With her mother dead, Quickpaw wishes to live with her lost littermates as a historian rather than a mediator. Boughfur promises to restart her training and help her catch up to everyone else.
[Image ID: Pearbranch and Icepaw, both with adult sprites, gather around an adult Quickpaw. Under her, it reads NEW(ISH) PLAYER: QUICKPAW, 12, FEMALE, AMBITIOUS, GOOD SWIMMER. Behind the siblings, Boughfur says, "Lettucestar might not like losing a Clanmate, but he values family. He wouldn't keep you from yours."]
"I'm not going to tell anyone," Boughfur chuckled as Icepaw and Pearbranch paced around the border. "Just be honest. How often did you see her?"
"Usually every new moon," Pearbranch said, absently clawing the side of a tree.
"Pearbranch!" Icepaw whined, hopping up from where he rested.
"She said she won't tell!" Pearbranch huffed.
"Not that it matters anymore," Boughfur purred. "You'll be able to spend your first proper Longest Night together. You won't have to worry about politics anymore."
It was hard to say it would be a "proper" Longest Night, Icepaw thought. The holiday was just a few days away, and despite winter chill claiming the land, there had been no snow. Rather than trotting through snow and ice, as Icepaw's earliest memories recalled, he slipped on frosty leaves long since crumbled under the weight of passing deer. Had it been so snowless and gray when Puddlewhisper found Icepaw and Pearbranch? And now, a year later, the lost daughter was rejoining her litter.
The sunrise illuminated the gaps of the trees, making it easy to see the approaching figure. Icepaw and Pearbranch both perked their ears and tightened their chests. Quickpaw's brown eyes looked orange in the winter dawn, gleaming with hope.
"Hi," Quickpaw laughed, voice cracking with a joyful cry.
Icepaw and Pearbranch surged past Boughfur before the older historian could say a word. Pearbranch wrapped her front paws around Quickpaw, purring deeply. Icepaw pressed his head into Quickpaw's cheek. Quickpaw pulled her brother and sister close, laughing through what few sobs escaped.
"Welcome to RippleClan, Quickpaw," Boughfur said, stirring Icepaw from his blinding joy. "The Clan is excited to greet you."
"I, uh," Quickpaw gulped, collecting her breath, "I hope it wasn't hard to get Lettucestar to let me go." Pearbranch groomed Quickpaw's neck, as though trying to clean off the stench of still water and mud.
"Lettucestar might not like losing a Clanmate," Boughfur explained, "but he values family. He wouldn't keep you from yours."
"You'll be a historian in no time!" Pearbranch declared. She hesitated, however, stepping back and adding, "If you still want to switch paths, I mean."
"I do," Quickpaw sighed with a dip of her head. "I like science more than diplomacy. I'll be happier as a historian."
"That's why Oilstar asked me to meet you," Boughfur chuckled, moving close. "We discussed who would be the best choice of mentor, and Oilstar thought I would do well."
"You're Boughfur, right?" Quickpaw said. "I've spent some time with your sisters."
"You'll be my first apprentice," Boughfur chirped, adjusting the dry flowers on her pelt. "I promise, I won't treat you like a kit. You're an adult, and I want to respect that, even if you have to restart your training. I want us to be partners more than mentor and apprentice."
"I like that," Quickpaw purred. She touched noses with her new mentor, shimmering with anticipation.
"Quickpaw, Quickpaw!" Icepaw cheered, laughing. When Quickpaw gave him an odd look, he huffed, "We weren't at your apprentice ceremony! Feels right to chant your name now."
"Quickpaw, Quickpaw!" Pearbranch chanted, kneading the limp leaves. Quickpaw laughed and waved her siblings back to her side.
"Quick, Sleek, and Silent," Quickpaw chuckled as Icepaw and Pearbranch pressed into her. "Back together again."
(Boughfur: 34, female, historian, righteous, great climber)
(Pearbranch: 12, female, historian, righteous, good hunter, good storyteller)
(Quickpaw: 12, female, historian apprentice, ambitious, good swimmer)
Speaking with Quickpaw about her grief for her mother helps Honeybuzz heal from Stormjump’s death.
[Image ID: Honeybuzz and Quickpaw sit in the medicine den together. Quickpaw says, "It's hard to grieve her when everyone here hates her." Under Honeybuzz, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING.]
---
Honeybuzz was not the right cat to introduce Longest Night to his sons. He wasn't in a particularly festive mood that year, and the kits didn't deserve to have such a great night ruined by grief and bitterness. There were plenty of clerics in RippleClan to conduct the night's religious rites. Honeybuzz could organize the medicine den. That was for the best.
While it was a snowless holiday, it was far from warm. Half the Clan stayed near the main bonfire, tucked under long pelts and in each other's embrace. Others fixed the torches along the edge of camp and muttered prayers to their respective Celestials. They traded gifts or gathered around Frostdancer, who expertly played the Gutpluck. Beekit, Morningkit, and Patchkit were with Yellowburst and Sandhollow, enjoying a wide collection of gifts from their aunt and various uncles.
