He’d gotten to hunt a few times. Earlier that morning he’d even managed to catch a gull.
It wasn’t much, but Briarpaw had thanked him when he’d dropped it beside the oven. She’d offered to save him the feathers afterward.
He’d walked away before answering.
Combat training remained slow.
Shadowdive spent most sessions drilling stances, breathing exercises, and stretches meant to “control his emotions.”
Pantherpaw suspected his mentor simply didn’t feel like trying.
At least sometimes Shadowdive let him spar with Sunfrost. The massive warrior was one of the only cats in camp large enough to face him fairly.
During the day Pantherpaw kept his head down.
He hunted.
He trained.
He tried very hard not to notice all the things Leopardpaw got to do that he didn’t.
When jealousy surfaced, he counted breaths.
When anger surfaced, he swallowed it.
When neither worked, he left.
At night he slipped from the apprentice den.
If Briarpaw noticed, she never said anything.
Not that he gave her much opportunity.
The burning glare he shot her whenever she stirred usually convinced her to roll over and mind her own business.
So most every night Pantherpaw climbed to the rocky ledges overlooking the dens, just barely able to squeeze between the ledge and the thorn bush lining the camp.
The stone still held the day’s warmth long after sunset.
Out there he could breathe.
The ocean stretched endlessly before him, waves rolling against the shore in a steady rhythm that drowned out the noise inside his head.
The buzzing never truly left.
It lived beneath his skin.
In his paws.
In his teeth.
A restless energy that never stopped moving.
His claws scraped against the rock.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Grinding against the rough stone helped sometimes.
Other times— like tonight— he bit himself.
Not enough to break skin.
Just enough.
Enough to feel the pressure in his jaw.
Enough to feel something sharp and grounding.
That hunting feeling.
That bloody feeling.
The feeling of sinking teeth into prey and knowing exactly what to do.
It soothed him.
The same way nursing beside Nighthowl once had.
A heavy sigh escaped him as the tension slowly drained from his shoulders.
“What’re you doing?”
Pantherpaw nearly jumped out of his pelt.
His teeth clamped down too hard.
Pain shot through his forearm.
Below him, a pair of wide golden eyes stared upward.
Moonkit tilted her head.
“Why’re you sleeping on the rocks?”
Pantherpaw blinked.
“I…”
His brain supplied absolutely nothing.
“Don’t you have a nest?”
Still nothing.
Moonkit’s expression brightened.
“I can help you make one,” she offered. “Mommy taught me how.”
Pantherpaw stared.
“What are you doing awake?”
Moonkit immediately looked guilty.
Her paws shuffled in the sand.
“I wanted to see the stars.”
“You should be asleep.” He grumbled.
Her eyes shot back to his incredulously. “But you’re awake, too.”
The protest came loud enough that Pantherpaw instantly flattened his ears.
“Shhh!”
Moonkit jumped.
He dropped from the ledge beside her, heat shooting up his bitten forearm.
“Keep your voice down,” He hissed. “We’ll get caught.”
“Okay.”
The agreement came immediately.
Moonkit purred and stepped forward, attempting to rub against his leg.
Pantherpaw flinched backward before he could stop himself.
Moonkit froze.
The buzzing returned briefly beneath his skin.
“I don’t…” He glanced away. “Just don’t rub on me.”
Moonkit blinked.
“I don’t always like it.”
“Okay!” She said brightly.
Pantherpaw frowned, skeptical. “That’s it?”
She tilted her head.
“Daddy says lots of cats don’t like cuddling.”
“Oh.”
“Sometimes I forget.”
She sat neatly several tail lengths away.
“So we practice being friends with words instead.”
Pantherpaw stared at her.
Then huffed.
“Whatever.”
His hackles had completely flattened now.
“You still need to go to sleep.”
“Can I stay a little longer?”
Moonkit looked up hopefully.
Pantherpaw immediately regretted looking back.
Nobody looked at him like that.
Not without worry attached.
Not without pity.
Not without fear.
Just hopeful.
Waiting.
Certain he’d say yes.
“…Fine.”
Her entire face lit up.
“But be quiet.”
She squealed. “I can do that!”
“You literally just shouted it.” He said through gritted teeth.
Moonkit slapped both paws over her mouth.
Pantherpaw groaned.
Still, she stayed.
The two sat together beneath the stars.
Watching the Silver Pelt stalk across the sky.
Listening to the waves.
Listening to the wind.
At some point Pantherpaw realized the buzzing was gone.
Not quieter.
Gone.
A soft weight settled against his side.
He glanced down.
Moonkit had fallen asleep curling into him.
Tiny snores puffed against his fur.
His muscles twitched automatically.
Waiting for irritation.
For discomfort.
For the need to move.
None came.
So Pantherpaw stayed perfectly still.
For once.
As dawn painted the horizon pink, he finally nudged Moonkit awake.
She was so exhausted she could barely stand.
By the time he escorted her back toward the nursery, she was stumbling with every step.
At the entrance he gave her a gentle nudge forward.
Moonkit mumbled something unintelligible and vanished inside.
Pantherpaw watched until she disappeared.
Blue eyes watched back.
Hee returned to the apprentice den.
The buzzing returned almost immediately.
Not as bad as before.
But enough.
Curled into his nest, tail flicking restlessly against the moss, Pantherpaw stared at the ceiling.
Exhausted.
Wide awake.
Familiar feathers now lining the nest.
Greenleaf sunlight spilled across SaltClan’s camp, bright enough to turn the sand a pale gold. The day had barely begun, yet camp was already awake. Briarpaw sat near the ovens stoking the fire, Lynxdawn sorted herbs beneath the shade of her den, and the kits chased each other around the driftwood log.
Shadowdive was sprawled beside them.
Jaggedkit climbed onto his back while moonkit batted at his tail. He endured it with the long-suffering patience of a cat who’d already lost this battle moons ago.
“You’re supposed to be a terrifying warrior.”
Wolfstar’s voice came from behind him.
Shadowdive glanced over one shoulder with a wiley grin. “I am.”
The kit currently standing on his head squealed triumphantly.
Wolfstar sat beside him, amusement flickering briefly across her face before fading.
The silence that followed made Shadowdive’s ears twitch.
Something was wrong.
“What?” He asked, letting the kits slide off him.
Wolfstar stared across camp.
“I spoke to Pantherpaw this morning.” She began.
There it was.
Shadowdive carefully lowered his head so the kit could slide off.
“Oh.”
“That’s all you’ve got?” She asked, dissatisfied.
He looked away, staring at the waves. “What did he tell you?”
Wolfstar’s tail lashed once.
“That he hasn’t trained in combat for nearly half a moon.”
Shadowdive winced. “He has.”
“Shadowdive.” She hissed, voice low.
“Not every day.”
