowdrop sighed. “You could scare off prey we need to feed our Clan.”

“I’ll leave,” the tom laughed, “but I’ll just come back again. It’s an endless cycle. I won’t be hunting, so you might as well just relax and spare a moment. You can call me Froggy. What can I call you?” Froggy sat and groomed his paw.

“I’m Shadowdrop,” Shadowdrop explained, “and this is my brother Halibutdusk.”

“Huh,” Froggy hummed. “I heard of a Halibutkit once.”

“I used to go by that name when I was young,” Halibutdusk muttered. He inched closer to the odd kittypet. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Oh, ages ago,” Froggy scoffed. “My humans were all busy preparing a deer carcass so I stepped out for a while. I found a small black kit caught in a bush of all things! I helped her out and calmed her down. We talked for a little bit until she remembered the way home.”

“That was my sister…” Halibutdusk muttered. The small, lively kit that still lived inside him ached as he thought of Duskkit and all she could have done. As the moons went on, Halibutdusk was more and more certain that she had been the best of them.

“You look a lot like her…” Shadowdrop huffed. He walked around Froggy, who squirmed under his intense gaze. Shadowdrop sneered and asked, “You don’t know a gray and pale ginger tortoiseshell, do you?”

“I met one moons back,” Froggy admitted with an awkward laugh, “but that’s not a story for polite company.”

“Oh, StarClan,” Shadowdrop groaned, rejoining his brother. “Halibutdusk, I think this is our sire.” Halibutdusk stared at Froggy, whose eyes bounced between the two toms. He really did look just like Duskkit…

“Well,” Froggy laughed, “I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting kits that I sired before! To think I met my daughter and never realized! I’ll have to meet her again before my humans head home.”

“You can’t,” Halibutdusk gulped. “She died not long after you met her.” Froggy’s clean, fluffy fur deflated.

“Oh,” Froggy sighed. “Poor kit. She seemed like a bright one. You had another sister, didn’t you?”

“Graythroat,” Halibutdusk groaned, “but she… might not react well to you. She gets a little defensive when strangers enter our territory.”

“Speaking of which,” Shadowdrop huffed, “while it was nice to meet you, we do need to escort you out. Those are the rules of our Clan.”

“So be it,” Froggy sighed with a dismissive flick of his whiskers. “I’ll be seeing more of you, though. I’ll pop by when I can. Maybe you can convince that sister of yours to see me.” 

Shadowdrop said something about Graythroat and escorting Froggy to the border, but Halibutdusk couldn’t stop staring at Froggy’s fur. All he could think was that Duskkit’s fur might have grown to look like that had she lived.

(Shadowdrop: 15, male, codekeeper, sneaky, eloquent speaker, good teacher)

(Halibutdusk: 15, male, warrior, gloomy, great storyteller, clever)

(Froggy: 92, male, kittypet, rebellious, maintains the territory, great speaker)

Downstar heard an ugly rumor about Weedfoot.

[Image ID: Puddlespeckle and Weedfoot chat in the distance. Fennelspot and Downstar sit together.]

---

When Downstar woke up that day, Rabbitjoy entered her den and essentially said “Rattlepaw is cooking today and no one is going to say anything bad about it,” albeit in more polite terms. Downstar had no qualms with it, of course; she had done a similar thing while training Carnationspeckle and Clammask. But neither molly had looked utterly terrified beside a smoker, placing each fish on a row like at any moment the entire structure would burst into flames. As such, it took a while for everyone in the Clan to get their fair share of food.

When it was Downstar’s turn to try Rattlepaw’s cooking, she grabbed two smoked fish and took them to Fennelspot, who watched Rattlepaw like a mother watches a kit at play. Downstar balanced the fish between her shoulders, for they were so tender that if she held them in her mouth, they would surely fall into the sand. She crouched in front of Fennelspot so he would notice the fish. He snapped out of it and took a fish off Downstar’s back. Downstar settled next to him with her own fish laying across her paws.

“If she keeps flinching like that, she’ll burn herself,” Fennelspot sighed.

“She just needs practice,” Downstar muttered, biting into the fish. Rattlepaw may have cooked them a bit too long, but it was still good.

“I thought you were going to eat with Weedfoot today,” Fennelspot noted. The gray deputy ate with her father, who wasn’t snapping at her to get away for once. “Didn’t you want to discuss trade with AshClan over a meal?” Downstar took a big bite of overcooked fish to avoid answering. Fennelspot kept staring at her until she had to swallow or choke.

“I wanted to eat in peace,” Downstar muttered. “She’s the deputy. She can figure out the trade agreements without me. She has Rabbitjoy to help.”