Now it is important to mention that Honeybuzz was not neglected on that cold and bitter night. His gifts neatly lined his nest. His brothers each carved a leaf into a chunk of wood, a piece of art to always remind Honeybuzz that he was loved. Troutpool revealed a new mortar and pestle for the medicine den, and the other clerics each gave each other dyed mossballs. They certainly brightened the dim, empty medicine den, but the light merely swirled around Honeybuzz's heart. It had yet to penetrate.
"Hi, Honeybuzz." Honeybuzz had been cupping his cicada wing necklace in his paw, staring mindlessly at the half-preserved membrane, when Quickpaw's voice startled him back to reality. The newcomer had a new necklace around her neck, carrying two wooden charms; one a diamond, the other a foreign shape, like a small circle sitting on a larger one.
Honeybuzz must have been staring for longer than he intended, as Quickpaw glanced at her gift and said, "Oh, my siblings surprised me with this. The diamond is supposed to be a shard of ice, and this thing is shaped like a pear. They would have made something for me, but what shape represents quick? Heh."
"It's a good gift," Honeybuzz hummed. "So, what do you need?"
"I think all this socialization is giving me a headache," Quickpaw sighed, squeezing her eyes tight. "Icepaw said I could use his 'stash', whatever that means." Honeybuzz scoffed softly, flicking his ears toward the patient nests. He led Quickpaw further into the shadows.
A small jar sat inside one of the nests. While faded in the dark, Honeybuzz could see the diamond carved into the side of the terracotta. So that was the symbol's meaning…
"Icepaw spends quite a bit of time in here with his chronic headaches," Honeybuzz explained. "We decided that rather than prepare fresh medicine every time he needed it, we could give Icepaw a jar of herbs he could lick from when he came in. Gingerspring figured out what herbs best help your brother and keeps the jar stocked. Just take a tongue-ful." Honeybuzz carefully undid the leather lid, revealing a chunky powder of dandelion, feverfew, and valerian root. Quickpaw stuck her muzzle in, flinching as the pottery rubbed awkwardly against her whiskers. She licked up a dose of the medicine and pulled back, smacking her lips.
"You would think I'd be used to talking with everyone," Quickpaw sighed, glancing back toward the party. "I spent half my life training for it. This just feels different." Wait, was Quickpaw going to vent to Honeybuzz? This was far from the night where Honeybuzz could offer a kind ear.
"If you're overwhelmed," Honeybuzz sighed, sealing the jar, "I'm sure you can sleep early. You could join Puddlewhisper and your siblings. I overheard Icepaw brag about sleeping in the warrior's den tonight."
"I don't know if Puddlewhisper would really welcome me," Quickpaw groaned, taking a seat near Weevilsight's nest. And Honeybuzz only encouraged her, how wonderful. "She's been nothing but nice, but I'm not one of her kits. Nimblestep will always be my mom… but some cats might resent that."
Honeybuzz sighed. It seemed there was no hiding from the world that night. If Stormjump were around, she would have encouraged someone, anyone, to go see Honeybuzz, whether their tail was falling off or they had a cough. Could she have nudged Quickpaw Honeybuzz's way? He should help her, he was a father after all, these were the sort of things fathers should be able to work through. What if it were Patchkit asking those questions?
"I don't see how anyone could resent you for something you didn't do," Honeybuzz pointed out, taking a reluctant seat.
"I guess it's a SlugClan habit," Quickpaw sighed. "There's a belief over there that if someone avoids judgment, their children must answer in their stead. It restores power to StarClan, I think. Mom told me not to put my faith in that, but it does make me think. Should I be doing something to make up for what my mom did to RippleClan? Would I feel less guilty?" Quickpaw hid behind her whiskers as she added, "I know it doesn't make a lot of sense, but that's feelings for you."
"That all sounds like yet another tradition our founders wanted to leave behind," Honeybuzz huffed. "You are your own molly here, Quickpaw. You leave your own legacy."
"That's true," Quickpaw admitted with another glance outside. She took a big breath and said, "It's hard to grieve her when everyone here hates her."
"From Icepaw's stories," Honeybuzz sighed, "you're not one to back away from bullies." Honeybuzz rolled the orange-dyed moss-ball, made by Gingerspring, under his paw. "I'm sure if someone is selfish enough to yowl at you for grieving, you can show them who's in the wrong."
"Right once again," Quickpaw chuckled softly. "I guess that's cleric wisdom."
"Might just be Honeybuzz wisdom," Honeybuzz hummed. "Have you met Gingerspring?" Quickpaw snorted, nodding along to the harsh joke. Honeybuzz suddenly realized it was the first joke he had told since the Ocean's Assault.