Wolfstar fixed him with a stare.
Not angry.
Disappointed.
Somehow worse.
“You took him out to the borders twice last moon.” She prodded his side.
“I know.”
“Twice.”
“I know.”
The kits had apparently decided this conversation was boring and wandered off. Only morningkit staying to watch her parents speak in low tones.
Shadowdive watched them go before sighing.
“I’m trying.”
Wolfstar frowned.
“Trying?” She huffed.
“I am.”
His voice remained calm.
Not defensive.
Just tired.
He shook his head. “You think I don’t know how bad it looks?”
“Then why is it happening?”
Shadowdive gestured toward the kits.
“Because somebody has to be here.” He muttered.
“That’s not fair,” Her ears pinned back. “You chose to be here and you requested pantherpaw.”
He rolled to face her, large paws covering her as he looked up imploringly. “That’s not what I meant, it’s just….”
Shadowdive looked over his shoulder.
Wolfstar followed his gaze.
Their two youngest were now attempting to convince Briarpaw to let them help gut fish. The apprentice looked seconds away from surrendering, mercifully Mallowstripe sent them back to the driftwood.
Shadowdive continued. “You lead the clan.”
Wolfstar opened her mouth.
He cut her off. “No. Listen.”
The bluntness earned him a scoff, but he pressed on anyway.
“You lead patrols. You handle disputes. You attend every gathering. Half the clan comes to you whenever they have a problem.”
Wolfstar didn’t argue.
Because it was true.
“And Mallowstripe practically runs half this camp, without him we’d be in trouble.” Shadowdive nodded toward the prey pile. “He cooks. He preserves prey. He manages stores. He trains Briarpaw. If either of you spent all day kitsitting, the clan would suffer.”
His gaze softened.
“So I do it.”
Wolfstar’s ears lowered slightly.
“Shadow—”
“No.” For once, he sounded frustrated.
Not angry.
Just exhausted.
“I want to be there.”
Wolfstar purred.
Shadowdive rarely admitted things so directly, but when he did it made her heart leap.
“I know Pantherpaw deserves better.”
The words came slowly.
“I know I’ve been failing him.”
He looked toward the apprentices’ den.
“But these kits need me, I don’t want to pawn them off on a nurse or clanmate all day.”
A pause.
“They only get one kithood.”
Wolfstar looked away.
The sounds of camp filled the silence.
Gulls overhead.
Waves crashing beyond the rocks.
One of their kits laughing.
Shadowdive’s voice grew quieter. “When I was young, my parents were always somewhere else.”
Wolfstar’s tail twitched.
Shadowdive almost never spoke about his kithood, his life before Saltclan.
“Snowspeckle is closer to my dad than I ever was.” He looked down again. “I told myself if I ever had kits—“
He stopped.
Then shrugged.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
Wolfstar’s expression softened.
“I know you’re trying.”
Shadowdive exhaled.
“Good.”
“But Pantherpaw still needs a mentor.” She finished.
His shoulders immediately tensed again.
There it was.
The real problem.
Wolfstar stood.
“I’ll take him.”
Shadowdive stared.
“No.”
Wolfstar blinked.
“No?”
She looked offended enough that Shadowdive almost regretted saying it.
Almost.
“Why?” She asked.
He hesitated.
Because saying the real reason sounded ridiculous.
Because it sounded petty.
Because it probably was.
“Nighthowl.”
Wolfstar groaned, eyes rolling. “Oh, stars, we’ve been over this.”
“Well she hasn’t gotten the message.” He growled, tail lashing. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“I do not.” She pressed a paw to his side with a giggle. “You’re being ridiculous, she’s laid off since returning to warriors duty. It was just a crush.”
“You know she’s not over you.”
Wolfstar sat back down, giving him a firm look, still smiling. “Shadowdive.”
“Nighthowl already worships the ground you walk on.”
Wolfstar opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Because that wasn’t too far fetched.
“We’ve already discussed this.” Shadowdive continued. “If Pantherpaw starts training under you, she’s going to think it’s validation.”
Wolfstar rubbed a paw across her face. “I know but that’s not a good enough reason to stall his training.”
“There’s gotta be another option.”
Wolfstar sighed.
“Fine, let’s go over those options.”
She sat quietly for a moment.
Then began listing names.
“Sandswipe is not ready, maybe in a season, but not today.”
Shadowdive nodded reluctantly.
“Ottersplash already has an apprentice, and you agree that those paws should be kept separate.”
“Agreed.”
“Snowspeckle’s an artisan and has already asked to not mentor any warriors.”
“Yes.”
“Nighthowl can’t train him.”
Shadowdive flicked an ear.
“Because?”
“Because Pantherpaw needs a hunter and fighter, and that’s not her.”
He couldn’t help the pleasant thrum of his heart at her words.
“Thistle’s a caretaker.”
“Yes.”
“And Rippleclaw is still missing.”
Silence.
That one stung.
Neither spoke for several heartbeats.
Finally Shadowdive sighed.
The fight drained out of him.
Because he knew she was right.
There wasn’t anyone else.
Wolfstar rose to her paws.
“I’ll make it official.”
Shadowdive watched her.
“You’ve already decided?” He asked wryly.
“I decided before I walked over here.” A faint smile tugged at one side of her muzzle. “I just wanted to know why.”
Shadowdive smiled back sadly.
“I’m sorry,” He said, paw resting on hers again. “I know this wasn’t easy for you.”
She brushed her tail briefly against his cheek as she passed, giving his ear a loving lick.
A small gesture.
A thank you.
Then she leapt onto the Pale Trunk overlooking camp.
The chatter below immediately quieted.
Cats looked up.
Wolfstar lifted her head.
“SaltClan!”
Conversations stopped entirely.
Warriors emerged from dens.
Apprentices abandoned their chores.
“Let all cats old enough to swim in the tide pools gather for a clan meeting.”
The sun bore down heavily on Ottersplash’s pelt as he led the patrol east, heat pressing through the canopy in thick, wavering shafts. The forest had gone strangely quiet beneath Greenleaf’s weight. Even the insects seemed sluggish.
Leopardpaw stalked at his left flank with obvious displeasure, amber eyes cutting sideways toward Sandswipe, who paced easily at his right.
Her tail lashed.
His eyes narrowed.
“Don’t-“
But she spoke faster.
“I should be on his right, I’m his apprentice.” She said haughtily.
“Leopardpaw.” He hissed, shooting her a sharp look.
“I’m just sayin-“
“Not every patrol uses that formation.” Sandswipe shot back just as fiercely. “Plus you’d still end up on the left as an apprentice.”
“Sandswipe don’t encourage this debate.” He sighed, hackles rising.
“But I’m HIS apprentice, that means in this specific patrol I should be right flank.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“If you it’s not a big deal, then let me be right flank.”