“But you’ve worked through these issues together since we founded RippleClan,” Fennelspot huffed.

“Apparently Weedfoot thinks she can do a better job than me as leader anyway,” Downstar grumbled, her skin itching under the stare of the sun and her cleric. She heard her, she was certain of it. She and Oilstripe had been talking just outside her den. They wondered if AshClan could have been handled better if Paleshade was in charge, if Weedfoot was in charge. They agreed that Downstar would be leader. They trusted her judgment, didn’t they? Why would they doubt her? She handled AshClan as best she could. 

“That’s not true,” Fennelspot said.

“Fennelspot, I didn’t sit with you to debate,” Downstar snapped. “Can we eat, please?” Fennelspot jumped at Downstar’s sharp words. Downstar turned back to her fish. 

Why in StarClan was she snapping at Fennelspot? He was trying to help. The fish flopped in Downstar’s belly as Fennelspot scooted back. Maybe she needed some space. So much had happened since the Clan came to be… maybe she needed to reevaluate some things. She didn’t know. All she knew was that she couldn’t stomach another bite of her smoky fish.

(Downstar: 82, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Rabbitjoy: 60, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Rattlepaw: 6, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, plays with prey)

(Fennelspot: 80, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Weedfoot: 72, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Puddlespeckle: 149, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

[rippleclan]

Carnationoil ft. Rattlepelt

(drawn on ms paint)

Yeah go Rattlepelt!

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 24

Downstar fights a big dog and loses a life.

[Image ID: Downstar faces Duskkit, who says, “It’s okay for things to be okay.” Under Downstar, it says LIVES LEFT: 7.]

Downstar barely remembered what happened when she woke up on that eerily familiar beach. It all happened so fast. She’d been out with Rabbitjoy and Rattlepaw. All she remembered was a yowl to run and a set of vicious teeth. What attacked her? A dog? A darkhound, a Spirit of Shadow risen from the depths of the Dark Forest?

She stumbled up, groggy and blinded by the shine of the sun on the ethereal sea before her. She was alone on that strange beach. Wasn’t someone supposed to greet her when she arrived? The saltwater splashed on her paws, but she found no joy in it that day. Downstar stepped away from the water. That dog, that thing, it could still be chasing Rattlepaw and Rabbitjoy. Downstar told them to climb a tree, did they listen? StarClan, what a way to celebrate RippleClan’s anniversary.

“Sorry!” an achingly young voice called. “Sorry, Mom! I swear I wasn’t trying to be late!” Downstar couldn’t breathe as Duskkit launched through the trees behind her. Downstar wanted to wail when she saw the plump juniper berries tucked into Duskkit’s fur. 

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” Downstar gasped as Duskkit launched off the grass and into her mother’s embrace. Her pelt glimmered and cast a purplish light over Downstar’s pale ginger patches. She was so warm. Downstar groomed Duskkit’s head and memorized every detail of her dark little face. 

“Don’t be,” Duskkit insisted. 

“How long can I stay here?” Downstar whispered, pulling her tail around her lost child.

“Rabbitjoy and Rattlepaw need to know you’re okay,” Duskkit sighed, her shiny eyes locking onto her mother’s gaze. “There’s something really important I need to tell you before you wake up, though.”

“What is it, kitten?” Downstar gulped. She tried to keep her voice steady as her heart pounded.

“It’s okay for things to be okay,” Duskkit said. 

“Well of course it is,” Downstar said, nuzzling her daughter. “That’s all I want.”

“I mean it, though,” Duskkit whined. She pulled away, taking a part of Downstar’s soul with her. “Life is allowed to be good. Please remember that.”

“Duskkit…” Downstar sighed. She reached for her sparkling daughter, but the shores of StarClan vanished around her in an instant.

(Downstar: 82, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

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

Rattlepaw gives some advice to Carnationspeckle.

[Image ID: Rattlepaw faces Carnationspeckle, saying, “You might be good together.”]

---

If Rattlepaw was honest, she was quite rattled by the dog attack. She just wanted to swim in the Great Northern River while everyone else celebrated at the beach. She hadn’t even seen the dog before Downstar yowled at her and Rabbitjoy to climb the nearest tree. She didn’t want Downstar to die for her. She was sure she would always remember the way the giant hound grabbed Downstar’s scruff and shook her until she went limp. The only way Rabbitjoy could get her to leave the tree was when Downstar miraculously got up and Carnationspeckle coaxed her down.