"I think Icepaw's 'stash' is starting to help my headache," Quickpaw purred, stretching her flank high. "Thank you, Honeybuzz. I think I can face the crowd again. Are you going to stay in here all night?" Honeybuzz looked outside. Beekit, Morningkit, and Patchkit had left Yellowburst and Sandhollow behind in favor of trying out the large drum Rattlepelt saved from the flood. Patchkit beat awkwardly to the rhythm of Frostdancer's music.
"Perhaps I shouldn't," Honeybuzz hummed.
The light of the bonfire inched past the cold and warmed Honeybuzz's heart.
(Honeybuzz: 50, male, cleric, daring, sklled toolsmith, good teacher)
(Quickpaw: 12, female, historian apprentice, ambitious, good swimmer)
Waspdawn comes down with Vasco’s yellowcough, making the clerics, Wolfgaze, and Anchovystrike wonder if the Rat Leaders in the human settlement may grow to affect RippleClan more with their new arrivals.
[Image ID: The five clerics, Wolfgaze, and Anchovystrike gather together. Honeybuzz says, "We can’t predict what loners we’ll come across. Anchovystrike should examine all visitors for rat leaders." Waspdawn and Vasco stand in the back. Under Waspdawn, it says + CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH.]
The Witch Hunters find and kill Lemmy, leaving RippleClan in a strange state.
[Image ID: Darkkick, Terracottafoot, and Paleseed face Weevilsight. Paleseed says "Weevilsight?"]
Weevilsight nearly couldn't muster the energy for the Gathering. The last visit to StarClan's Shrine had been exhausting enough; Troutpool nearly cried when Trumpetspore didn't visit her dreams, and Weevilsight forgot her promise to Wolverineheart, to learn if Foampaw approved of her relationship with Mitespark, until just before the tortoiseshell cleric woke up. All the other clerics seemed forgiving of RippleClan's spaciness, yet Weevilsight dug her fangs into her lip and focused on her work. And part of that work was attending the Gathering.
Weevilsight and Honeybuzz were the only clerics accompanying the Clan to the Leader's Stone. Troutpool didn't want to face the official announcement of Trumpetspore's death, and Estherfern had to look after Gingerpaw, who somehow came up with the worst joke possible at Trumpetspore's vigil and was banned from the last winter Gathering. And thus, Weevilsight trailed within the middle of the RippleClan horde, following Downstar and Oilstripe along the SlugClan/WheatClan border. With Anchovystrike, Wolfgaze, and Ravenweaver staying behind, Weevilsight found herself with a duo she rarely got to interact with.
"I don't care how old they get," Paleseed said, adjusting her feather decor as she walked, "Terracottafoot is always going to look like a tiny scared apprentice to me. I can't believe how much they've grown! It's been ages since we had a chance to sit down with them, hasn't it, Darkkick?"
"We talked with them at Harvest Moon," Darkkick scoffed, fluffing herself up against the cold night wind.
"That was five moons ago!" Paleseed pointed out. "Before all… that happened."
"I thought mediators weren't supposed to avoid sensitive topics," Darkkick hummed.
"I'm trying to be respectful," Paleseed said. Even though the gray mediator was on Darkkick's right, and Weevilsight walked on her left, Weevilsight still saw the strained glance Paleseed sent her way.
"Why mince words?" Weevilsight laughed, venom in her voice. "My mom killed our Clanmates, my dad died, my aunt killed herself. I'm sure Terracottafoot can offer you some comfort." Considering Darkkick's short stature, she and Paleseed looked like a stunned, two-headed beast in the moonlight, their gaits evenly matched as they bawked at Weevilsight.
"I'll tell you the same thing I told your friend after the Shardling incident," Darkkick eventually huffed. "You handled that as best you could."
"I know that, Darkkick," Weevilsight sighed, staring at the cloud-lined moon as she walked. "I'm just going to feel like foxdung for a while."
"And that's okay," Paleseed added with a decisive nod. "You do what you need to do to grieve and come to terms with it all. You can always talk to me."
"I think she needs a friend, not a mediator, Paleseed," Darkkick muttered.
"Both work," Weevilsight hummed as the Clan approached the rock wall leading up to the Leader's Stone. It was slick with snow, making RippleClan's approach a slow and methodical process. Rabbitjoy walked along the edge of the path up, guarding Frostpaw from a potential fall. Boughfur took Tallowheart's basket while the rock-footed tom inched up the wall. A clump of snow fell from the grass above and smacked onto Stormjump's head, earning a laugh from her mate. Weevilsight's paws felt lighter. It felt normal, for the first time all winter.
As usual, RippleClan was the last Clan to arrive. Ospreystar, Eelstar, Gentlestar, and Lettucestar waited on the Leader's Stone while their Clans waited for their cue to mingle and share tongues. Downstar climbed to the second-highest platform of the Leader's Stone while Oilstripe took her traditonal place among the other deputies. Weevilsight laid in the half-melted snow and stared lazily at the Leader's Stone. The sooner announcements were done, the better.