“Well now I’m not gonna since you’re being a flea about this.”
He loud out a low pitched hiss, tail lashing as they finally looked to him.
Ottersplash wheeled so sharply dead leaves scattered beneath his paws.
“That’s enough!”
The snarl cracked through the trees hard enough that both cats froze.
His tail lashed once, shoulders tense. “I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you.”
Silence.
Not obedient silence, exactly. Leopardpaw’s ears pinned flat while Sandswipe stared stubbornly off into the brush, both of them still bristling with leftover irritation.
“Go cool off.” He said after a long breath. “Leopardpaw, head toward the graveyard . Sandswipe, to the Hollow Nest.”
Leopardpaw opened her mouth like she might argue again, then thought better of it beneath his stare.
“Fine.” She muttered.
Sandswipe flicked her tail dramatically. “Gladly.”
The two split off through opposite sides of the clearing.
Ottersplash remained where he was, letting out a long breath as ocean wind drifted faintly through the trees. It carried salt, damp earth—
—and something dry.
His nose twitched.
Ottersplash bit back a groan. Leopardpaw wasn’t cruel by nature, but she’d been doted on since kithood—praised for every clever comment, indulged through every sulk. She carried herself like the world ought to shift around her simply because she expected it to.
“Acting like kits,” He grumbled instead, shaking the thought away. “Arguing over nonsense during a border patrol.”
He knew what this was about, Pantherpaw receiving a new mentor.
The exact mentor Leopardpaw had tried to demand.
Since that day, Leopardpaw had been an urchin, huffing and puffing all day like every moment offended her.
Coralheart and Wolfstar had assured him, she’d eventually adapted and move on.
Still, unease prickled beneath his fur.
Maybe it was the weather. Greenleaf heat had settled strange over the territory these past few days—too dry, too still. The underbrush crackled beneath pawsteps now.
He exhaled slowly.
Should’ve brought Sunfrost, he thought bitterly. Even Frostcurl.
Leopardpaw especially seemed impossible around most any warrior— but especially Sandswipe. Like she viewed the older warrior as some personal challenge she needed to overcome.
Meanwhile Sandswipe barely notices she exists half the time.
At least Leopardpaw mostly avoided Pantherpaw. The few times they did interact ended in snarling matches loud enough for the whole camp to hear.
Ottersplash grimaced.
“It’s been long enough.”
He pushed himself to his paws and headed first toward Leopardpaw’s assigned route.
The graveyard trail sat empty.
His irritation sharpened immediately.
“Leopardpaw?”
Nothing.
He lowered his nose to the earth, following her scent trail through crushed ferns and brittle grass. At first it headed correctly westward—
Then curved sharply east.
Toward the border.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he hissed.
If she thinks she’s being sneaky—
He spun and broke into a trot through the undergrowth.
Branches scraped his flanks as he pushed forward, pace quickening.
Behind him came pounding pawsteps.
“Hey!”
Sandswipe burst through the brush to catch him. “What’s wrong?”
“Didn’t I tell you to check the Hollow Nest?”
“I did. Then I came back.” She rolled her eyes. “I was gonna apologize before you died of stress.”
Ottersplash ignored that. “Leopardpaw doubled back toward the border.”
Sandswipe swore under her breath. “Mouse-brained little showoff.”
“If she crossed into the kittypet paths—”
“I know.”
They ran harder.
The forest blurred around them in flashes of shadow and sunlight. Dry brush snagged at their paws. Dust rose from the earth with every stride.
And that strange scent returned.
Stronger now.
Ottersplash slowed abruptly.
The air had changed.
The forest no longer smelled green.
A sharp bitterness coated the back of his throat.
Sandswipe coughed beside him. “What is that?”
Another gust of wind slammed through the trees.
This time it carried heat.
Not sunlight.
Heat.
Ottersplash’s eyes widened as dark smoke rolled between the trunks ahead.
“Fire.”
The word barely left his mouth before panic exploded through the forest.
Birds shrieked overhead. Something large crashed blindly through brush deeper in the trees.
Then came the sound.
Crackling.
Alive.
Flames burst suddenly through a wall of dry undergrowth ahead, racing sideways faster than seemed possible. They climbed dead brush in an instant, orange light swallowing the shadows.
“Foxdung!” Sandswipe leapt back as sparks scattered across her paws.
Smoke engulfed the clearing almost immediately, thick enough to sting Ottersplash’s eyes shut. Through the haze he caught glimpses of shiny Twoleg roofs somewhere beyond the trees.
Too close to the border.
“Where’s Leopardpaw?” he yowled.
No answer.
Another crack split the air.
“Ottersplash!”
Sandswipe slammed into him just as a burning branch crashed where he’d stood moments before.
The impact sent them tumbling hard across the dirt.
Ottersplash clawed desperately for purchase while smoke choked his lungs.
Beside him Sandswipe hit a stone with a sickening thud.
“Sandswipe?”
She didn’t answer.
Fear punched straight through him.
He crawled toward her low against the ground where the air was barely clearer. Blood trickled from a gash across her head, her breathing thin and uneven.
“Dammit.” He wheezed.
The fire roared louder now.
Where is she? Panic clawed through him. Leopardpaw—
A shower of sparks rained overhead.
He couldn’t stay.
Couldn’t leave.
His vision blurred violently as smoke filled his lungs.
“Fuck—”
Coughing hard, he grabbed Sandswipe by the scruff and hauled her over his shoulders.
A burning tree limb crashed nearby.
Another blocked the path behind him.
The exits were disappearing.
“Leopardpaw!” He screamed hoarsely into the smoke. “Run! I’ll find you later—just RUN!”
No response came.
Only fire.
Ottersplash lunged forward blindly.
Heat scorched his whiskers. Flames snapped at the undergrowth around his paws. The smoke grew so thick he could barely tell earth from shadow anymore.
Please, Tumblefall, guide me—
Pain exploded across his flank.
He screamed silently as fire caught his fur.
The smell hit first.
Burnt pelt. Burnt flesh.
Then agony.
But he couldn’t stop.
He ran harder.
Leaping fallen branches. Crashing through brush. Sandswipe’s foreleg hung limp against his chest, the only proof she was still there.
The world narrowed to smoke and heat and instinct.
Then suddenly—
Cold air.
Ottersplash burst from the flames into an open clearing so abruptly it barely felt real. Sand shifted beneath his paws instead of burning leaves.
He staggered forward blindly, lungs shredding with every breath.
A shape appeared ahead.
He slammed into another body hard enough to collapse.
The last thing he felt was cool sand against scorched skin.
Then darkness swallowed him whole.
“I’ll show him.” Leopardpaw hissed, the trees and brush a blur to her. “I’ll show her!”