Now, a few days later, Rattlepaw hadn’t left camp much. There was a lot for a young artisan to do in camp, she told herself, and she had a lot to learn. While she learned some stories and songs from Rabbitjoy, she spent most of her time working with leather. If she had to wear leather pelts over her back to protect her skin, she might as well know how Rabbitjoy made them. The more she got to toy with the tanning rack and Rabbitjoy’s twine, the more intrigued she got. It was a good distraction from… what had happened.

Rabbitjoy’s latest lesson involved cleaning prey of its meat before Rattlepaw could start tanning the pelt. Rattlepaw was hard at work with the sun streaking through the western trees when Oilstripe, Weedfoot, and Burdockcreek entered camp, laughing.

“Imagine them getting to camp, just—” Oilstripe laughed. She bulged her eyes and waddled forward, throwing Weedfoot and Burdockcreek into more hysterics. 

“Hi, Oilstripe,” Rattlepaw called as she dumped the guts of a mouse into a pot for future meals. “You’ve been gone all day. What took you so long?”

“Well—” Oilstripe began, but she lost herself to laughter once more, keeling over. “Weedy, Weedy you tell her, I can’t—” Oilstripe wheezed dramatically and rolled onto her back, laughing.

“Oh, I don’t know if Rattlepaw will find it as funny as we do,” Weedfoot giggled. Carnationspeckle and James were strengthening the gaps between the rocks, making sure no snakes or dangerous creatures could slip inside, when the trio returned. They both stopped what they were doing and walked over.

“Share it anyway,” Carnationspecke chirped. 

“Okay okay okay,” Oilstripe gasped, sucking in a huge breath. “We went to that meeting of historians at the Leader’s Stone, the one we talked about at the last Gathering. LynxClan is doing some interesting things with bees, their caretakers and historians are working together to encourage bees to build hives where they want so they can harvest more honey and wax. Mistlestar sent Dandeliondapple and Raggedstep, these two historians, out to study bees and— ha! They, they made them so mad! They dove into this pool on their territory and, and they tried waiting for the bees to leave, but, but they just stayed! They were hovering over the water, just waiting for them!” Oilstripe collapsed back into laughter.

“When they got back to camp, they were both swollen with stings,” Burdockcreek laughed. “These two keep bringing it up and going mad all over again.”

“It’s funny!” Weedfoot laughed as Oilstripe kicked her legs and coughed on her laughter. James and Rattlepaw both stared at the historians like they sprouted gills. Suddenly, to Rattlepaw’s surprise, Carnationspeckle giggled. She drew her paw over her muzzle, trying to hide her humor.

“Alright, that is a little funny,” she admitted. 

“Right?” Oilstripe laughed, beaming as she rolled back to her paws. “It was a great meeting. We learned so much!”

“Let’s debrief Downstar before we share anymore stories,” Weedfoot chuckled, nudging Oilstripe. Oilstripe finally controlled her giggles. She waved goodbye to Carnationspeckle as she, Weedfoot, and Burdockcreek made their way to Downstar’s den. 

“What a strange sense of humor,” James hummed, shaking his head. He returned to his den building, but Carnationspeckle lingered.

“You might be good together,” Rattlepaw found herself saying before she could stop herself.

“What do you mean?” Carnationspeckle asked, turning to Rattlepaw and cocking her head. No no no, this is not the conversation Rattlepaw wanted to have!

“It was just a random thought,” Rattlepaw laughed awkwardly, “but, you know, you and Oilstripe go well together. You, uh… you get each other.”

“We grew up together,” Carnationspeckle reminded her. “We were the first kits in the Clan. We have a special bond. We’re great together.” Oh thank StarClan she didn’t realize what she meant. “Let me know when you’re all done cleaning that prey, and I can help prepare the meat. Our historians must be hungry.” 

Carnationspeckle touched noses with Rattlepaw and rejoined James. However, as Rattlepaw stared at her half-finished work, a thought came to her mind. Carnationspeckle had done so much for her. She cared for her so deeply, had Rattlepaw arrived to RippleClan at a younger age, she would have thought her to be her birth mother. She helped her be brave, even when she felt as small as a clam. She deserved something in return.

Rattlepaw was going to find her mother a mate.

(Rattlepaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, plays with prey)

(Oilstripe: 28, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Weedfoot: 73, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Carnationspeckle: 26, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(James: 100, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Burdockcreek: 18, male, historian, competitive, learner of lore)

[rippleclan]

(Various profile body shots of Carnationspeckle)

(Carnationspeckle, headshot view)

It's getting late (Re: It is almost midnight) but what do you think?

Bonus:

Tumblr's fun ( ˊωˋ )

Oh she’s BEAUTIFUL!! That mane works so well for her!!