The winter had been hard on the other four Clans in more traditional ways. WheatClan lost an overeager apprentice in the cold and an elder to distemper. LynxClan reported on harsh conditions in their rocky territory and gave their neighbors an official plea for hunting assistance. SlugClan and AshClan were a bit quieter, reporting a new litter and a death each, but Weevilsight couldn't help but notice how Eelstar and Lettucestar glanced at Downstar as they spoke.
"Before you begin your report, Downstar," Ospreystar said just as Eelstar finished delivering his news, "I want to say something that I didn't get the chance to last moon, when you announced the death of Mosspounce." The brown-speckled leader stood taller and faced the five Clans. "I want to formally declare LynxClan's gratitude to Mosspounce of RippleClan for killing the cougar that nearly destroyed us moons ago. He delivered the fatal blow, and for that, we hope that his story is honored with the same respect as Cougarstrike, Celestial of Cougars. LynxClan will hold a place in our hearts for RippleClan's brave caretaker."
"Mosspounce! Mosspounce!" the LynxClan cats cheered. Weevilsight sat up. Her ears rang with the sound of her father's name. Some of Weevilsight's Clanmates took up the cheer as well; Carnationspeckle and Asterblaze were particularly vocal. Weevilsight stayed still, unconsciously holding her breath. Her father was a hero.
"Take it with a drop of mouse bile, Weevilsight," Darkkick warned as the cheers began to die down. "I'm sure they are grateful, but this wh ole show is likely planned to win Downstar's favor. I'm sure LynxClan will be asking us for something soon."
"Thank you, Ospreystar," Downstar purred. "It does an old soul good to know that my grandson's fatal wounds were obtained for a good cause. I'm afraid that isn't the end of RippleClan's recent string of loss, however." Downstar shifted and prepared herself for the news. Weevilsight sank back down. Paleseed dipped her head and closed her eyes. "I'm sure some of you have learned of this, whether through meetings at the border or at the historian's gathering hosted by SlugClan this new moon. However, I regret to inform you that Trumpetspore, my granddaughter, took her own life shortly after the last Gathering." Quiet, shocked gasps rippled through the clearing. Eyes pierced the RippleClan delegation. Weevilsight closed her eyes and pretended she was alone.
"I'm sorry, Downstar," Gentlestar gulped, placing a paw on Downstar's platform above her.
"We ask that you respect our privacy surrounding this event," Downstar continued, "and know that Trumpetspore did her best against what can be the worst enemy a warrior fights; their own heart." Mutters of agreement washed over Weevilsight. She prayed no one would pry her for information. "Outside of this loss, we have no Gathering-worthy news to report. I say we get on with the Gathering proper and try to enjoy ourselves tonight." The other leaders nodded along with Downstar's idea. With that, the Clans merged. A wave of friends from other Clans crashed into RippleClan, firing questions of concern and morbid curiosity. Weevilsight wasn't ready; Yellowburst bumped into her flank, knocking her into a WheatClan historian. Weevilsight stumbled back, one of her signature petals fluttering out of her pelt.
"Terracottafoot is over there!" Paleseed called, peering over the crowd. "This way!" Darkkick looped her tail around Weevilsight and gently nudged her toward Paleseed. Paleseed pierced the crowd, leaving a trail for Weevilsight and Darkkick to follow. Questions bounced off Paleseed's pelt. She deflected them with the skill of an expert mediator, offering polite, if not slightly dismissive, answers.
Terracottafoot, as was their habit, prepared a game of moss-ball to the side of the crowd. They set up small "dens", or overturned baskets, on either end of the massive play area and merged loose chunks of moss together. They scented the three RippleClan cats and turned to greet them. Weevilsight tried to imagine what Terracottafoot looked like as a "tiny scared apprentice". Sure, the AshClan cleric carried themself with a constant air of tension; they were always moving, whether through the twitch of their whiskers or the methodical wave of their tail. But they were mature, as well-muscled as a warrior and, much to Weevilsight's embarassment, as handsome as they came (oh how Honeybuzz teased her as an apprentice for that little crush).
"Hi, Paleseed," Terracottafoot chirped, touching noses with Paleseed. "StarClan, I'm happy to see you. I've wanted to say something about your sisters, but I didn't know what."
"I try to focus on the siblings I still have," Paleseed chuckled, licking her chest.
"Keeping out of trouble?" Darkkick hummed, staring Terracottafoot up and down.
"I do what I can," Terracottafoot said. They touched noses with the former AshClan cleric and turned to Weevilsight. "Cleric Weevilsight, you didn't tell me about Warrior Trumpetspore at the half-moon meeting. Is that why Cleric Troutpool was so upset?"
"We didn't want to make the meeting all about us," Weevilsight sighed. Her paw absently snagged Terracottafoot's moss-ball and rolled it under her paw.
"I'm sorry about that, regardless," Terracottafoot said. They glanced past the RippleClan cats and groaned, "Oh StarClan he's already telling Downstar." Weevilsight looked back. Eelstar spoke with Downstar on the Leader's Stone. Both seemed deeply serious.