Her claws tore up the ground as she sprinted, launching herself over a fallen log, landing hard enough to rattle her teeth.
Still she raced on.
“I’ll show them all!” She snarled, her lungs burning with the distance, limbs on fire.
Her vision narrowed to only a single dot.
Then—
Nothing at all.
Her body hit the ground with a thud as the forest blazed around her.
Rindlepaw...? ♂ - dark brown tabby with grey eyes
Palmpaw ♀ - rosetted brown tabby with deep blue eyes
Like this comic? Consider checking out my others!
Consider supporting on Patreon if you enjoy my work! You can get early pages of my other comic, HOAV, as well as behind-the-scenes/bonus content for all my projects!
Rindlepaw...? ♂ - dark brown tabby with grey eyes
Palmpaw ♀ - rosetted brown tabby with deep blue eyes
Like this comic? Consider checking out my others!
Consider supporting on Patreon if you enjoy my work! You can get early pages of my other comic, HOAV, as well as behind-the-scenes/bonus content for all my projects!
Man you know what fuck it. I'm sick of being stressed and sad this week from various bullshit. no more learned helplessness who the hell decided a corporation had control over my feelings. Nah man fuck that. I'm gonna make a meme powerpoint about the story of Destiny bc you know what, universe, you can take away games but you sure as hell can't take away stories or the memories I have of those worlds and that's something I will cherish. fuck it yall are getting a meme ForestClan entry at some point of Redstar telling of the oldest known remembered Clan mythos, an old tale treated like Arthurian legends and the Epic of Gilgamesh - the tale of how, at the beginning of time, there was a tall, spiraling silver tree. and surrounding that tree, there was a garden of infinite possibilities, tended to by a gardener, and a winnower.
big fan of when a character is dead and the narrative frames them in a very angelic, soft, gentle manner but then it turns out not only are they still alive (plot twist) but theyre alive in the most gruesome and horrific way. your loving kind mentor who motivates you to fight in their memory came back wrong and theres blood and dirt under their fingernails from clawing they way out of the grave.
Darkkit flinched in his nest as a flash of light illuminated the nursery, followed closed by a loud bang that seemed to shake the air itself.
This was the first big storm since Honeypaw disappeared. Although everyone kept telling him that the river was far away from camp, Darkkit couldn’t help but watch the entrance of the den in case dark flood waters came rushing in. So far, the only thing he could see was a few puddles outside that lit up with each lightning flash.
Another crack of thunder sounded, and this time Darkkit couldn’t stop the squeak of fright that escaped him as he buried his head into his nest.
“Can’t sleep?” a voice said, just loud enough to be heard above the pouring rain.
Darkkit peeked over the top of his nest to look at Tanglekit. At first glance, he didn’t look scared, but then Darkkit saw that his ginger fur was just a bit fluffier than usual. “Yeah…” he admitted with some difficulty. He knew he shouldn’t be afraid, that it was only a storm, but his pounding heart wouldn’t listen to his mind.
For a moment, he wished he was alone in the nursery again. It was much easier to hide his fear when no one else was around.
A flash of lightning blinded Darkkit, and before the inevitable bang could deafen him, he buried his face into his nest and covered his ears with his paws. A few heartbeats later, a muted rumble slowly rolled over the sky instead of the ground-shattering thunder he was expecting. Hoping Tanglekit somehow didn’t see that, he slowly lifted his head, only for his fur to grow hot when he realized Tanglekit had gotten up from his own nest and was heading towards his.
“I don’t need a kitsitter,” he protested weakly, even as the relief of having a warm body to press against threatened to make him purr.
“Freezekit’s basically living in Twigtooth’s pelt,” Tanglekit whispered as he got comfortable. Darkkit squinted at Twigtooth. Sure enough, if he looked hard, he could see Freezekit’s dark brown fur buried in Twigtooth’s side. “Besides, the wind is cold.”
It wasn’t that cold, but before Darkkit could point that out, another round of lightning illuminated the den, and he felt them both jump when this time the thunder immediately followed, sounding so loud it was like a tree had been struck down. Darkkit laughed breathlessly, but saw that Tanglekit was looking at another nest.
“Sparkkit, quit staring and get over here already.”
Darkkit blinked as Sparkkit got up and scurried over to join them. He hadn’t been aware that she was also awake, but the way her fur stood up and how much he could see her shaking even without the need for a lightning flash had him quickly scooting over to make room for her. It was a tight squeeze, but with a little maneuvering, they were able to find a comfortable position. In fact, pressed equally between Tanglekit, Sparkkit, and the outer edge of his nest, Darkkit felt his heartbeat slowly and finally calming.
More lightning flashed, but when the thunder came crashing down, he found that he was no longer quite so scared.
[WARNING: This post contains allusions pertaining to the idea of kitten mills, animal abuse/neglect, and death. Reader discretion is advised.]
•
CometClan was not borne out of remarkable or fortunate circumstances. In the heart of a sparse Twoleg-town stood a single house, a cage wherein innocent strays were bred and traded off. Their masters, two middle-aged Twolegs, orchestrated the entire operation, leaving cats victimized and pleading for their freedom. It certainly didn’t help that their masters were negligent and cruel.
There was never enough food. Birthing queens were left to fend for themselves, even as they bled out on the carpeted floor of their cramped living space. Those who were foolish enough to attempt escape were met by their masters’ hands, leaving them bruised, yet obedient.
Elm wondered what awaited him after bearing witness to countless deaths and emotional collapses. Starvation? Trauma inflicted by his masters? Fighting over who was allowed to drink out of the weekly-replenished water bowl first? This was not living. Elm refused to rot in this prison forever. But, with escape being too risky, all he could do was watch the world turn from their singular window and pray for a sign that something— anything —would change.
A strange light flickered in the night sky. Elm’s eyes burned as a massive star shot across the dark expanse in a blaze of glorious light. It disappeared beyond the horizon mere seconds later, a muted thud rattling the desk he was perched on.
There could be no clearer sign than this.
Elm had to accept that he could not save everyone. Instead, he chose to bring along those who still had a chance of a brighter future: Cinder (who tiptoed the line between child and adult), and the only three kits who had yet to be sold off (Oreo, Cooper, and Lake).
It was easy to convince them of his plan— Lake and Cooper had lost their parents and no longer held any ties to this cursed place, while Cinder and Oreo were already neglected by their still-living kin. Elm knew his plan was reckless and idiotic, but he would rather die attempting to earn back his freedom than live with the knowledge that he gave up.
Elm’s plan was put into motion the following night.
When the house grew dark and the remainder of cats tucked themselves in, Elm quietly ushered his small entourage into the kitchen, where a single window sat cracked open just enough for the cats to sneak away undetected. They had no time to stop and stare in awe at the outside world; their sights were now set on locating the fallen star.
Eventually, after a long and perilous journey into the wilderness, Elm successfully led the group to their new home. This was their calling.
The night they settled into their new environment and laid their weary paws to rest, each cat was visited in their dreams by a crowd of ghostly strangers, starlight weaving through their translucent fur and eyes shining as brilliantly as the blazing star.
“This is only the beginning,” the spirits declared synchronously. Elm and his party were destined to build a renowned clan from the rubble of their past life, and join forces with others like them who’ve dedicated themselves for much longer.
From then on, they were “CometClan”.
Their name would honor the message that saved them, as well as their devotion to regain the autonomy they had been stripped of.
May StarClan reward their loyalty for eternity.
•
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| [Next]
[I finally locked in and finished this omg. Anywho, for those who have read my introduction post, welcome to my new blog! My other clan has kinda been put on the back burner for right now, so I’ve been playing this clan a lot recently, and wanna try experimenting with incorporating both art and writing into each post. I hope y’all stick around!]
The late newleaf heat pressed down like a weight, each day hotter than the last until even breathing felt like work.
Along the DuskClan border, a small patrol wound its way north through the pines.
Thistle glanced back.
Her short, coarse fur spared her the worst of the heat, but Lynxdawn—
Lynxdawn was struggling.
“You need a paw?” She asked, voice low but edged with concern.
Behind her, Lynxdawn panted, sides heaving as she climbed the steep, root-tangled slope.
“Just—just need a break,” She managed.
Thistle nodded, though her hackles stayed half-raised. The air here was thick with stranger’s scents—pine sap and DuskClan markers sharp enough to sting her nose.
Too close.
She sat, keeping watch while Lynxdawn rested.
“I told you I could’ve gone alone,” She muttered. “Or taken a warrior.”
Lynxdawn gave her a soft, almost sheepish look.
“But I wanted to go with you,” She said, forcing a small smile despite the heat weighing on her.
Thistle looked away, a quiet hiss slipping out.
“It’s just herb gathering,” She said. “Nothing to lose your head over.”
Lynxdawn pushed herself upright again, shaking out her coat before continuing, satchel rustling at her side.
“I know,” She said, voice gentler now, steadier. “But we haven’t gone out together in a while. I like our walks.”
She paused, lowering her head to inspect a broad-leafed plant.
Thistle’s heart thudded harder than it should.
She coughed, turning sharply and marching ahead.
“It’s been too hot lately to go far,” She said, adjusting the belt at her side. “We should head back soon. We’ve been out since dawn.”
Lynxdawn’s head snapped up.
“We haven’t found nearly enough red clover,” She protested. “I used most of our stores when Wolfstar kitted.”
“We can try again tomorrow,” Thistle cut in, more firmly now. Her ears flicked constantly, scanning. “It’s not like anyone’s about to go into labor.”
Lynxdawn huffed and moved ahead again.
“It takes time to prepare herbs,” She reminded.
Thistle rolled her eyes, flicking the cleric’s flank with her tail.
“And who knows how soon the next litter will come.” Lynxdawn added, almost pointedly.
Thistle stopped.
Turned.
Stared.
“Wait—what?” She blurted. “Is someone pregnant?”
Lynxdawn let out a soft, teasing laugh.
“Not that I’d reveal anyone’s secrets,” She said, grinning. “But no—Wolfstar’s the only one I know of. Still… things change.”
“Are you planning a litter or something?” Thistle shot back quickly.
Lynxdawn blinked. “No. Are you?”
Thistle looked away, jaw tight.
“No.”
“Me neither,” Lynxdawn continued, a little more awkwardly now as a faint breeze stirred the pine branches. “I wouldn’t be allowed to carry anyway. But with that kittypet clowder…” They trailed off, then added, “They’ve made it clear they’re open to sires and dams.”
Thistle’s whiskers twitched.
“And we all know where Nightleap disappeared to.” She muttered.
Lynxdawn’s expression softened.
“So I’d like to be prepared.” She said quietly. “If one of my daughters ever needed me, I’d want to have everything ready.”
Silence stretched between them again.
Thistle stared down at her paws.
“You ever think about having more kits?” She asked, quieter now.
Lynxdawn hummed, already nosing through the undergrowth again.
“I wouldn’t mind adopting.” She said airily. “Especially now that the clan is more stable.”
“Yeah.” Thistle murmured.
A beat.
Then—
“What about you?” Lynxdawn asked, glancing back, eyes wide and open. “You’ve raised litters before. Ever think about another?”
Thistle scoffed, though it lacked bite.
“Only if I had some help this time,” She muttered. “The Clan was stretched thin. With Briarpaw, I managed okay. With Ollie…” She exhaled sharply. “I had to leave him under a thorn bush just to hunt.”
Lynxdawn winced softly. “Yeah… I’d need a mate. I nearly lost Sandswipe more times than I can count.”
That—
That lingered.
Thistle swallowed hard, her pulse loud in her ears.
Her tongue felt thick.
“What about you?” Lynxdawn asked again, softer this time. “Have you thought about taking a mate?”
Her sea-blue eyes were careful now.
Curious.
Timid.
Thistle dug her claws into the dirt.
“Actually… I have.”
Her voice came out rough.
She didn’t look at the Molly.
“I’ve… wondered,” She admitted, quieter still. “What it would be like. To be mates with you.”
The forest stilled.
No wind.
No birds.
Thistle’s heart pounded in her paws.
I shouldn’t have said that. Her hackles lifted, panic spiking. Fuck—I messed that up—
She tensed, ready to bolt—
“I’ve wondered that too.”
Thistle lurched forward, tripping over herself and crashing into the grass.
“Are you okay?” Lynxdawn was at her side instantly, gently rolling her over, checking her jaw. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Thistle blinked up at them, dazed.
“Do you want to be mates?” She blurted out.
Lynxdawn laughed softly.
“Shouldn’t we court first?” She teased.
Thistle shoved herself upright, breathless, fur sticking in all directions.
“Fuck that,” She said. “I already know how I feel. You?”
Lynxdawn leaned forward, pressing her nose to hers.
“I feel the same.”
“Really?” Thistle asked, voice cracking in a way it never did.
Lynxdawn’s answering giggle was warm and bright.
“Of course.”
They started back toward camp not long after, slower now.
Closer.
Tails, twining.
The air felt different.
As the trees thinned and the scent of salt returned, Thistle’s steps faltered.
Ahead, spilling across the edge of the path—
A wide patch of red clover.
Thick. Blooming. Bright against the lush grass.
Shadowdive loved his kits.
He did.
He loved the way each of them carried something familiar—something beloved. A tilt of the head, a way of speaking, a spark in their eyes that reminded him of someone he’d chosen, someone he trusted.
But stars above—
He wished they could be more… docile.
He didn’t remember Ottersplash or Rippleclaw being like this.