"Telling her what?" Darkkick huffed.
"I'm not a storyteller," Terracottafoot gulped, "but there were these Witch Hunters at our border and they told us… uh… do you want their story or the summary?"
"Tell us what they told you," Paleseed suggested.
"Well," Terracottafoot groaned. They stared at Darkkick, gaze pointedly refusing to touch Weevilsight. "Apparently Lemmy showed up in the human settlement last moon. One of the Witch Hunters picked a fight with her, and, well, that Witch Hunter ended up dead. The Witch Hunters were really mad at that, I think the dead Witch Hunter just had kits and the humans took them away? I can't remember that part. But, um, the Witch Hunter General ordered them to find Lemmy, and they did… Lemmy's dead now." The words didn't quite reach Weevilsight's ears.
"Say that again?" Weevilsight said, rubbing her ears.
"The Witch Hunters killed Lemmy," Terracottafoot said. "I think their patrol thought we were RippleClan? We didn't get a chance to explain. They showed up a few days ago. I'm really sorry, Weevilsight." Weevilsight's claws pierced the moss-ball. The chatter of the Gathering clawed her ears. Her heart beat faster.
"Weevilsight?" Paleseed whispered. She reached a paw toward Weevilsight, but Darkkick pushed it down.
Lemmy's dead. Lemmy's dead. Lemmy's dead.
Mom's dead.
"Stars damn it!" Weevilsight yowled. She chucked the moss-ball as hard and as fast as she could. It smacked into the basket and sent it rolling toward the treeline. "I want to kill someone!"
"Weevilsight—" Paleseed and Terracottafoot both stammered.
"Shut up, both of you," Darkkick snapped, shoving her tail in front of the pair. "Let her be."
"She made mistakes!" Weevilsight groaned. "Stupid, awful mistakes, it got out of control!" She paced in a circle, as though trying to get comfortable in a nest. "She wasn't a monster! She wanted to keep me safe! They didn't have to kill her! StarClan, she never even knew Dad died! Why did this happen? Why did she have to kill Potterypool? I can't even decide if I love her or hate her! Augh!" Weevilsight sat in a huff, tail thrashing. She stared at the snowy ground, head spinning. Her jaw dug into her head so hard, she thought she'd break a tooth.
Paleseed crept past Darkkick and toward the rolling basket. She put a paw on the basket, stopping its retreat. She plucked the moss-ball from inside and stared at it. Her tail waved gently as she thought.
"Terracottafoot?" Paleseed asked. "Do you have any AshClan cats who'd like to play against RippleClan in a game of moss-ball?"
"I can ask around," Terracottafoot said hesistantly, still inching toward Weevilsight. "Shouldn't we help—"
"I don't need help, Terracottafoot," Weevilsight huffed at the ground, voice monotone.
"I seem to recall you being good with a moss-ball as a kit," Paleseed said. She tossed the moss-ball to Weevilsight. It rolled to a stop in front of her paws. "Want to put that rage of yours to good use? It would be an insult to Clan pride if we let AshClan beat us."
"Go get your Clan, kit," Darkkick scoffed. Terracottafoot cocked their head, but eventually sighed, chuckling at the same time. They jogged toward the larger crowd.
"For our players, I think we should recruit…" Paleseed hummed, studying the Gathering. "Boughfur, Stormjump, Yellowburst, Shrewflame, and Wolverineheart." Darkkick nodded along with Paleseed's assessment. "So, Weevilsight? Want to join?" Weevilsight gently snagged the moss-ball in her claws. She held it up to the light of the bonfire by the Leader's Stone. Did the color match Mosspounce's eyes? They had been so scarred at the end, Weevilsight almost couldn't remember…
"Let's kill these foxhearts," Weevilsight growled, tossing the moss-ball back to Paleseed.
"Metaphorically, though!" Paleseed chuckled awkwardly. "I'll go get the others." Paleseed passed the moss-ball to Darkkick and followed Terracottafoot's trail. Weevilsight sat next to Darkkick, unable to stop her thrashing tail.
"I'll help you hide the bodies," Darkkick chuckled.
A short time later, Weevilsight stood with her Clanmates in front of one of the baskets. Somehow, it seemed the whole group managed to escape the fog of grief imposed by Trumpetspore's death and laughed like kits as they prepared for the game. A gaggle of AshClan cats guarded the other basket across the clearing, throwing taunts toward the RippleClan cats. Paleseed and Terracottafoot stood in the middle, moss-ball sitting between them. A crowd of apprentices and warriors from the other Clans gathered to watch as they shared tongues.
"If it's been a while since any of you have played an organized game of moss-ball," Paleseed explained, "let us remind you. You are each on a patrol of seven cats, facing off against another patrol. Your job is to get the moss-ball past the enemy patrol and into their den, in this case the basket, to score points. No holding the moss-ball in your mouth, you have to catch it in your claws and toss it to your patrol members. If the other patrol has the moss-ball, you need to either make them drop it or grab it out of their paws, again, no teeth allowed. And no den guarding, you have to give the other patrol a chance to throw the moss-ball in. For this game, let's say… first to fifteen points wins. Any questions?"