Then again, maybe they had been.
Maybe he just hadn’t been the one responsible for keeping them alive.
Morningkit sat squarely on his back, paws neatly tucked, as if she belonged there. Her voice—calm, flat, unbothered—recited a lesson she’d clearly memorized perfectly.
“—and for the Longest Day, it’s hosted by Honeyclan. They have a race that—”
Right into his ear.
Every word precise.
Every word close.
Below him, Moonkit wailed.
A storm in up coast had grown louder over the course of the day, the sky dimming under heavy clouds. The storm wouldn’t hit them until tomorrow evening, Dropletshine had assured, with the strong winds from the east. Thunder cracked again—sharp and sudden—and even Shadowdive flinched despite himself.
Moonkit noticed.
Of course she did.
Which made everything worse.
“My heart, please,” He rumbled, voice low as he tried to keep both his tone and his body steady. “It’s just thunder. It won’t hurt you. It’s only sound.”
Moonkit sniffled, pressing herself into the leather floor as if she could disappear into it.
Another, more distant rumble followed.
“What if it’s a monster?” She whimpered. “And it’s coming for us?”
Shadowdive exhaled slowly.
“Then I’ll shred it with my claws.” He said, dipping his head to nuzzle into her soft belly.
She hiccuped—half sob, half laugh—as the ticklish sensation distracted her.
But her fear lingered.
“What if you can’t?”
That—
That hit somewhere he didn’t expect.
Something fragile.
A strange, high sound slipped from him before he could stop it—not quite a whine, not quite anything else.
Both kits froze.
Morningkit paused mid-recital.
Moonkit stared.
Shadowdive cleared his throat softly, grounding himself.
“I haven’t lost a fight yet,” He murmured, letting a low, steady purr build in his chest. “And don’t forget—your mother would end anything that tried to hurt you.”
Moonkit blinked, her breathing evening out.
Thoughtful now.
“And Papa,” Morningkit added, sliding down from his back with quiet grace. “And Ottersplash. And Snowspeckle. And everyone else.”
Moonkit’s ears lifted slightly.
“Oh,” Se said, softer. “I forgot…”
Shadowdive’s chest eased.
“Yes.” He said, pulling them both closer with a careful sweep of his tail. “The Clan is here. All of us.”
For a moment—
It was calm.
Chaos contained.
A thought hit him like a stone.
He sat up abruptly.
“Where’s Jaggedkit?”
The den felt too quiet.
Too— Empty.
Morningkit blinked up at him. “She left earlier,” She said, helpful as ever. “When Moonkit started crying.”
Of course she did.
Shadowdive pressed down the growl rising in his throat.
“Next time,” He said tightly, “tell me sooner.”
Morningkit shrugged slightly, already curling herself protectively around her sister.
Mimicking me, he noted, not without a flicker of dry amusement.
There wasn’t time to dwell on it.
He slipped out of the den, pushing through the thick curtain into a camp dimmed by cloud cover.
The air felt heavy.
Charged.
Cats moved through it with purpose—securing loose items, calling to one another, preparing for the storm.
Shadowdive scanned quickly.
Once.
Twice.
No sign of her.
Ottersplash caught his eye from across the clearing and flicked his tail, beckoning.
Shadowdive approached, forcing his pace to stay even.
“Shouldve figured you hadn’t okayed her to roam.” Ottersplash said, his tone dry but not unkind.
Shadowdive followed his gaze.
A large slab of driftwood had been dragged into camp at some point, to make a makeshift climbing space.
Sunfrost lounged beneath it, her body stretched comfortably in the shade.
Above her—
Jaggedkit.
“I’ve trapped you, crowfood rogue scum!” She yowled, puffed up with pride, standing tall atop the wood.
Sunfrost bared her teeth in an exaggerated hiss. “You’ll have to do better than that, kit!”
“I’m not a kit—I’m a warrior!” Jaggedkit snapped.
“A warrior kit.” Sunfrost agreed solemnly.
“No, a warrior!”
“Ah,” Sunfrost nodded thoughtfully. “A very small warrior.”
Jaggedkit collapsed dramatically onto her “prisoner,” groaning in defeat. “Nooooo!”
Shadowdive stared.
Watched the scene unfold.
Felt the tension in his shoulders… loosen.
Just a little.
He didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t have the energy.
Behind him, the nursery curtain rustled as Moonkit and Morningkit tumbled out, drawn by the noise.
“Hey, what’re you doing?” Moonkit asked, already scrambling toward the driftwood.
“Playing ‘storm the camp,’” Jaggedkit said, instantly re-energized. “But Sunfrost won’t be a good prisoner.”
Morningkit approached more slowly. Studied Sunfrost with quiet, intense focus.
Sunfrost met her gaze with an amused purr.
Morningkit nodded once.
“I will make her a good prisoner.”
Ottersplash snorted softly beside him.
Shadowdive let out a low, tired laugh.
“They’re your litter now.” He muttered.
Ottersplash’s smirk widened.
Shadowdive turned away before anything else could be said.
“Have them back by dinner.” He called over his shoulder.
Laughter and bickering rose behind him—bright, loud, alive—as the storm crept closer.
He didn’t look back.
Just let the noise follow him as he crossed the camp, slipping toward the kitchen where the warmth—and his mate—waited.
Ottersplash fidgeted through the morning meeting.
Not outwardly—his posture was straight, his expression attentive—but his tail tip flicked against the sand, and his ears kept twitching toward the same spot in the crowd.
Sunfrost.
Snowspeckle’s voice cut cleanly through the camp, assigning patrols with practiced precision.
“Ottersplash—you’ll escort Dropletshine and Kelpjay to OakClan for a trade run.”
He snapped to attention as her gaze locked onto his.
“Leopardpaw stays in camp,” She continued. “She’ll assist with kits while Shadowdive takes Pantherpaw to the metal nests border.”
Leopardpaw surged to her paws before he could stop her.
“Can’t I go on a patrol instead?”
The air shifted.
Snowspeckle’s stare was sharp enough to pin prey.
Then it slid to him.
Ottersplash’s stomach dropped.
He flicked his tail over Leopardpaw’s mouth, pressing her gently—but firmly—back down.
“That’s no way to speak to your deputy,” He murmured. “Kit-sitting is part of training. We all do it.”
Leopardpaw huffed, clearly unconvinced, but she stayed seated—eyes fixed stubbornly away from the group.
Snowspeckle held the silence just long enough to make the lesson stick.
“As I was saying. When you return, Ottersplash, you’ll take Sunfrost to the half-bridge and check the traps.”
His ear twitched.
“Got it.” He said, a little too quickly.
Leopardpaw glanced at him, hopeful.
He didn’t meet her eyes.
The rest of the meeting blurred slightly around the edges.