"Do we have to be gentle with the cleric?" a dark red molly asked, nodding at Weevilsight.
"I won't be gentle with you," Weevilsight growled, ears tilted back. An excited bark of laughter and cheering rippled through the bystanders. The AshClan patrol laughed and yowled along with them.
"What about Darkkick?" asked a black and white tom, barely out of apprenticeship. "I feel bad fighting an elder."
"Darkkick fought Autumnstar, in the actual Dark Forest," Boughfur laughed, unweaving the blue flowers from her fur and placing them to the side of the game area. "I don't think you should be worried about hurting her, of all cats."
"Ready to run back to camp with your tails between your legs?" Shrewflame called, his tail high.
"I'm ready to feed you dirt, pretty kitty!" yowled the dark red molly.
"Aww, you think I'm pretty?" Shrewflame purred, wiggling his flank. "Why thank you!" Stormjump and Yellowburst laughed at Shrewflame, starting a wave of giggles across the crowd.
"Everyone go at my command!" Terracottafoot yowled, jogging out of the soon-to-be battlefield with Paleseed, leaving the moss-ball behind. All players shifted into battle poses. Weevilsight copied them as best she could. All eyes were on the moss-ball.
"Darkkick, stay in the back," Yellowburst whispered. "You can catch the moss-ball before it gets to the den."
"And miss out on clawing some AshClan fur?" Darkkick snapped in just such a way that Weevilsight couldn't tell if she was mad or teasing. "There's no chance of that."
As the pair argued, the AshClan patrol sparkled in Weevilsight's eyes. Ghostly doubles of the AshClan warriors launched toward the moss-ball. Sparkling premonitions of Weevilsight's Clanmates charged at the approaching patrol in return. Wolverineheart's future transparent form shoved into the dark red molly's shoulder. Her attack gave the black and white tom just enough time to slip around the charging enemy force and snatch the moss-ball in his claws. Weevilsight hadn't even seen that tom in the mass of cats yet-to-charge.
"Attack!" Terracottafoot cheered. Weevilsight's vision popped like seafoam. History repeated itself; the AshClan patrol ran at the moss-ball like stampeding horses. Wolverineheart led the RippleClan charge. No one noticed the black and white tom, running low against his taller Clanmates. He was invisible in the rush of fire-lit pelts. An afterimage of the tom's future position still flashed in Weevilsight's eyes.
Weevilsight lunged toward the empty space. Just as she neared it, just as she began to doubt her sight, there he was; the black and white tom, swooping past Wolverineheart to grab the moss-ball. Weevilsight smacked into him a whisker's length from the moss-ball. Weevilsight and the black and white tom tumbled back into the mass of swarming cats, each shocked at the other's appearance.
Stormjump rolled behind Weevilsight and snatched the moss-ball. She flicked her paw and sent the moss-ball soaring across the clearing. Shrewflame darted alongside the flying object. He jumped as though catching a bird mid-flight. Both front paws wrapped around the moss-ball.
Another premonition flashed within the mass of playful warriors. Shrewflame's ghostly paw launched a purple transparent moss-ball toward the AshClan den. A lilac and cream tortoiseshell streaked past her Clanmates and caught the moss-ball against her shoulder.
"Run with it, Shrewflame!" Weevilsight yowled as the black and white tom finally shoved her off. She fell onto her back, staring at the cloud-speckled night while the rest of the group hurried past her. All of the petals that clung to her pelt rubbed off in the snow and grass.
Weevilsight hurried back to her paws, only to see she was too late; the lilac and cream tortoiseshell stopped the moss-ball with her shoulder, just as predicted. But would Weevilsight let that go? Absolutely not. She had to sit by while her mother was exiled, while her father died, while her Clan suffered not under the claws of some Spirit of Shadow, something Weevilsight was born to fight, but mortals and the dangers of the everyday. She didn't have to let this go.
Weevilsight was not going to lose this game.
Weevilsight scrambled as the AshClan tortoiseshell tossed the moss-ball to the dark red molly. Darkkick thundered past Weevilsight, catching the eye of the dark red molly. Weevilsight yowled and sprung at the dark red molly. Weevilsight's sheathed paws batted the dark red molly's head. The dark red molly swung at Weevilsight, but the moss-ball slipped from her claws in the process. Darkkick swiped it from underneath the fighting mollies and batted it back toward the AshClan den. The dark red molly turned to follow, but Weevilsight shrieked and dragged the AshClan molly back by the tail. Her mouth burned with the taste of cat fur, that awful scent of combat that she still despised after so many moons, but the thoughtless rage bubbling in her throat forced her to remind herself, training grip, training grip, training grip.
A cheer ripped through the bystanders. Weevilsight let go of the dark red molly's tail. Boughfur had jumped into the AshClan den, moss-ball stuck to her claws. She looked like a rabbit crawling into a hole. Weevilsight laughed, but it was more like the cauterwaul of a rabid beast than anything funny.
"Clerics are mad," the dark red molly grumbled, hurrying back to her Clanmates.
Mad? Oh that was the right word for Weevilsight at the moment, as her patrol cheerfully regrouped by their den for the next round. Weevilsight was certain the actual grief would hit her when she got back to camp. But in that moment, with the freedom to run and scream and tackle and fight? Weevilsight could be as mad as she needed to be.
(Weevilsight: 27, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)
[Image ID: Midnightkit and Valleykit face Carnationspeckle, both in trouble. Midnightkit says "Why didn't Rattlepelt come get me?" Under Midnightkit, it says + NEW SKILL: ALWAYS WANDERING. Under Valleykit, it says + NEW SKILL: AVID PLAY-FIGHTER.]
SlugClan attacks RippleClan in hopes of recovering Icekit and Pearkit for their newest members, Nimblestep and Quickkit.
[Image ID: Lettucestar, a white tom with a scar, and Lighttrail face Downstar, Wolverineheart, Wildclaw, Yarrowclaw, and Leathermask. Lettucestar says, "I'm sorry, Downstar, but I can't take no for an answer. Nimblestep is their mother, not Puddlewhisper." Under Downstar, it says LIVES LEFT: 1. Under Leathermask, it says LEVEL UP! NERVOUS → CONFIDENT.[
---
Downstar could tell it would be a late spring as she stepped out of her den on the last day of the year and into the thick, dry snow. It had snowed from one sunset and through another without stopping, leaving snowdrifts as tall as cats against the rocks and trees. It wasn't a bitter cold, though, like the one that plagued the Clans a few moons prior. This was a cold that energized Downstar's aching muscles and told the whole Clan to have a bit of fun!
The kits were certainly taking advantage of the heavy snowfall. Pearkit and Icekit dug at the snow like dogs while Midnightkit and Valleykit watched, wide-eyed. Stormjump groomed herself outside the warrior's den in a pale attempt to hide her watchful eye resting on the kits. The clerics cleared snow out from around the medicine den, but there was a shine to their eyes that brought a purr to Downstar's throat. Gingerpaw rambled to Weevilsight as the pair dug a path from the medicine den to the bonfire. Weevilsight laughed at one of Gingerpaw's silly faces, further easing Downstar's heart. If the recent heartbreak of the season could be forgotten, even for a moment, there was hope for RippleClan.
There was no hope of telling the time that day, save for the natural rhythm of day and night inside every cat. The sky was an endless silver expanse. Not a single cloud could be distinguished from another. It was as gray as a clear day's sky was blue. The unbroken bright light reflected off the snow stunned Downstar's eyes. Were it not for her nose, she might have bumped into Oilstripe, who trotted toward the leader's den.
"Good morning, Downstar," Oilstripe reported, ears perking up in front of her leader. "We have a few patrols out already. Vervaincough and Darkkick joined Billowhaze, Whitepaw, and Boughfur on an expedition to study the snow, but they promised to mark the southern border while they were there. Carnationspeckle, Tallowheart, and Drumtooth are fishing along the northern coast. Lastly, Rabbitjoy took Mitespark and Frostpaw to trade with WheatClan. They'll be gone the longest."
"Busy morning," Downstar hummed.
"Everyone wants to be out of camp today," Oilstripe sighed, stretching her front legs.
"I can manage the camp if you want to lead a patrol," Downstar said. She flicked her ears toward the camp exit. "This will likely be our last bit of snow until next winter."
"That's alright, Downstar," Oilstripe said a bit too quickly. "We have a lot to clear out of camp. I should manage that." Downstar grabbed Oilstripe's gaze and didn't let go. She studied her deputy's cyan eyes, so strangely blessed. Oilstripe's whiskers twitched uncomfortably, unable to view Downstar's thoughts as easily as she viewed hers.
"It's no good to have a distracted deputy," Downstar said. She sat in the curve of the Shiprock where the snow was thinner. "You're lingering around camp for another reason. Deputies should be open with their leaders."
"I can't tell if you're teasing me or reprimanding me," Oilstripe sighed. She sat next to Downstar, her focus drifting past her leader. The only sign of Downstar's hesistancy was the shift of her tail; she knew when she chose Oilstripe that she'd have to tolerate her ghost sight and the weird, almost blaphemous intrusion into the privacy of the visiting dead. She was good at that by now, and with a hard blink to wipe her mind, Downstar focused back on Oilstripe.
"It's about Rattlepelt," Oilstripe groaned. "I don't want to leave her alone." Downstar eyed the nursery. The snow's reflected light easily showed Rattlepelt and Wildclaw inside the den, still asleep. Wildclaw snuggled deep into Rattlepelt's fox pelt, and Rattlepelt shifted closer to her mate.
"I hope you remember you aren't the only other member of RippleClan," Downstar gently reminded her deputy. "There's always someone in camp."