He caught enough to follow—Thistle and Coralheart gathering herbs, Pantherpaw stuck on tide pool practice, Briarpaw dragging Nighthowl off for kindling—but his focus kept drifting.
Back to the same place.
Back to her.
He kept himself sharp on the patrol.
OakClan was tense ground—always had been—and with a bundle of salt slung between them, he didn’t let his guard slip. Every rustle, every shift in the trees had his attention. He stayed between the sisters and the treeline, ready for something to go wrong.
Nothing did.
The exchange was quick. Polite.
They turned back just as quickly.
He didn’t relax until the river came into view.
They crossed, the cool current biting at his legs, washing away the lingering tension.
Then—
“So,” Kelpjay’s voice slipped in, light and entirely too amused, “you excited to be alone with Sunfrost, huh?”
His ear flicked sharply.
He glanced back at her, unimpressed.
He waited until they reached the opposite bank before answering.
“It’s a fishing patrol.”
Flat.
Dropletshine looked between them, deciding she wanted no part of this.
Kelpjay only grinned wider. “A fishing patrol with Sunfrost.”
Ottersplash’s tail lashed once.
“I liked it better when you were an apprentice.”
“Too bad.” She shot back, batting at his tail as she passed. “Now I’m a warrior and you have to deal with it.”
Dropletshine cleared her throat softly, stepping in.
“Thank you for helping with the nets,” She said, voice gentle but purposeful. “We’ve been making good progress.”
Ottersplash’s expression softened slightly.
“Kelpjay and I worked hard on them,” She added, picking up her pace. “It’s nice to see others care.”
He matched her stride, letting Kelpjay drift behind them.
“They’re important,” He said. “They’ll keep us fed when hunting gets scarce.”
A pause.
“I’m glad to help.”
The conversation shifted easily after that—into materials, structure, improvements. Practical things. Grounded things.
Easier things.
By the time they reached camp, the tension had long since eased.
And waiting for them—
“Ready, Freddy?”
Sunfrost bounded forward, bright as ever, eyes wide with excitement.
Ottersplash blinked.
“…what?”
She waved it off immediately. “Loner saying. Come on!”
She was already moving.
He followed without thinking.
He could feel Leopardpaw’s stare burning into his back as they left.
“She hasn’t been… sour to you, has she?” He asked after a moment, voice lower now.
Sunfrost glanced back, head tilting.
“Who?”
“Leopardpaw,” He clarified. “She hasn’t been mean?”
Sunfrost blinked.
Then laughed.
“No? Why would she be?”
He exhaled slowly.
Some of the tension eased—but not all of it.
“She was upset about the patrol.” He said, eyes drifting toward the sea. The half-bridge loomed ahead, worn wood stretching over churning water.
Sunfrost nodded easily. “Oh. Yeah. That makes sense.”
He hesitated.
“She’s a strong swimmer, but—”
He stopped.
The words tangled.
Sunfrost didn’t interrupt.
She just… waited.
The wind moved through her fur, ruffling it in uneven waves. She stared out at the water like she had all the time in the world.
Ottersplash felt something in his chest slow.
Like his thoughts were being given space to settle instead of racing ahead of him.
“She’s talented,” He said finally. “Really talented. Ahead of most apprentices.”
Sunfrost hummed softly.
Encouraging.
“But she’s reckless,” He continued. “She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t want to do anything except the exciting stuff.”
His tail flicked and he huffed. “She doesn’t want to do anything of the stuff that makes the clan function.”
He realized he was breathing harder than he should be.
When had that built up?
Sunfrost blinked at him.
“What’s… ‘stuff’?” She asked.
He stared at her.
Then—despite himself—sat down.
Of course she’d ask.
Sunfrost always had this effect on him.
She slowed him down—without trying, without even noticing—just by needing him to explain, to untangle his thoughts piece by piece for her to understand.
He’d come to recognize the feeling. It was like the end of a long run: the moment after he’d already crossed the finish, when his body still surged with momentum he couldn’t just stop. He had to ease out of it—step by step, breath by breath—letting the sprint fall into a trot, the heat in his muscles settling into a steady, lingering warmth.
His head felt like that now.
Tingling.
“She wants the important parts,” He said, calmer now. “Hunting, fighting, patrolling.”
His eyes cut to the ocean. “But not gather materials. Or help in camp. Or watch kits. Or do anything that actually makes a Clan work.”
Sunfrost considered that.
“I think I get it.” She said after a moment, purring lightly.
He looked away, ears warming.
“But isn’t that… normal?” She added. “Most apprentices I’ve met are like that.”
He sighed.
“Not like this.”
He glanced at her.
“Sandswipe wasn’t. She didn’t like missing patrols, sure—but she still helped. She didn’t fight it every step.”
Sunfrost tilted her head.
“I don’t think Leopardpaw was that upset.” She said, completely certain. “I would’ve noticed.”
Ottersplash gave her a long look. “Doubtful.”
She giggled, bumping his shoulder hard enough to send sand spraying.
He huffed a quiet laugh despite himself.
“I don’t know why Wolfstar picked me,” He admitted. “Shadowdive would’ve been better for her.”
Sunfrost didn’t hesitate.
She leaned forward and bumped her head against his.
“You’re a great cat,” She said, as if it were obvious. “You’re exactly what she needs.”
He blinked.
Caught off guard.
“Who else is going to teach her how to be a good Clanmate?”
Something in his chest tightened, then settled.
He let out a quiet, tired laugh.
Before he could respond, Sunfrost was already on her paws again.
“Come on!” She called, darting ahead along the shoreline. “Let’s check the traps!”
Ottersplash watched her go for a heartbeat.
Bright. Easy. Unbothered.
And exactly what he needed.
He pushed to his paws and took off after her, a grin breaking through as he caught up.
Ottersplash was always impressed by Sunfrost’s strength.
She didn’t always act like it, but she was strong.
Sunfrost moved through life with an easy, drifting sort of softness—bright-eyed, a little unfocused, her thoughts wandering wherever they pleased. She laughed quickly, forgot things even quicker, and carried herself with a kind of loose-limbed ease that made her seem… harmless.
Gentle.
But watching her now—
Straining against the weight of the net, muscles bunching beneath her plush fur as she hauled the thick twine upward—
He couldn’t breathe.
“Mhurry!” she called around the rope clenched in her jaws.
Ottersplash winced.
Then dove.
The cold hit him all at once, shocking and sharp as he slipped beneath the surface.
Focus.
He’d gotten distracted again.
The net stretched wide beneath the water, its structure as deliberate as it was clever. A broad opening faced the current, inviting fish to swim through without resistance. But beyond that, the woven strands narrowed, tightening just enough to guide them forward—forward—until turning back became difficult, then impossible.
Eventually, the trapped fish pushed into the holding pocket—a wider chamber of netting where they circled in confused, fleeting freedom.
There was no exit.
Above, Sunfrost lifted just enough to give him space.
Ottersplash slid beneath the bottom rope, paws working quickly despite the drag of the water. He looped the cord, pulled it tight, tied it off with practiced precision.
One mistake—
One delay—
And the full weight of the net could collapse, snapping his spine in half.
Or trapping him beneath the netting.
He didn’t think about it.
Didn’t let himself.
He trusted her.
When he surfaced, gasping, Sunfrost was already shifting her grip.
“Got it?” She asked brightly, as if she hadn’t just been holding his life between her teeth.
“Got it.” He confirmed.
Together, they dragged the net toward shore.
It was heavy—fish thrashing inside, crabs scraping against the woven fibers—but between them, it moved steadily. Sand met water. Resistance lessened.
Once fully on land, they worked quickly.
Ottersplash dispatched the fish with clean, practiced bites. Sunfrost followed, helping where needed, her movements just as capable despite her usual air of distraction. Crabs were flipped, cracked, sorted.
Then baskets.
Then resetting the net.
It was a process that demanded everything—strength, timing, coordination.
Trust.
Sunfrost was one of the few cats he trusted with it.
Just one slip—
And it could end badly.
He didn’t let his mind wander while they worked.
Not this time.
By the time the net was reset and the baskets were full, the rhythm of it had settled him. His thoughts were quieter. Easier to manage.
They started back along the shore, the tide creeping in behind them. It would be at least a few days before they returned to repeat the entire process.
Maybe a quarter moon.
“Leopardpaw is big,” Sunfrost said suddenly, as if picking up a thought from somewhere far away. “But also agile.”
He glanced at her.
“She could probably do either role,” she continued. “Once she learns the knots.”
Ottersplash huffed softly.
“She’s been asking to try for moons.”
Sunfrost nodded, shouldering her basket before reaching to steady his as well.
“When do you think she’ll be ready?”
He rolled his eyes, though there was no real bite to it.
“When she learns patience,” he said. “And how to be careful—not just… a fighting beast.”
They walked a few paces in silence.
“It’s like she looks down on anything that isn’t hunting or fighting.” He added, quieter now.
Sunfrost hummed.
“She sounds like a DuskClan cat.”
He snorted lightly. “Well—she is. A little. Nighthowl was one so she shares that blood.”
Sunfrost’s ears flicked.
“Think it’s related?” She said it so casually. So lightly.
Like it didn’t matter either way.
“I wonder if that kind of thing gets passed down like fur color or size,” She went on, half to herself. “Like… habits. Or ways of thinking.”
Ottersplash’s steps faltered.
Just slightly.
Barely noticeable.
The thought landed harder than it should have.
I wonder which side I lean toward.
The ocean roared beside them, steady and endless.
OakClan… or HoneyClan?
Discipline. Structure. Expectation.
Or wandering. Freedom. Something fleeting.
He swallowed, adjusting the weight of the basket on his shoulders.
Sunfrost kept walking, unbothered, gaze drifting out toward the water like nothing had shifted at all.
Ottersplash followed.
Late in the evening, in the quiet hush of the cleric’s den, Lynxdawn pressed a small wooden comb into Leopardpaw’s paw.
“I need you to help groom Cherrytail for ticks.” She said.
Leopardpaw wrinkled her nose. The carved teeth carried a faint lavender scent.
“Why?” She asked, nudging it back slightly. “Can’t she do it herself?”
Lynxdawn chuckled and pushed it gently forward again. “Nope. She’s an elder—her joints are stiff. She can’t reach everywhere like she used to, so we help.”
Leopardpaw didn’t answer. Her ears flicked back, but she took the comb anyway, glancing toward the empty nests.
“She’s in the elder’s den,” Lynxdawn added without looking up. “Her cough and runny nose have cleared. She doesn’t need to stay here anymore.”
Leopardpaw rolled her eyes, but the cleric had already turned back to her work.
The elder’s den sat near the edge of camp, tucked along the curve of the stone wall, only a few tail-lengths from the entrance and the rising tide.
The closer she got, the more the sound of the ocean filled her ears—steady, roaring, familiar. It loosened something in her shoulders without her meaning it to.
The entrance stood open now.
Once, it had been covered—pelts and bark layered thick for quarantine—but those had been rolled up and tied away, letting the salt breeze sweep freely through the den.
Leopardpaw ducked inside.
“Oh—Leopardpaw, right?”
Cherrytail’s voice was soft and bright. She lay curled in her nest, her coat freshly fluffed despite its age.
At her side—
Moonkit.
Leopardpaw gave a short nod, not bothering with a greeting. She circled behind the elder and set the comb to her back, dragging it carefully through the plush fur.
“Sorry,” Cherrytail went on easily, unbothered by the silence. “I feel like I spent so long in the cleric’s den, I didn’t get to properly meet everyone.”
Leopardpaw flicked a glance toward the kit.
“Cherrytail is telling me stories,” Moonkit announced proudly. “Morningkit and Jaggedkit are eating.”
Haven’t I been stuck with you enough? Leopardpaw thought, but she kept it to herself.
“Why aren’t you eating, then?” She asked instead, words slightly muffled around the comb.
Both of them blinked at her.
She blinked back.
Right.
She wasn’t usually the one asking questions— pushing conversations forward.
“Papa said we could eat early and play after,” Moonkit said, puffing out her chest. “Or play first, then eat. So I get to play before bed and they don’t.”
Leopardpaw snorted softly.
“I remember my mom offering me that.” She muttered, working a small knot free from Cherrytail’s coat.
“Thank you, honey,” Cherrytail purred, then tilted her head to look at her. “Which did you choose?”
Leopardpaw paused.
“Hm?”
“Did you eat first,” Cherrytail clarified gently, “or play first?”
Moonkit giggled.
Leopardpaw huffed, turning back to the comb like the question annoyed her.
Still—
“I ate first.” She said quietly.
“Same thought, best thought!” Moonkit chirped, her voice light and pleased.
Cherrytail laughed softly, settling deeper into her nest.
“Well then,” She said, glancing between them, “what would you like to hear? The tale of The Lion King, or The Aristocats?”
“Lion King!” Moonkit blurted immediately.
Leopardpaw shrugged like she didn’t care.
But her ears angled forward.
“Alright,” Cherrytail said warmly. “Then listen close—this is the story of Simba, and his father, Mufasa.”
Her voice blended with the steady roar of the waves beyond the den, soft and rhythmic.
Leopardpaw worked the comb a few more times through the elder’s fur.
"Cats on floating islands, just trying to survive as the world wants anything but that. Heavy themes of trauma, grief, dissociation, and learning to feel alive again."
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turnnoffyourmind
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