"I'm not doubting anyone," Oilstripe said. She flexed her paw, poking tiny holes in the snow. The gentle motion gave her time to find her courage. "I'm scared for her, Downstar."
"Do you think she could harm herself?" Downstar asked. She regretted the question as soon as she said it. She never would have thought something like that a moon ago. But then again, a moon ago Downstar still had her granddaughter. Oilstripe caught her breath.
"No," she huffed. "No… but then again, I didn't think Trumpetspore could, either. I don't think I can truly judge what's in someone's heart."
"Blame is a weight I've borne for far too many circumstances outside of my control. Don't let it crush you."
"But don't I deserve some of the blame? We're leading this Clan, Downstar. When someone dies like this, what does it say about us? And what about Lemmy? Could we have stopped her?"
"You're rambling, Oilstripe." Downstar raised her tail to pause her deputy's spiraling thoughts. "I'm going to tell you something that it took me a long time to learn. If you did the best you could with what you knew, then blaming yourself is useless." Oilstripe breathed deep, nodding along with Downstar's advice.
"I'll try to remember that," Oilstripe sighed.
"So," Downstar huffed, getting up, "do you think Rattlepelt needs an extra eye on her?"
"I think she's struggling," Oilstripe said, picking her words carefully. "It's like what happened after the Shardling incident. I don't want this to hurt Rattlepelt's relationship with Wildclaw or their kits. Rattlepelt didn't even leave the nursery to check on Midnightkit yesterday." Yes, Downstar had noted that; out of the two mothers, Wildclaw was usually the one with an eye on Midnightkit and Valleykit as of late, and when she went on patrol, Midnightkit tried to follow. It hadn't been Downstar's place to comment on Rattlepelt's absence, but everyone noticed it.
"As the mother of your daughter-in-code rather than your leader," Downstar sighed, "don't worry about how Wildclaw feels. I'll take her out. Try not to worry. We'll help Rattlepelt as best we can." Downstar touched her nose to Oilstripe's head. Oilstripe gawked at the touch for a moment, eyes widening. She then purred and dipped her head. Her whole body softened. Downstar's work there was done; now onto her daughter.
Downstar left Oilstripe to her thoughts and entered the nursery. Her paws trapsing through the snow quickly woke Wildclaw. The scarred gray tabby lifted her head off her mate and yawned deeply. Her scar-lined tail swayed lazily.
"Wildclaw, I'm taking a sunrise patrol to mark our northwest borders," Downstar explained in a whisper. "I want you to come with. I'll even let you pick out who we bring."
"I'll be right there," Wildclaw grumbled, still yawning and blinking sleep from her eyes. She crawled over Rattlepelt, stretching her hind legs so high they nearly eclipsed her head. Rattlepelt shifted and threw a paw over her eyes. Wildclaw glanced back to her mate and whispered, "Rattlepelt, I'm going on patrol. The kits are playing outside. Do you need anything?"
"I can get it," Rattlepelt mumbled. She squirmed under her red pelt, but didn't get up. Downstar softly padded back out as Wildclaw whispered something else her aging ears could not catch.
Downstar trailed through camp, navigating around the kits' digging, and waited by the exit for her daughter. A few moments later, Wildclaw emerged from the nursery and jogged to the warrior's den, nodding to Stormjump as she passed. She seemed like the reckless young molly Downstar remembered from so many years ago, but there was a wisdom to her step and a thought in her eyes. Yes, Downstar did not need to worry about Wildclaw. The fierceness her named honored was truly something to respect now.
Some time later, Wildclaw joined Downstar at the exit with Wolverineheart, Yarrowclaw, and Leathermask. Downstar wasted no time leading the patrol into the cheerful winter. Wildclaw slipped beside her mother and pranced through the snow like a deer. Soft winds blew powdery snow off the trees, making it look like a second snowfall. The snow retained the memory of the wind in its swirling, smooth edges and gentle dance across the ground. The smell of Carnationspeckle's patrol drifted past, a soft reminder that they were never alone in RippleClan territory.
"You know who Midnightkit and Valleykit remind me of?" Downstar said as the patrol trekked through the forest. "You and Halibutdusk."
"Really?" Wildclaw huffed. "I don't see it."
"Midnightkit is going to be just as troublesome as you were, I'm certain of it," Downstar chuckled. "Valleykit has Halibutdusk's pensiveness."
"Valleykit just learned what birds are," Wildclaw laughed. "I think you might be insulting Halibutdusk there."
"They fit into our family, that's what I mean," Downstar hummed, studying Wildclaw's face. "You and Rattlepelt have done a good job so far. Just like you did with Shrewflame and Whitepaw. You'll all be alright in the end."
"I know, Mom," Wildclaw assured her. Her ears tilted back for a moment as she added, "I just need Rattlepelt to believe that."
"You've been through worse," Downstar reminded her. She stopped to rub an irritating itch on her back against a pine. "If you keep doing what you have been doing, it will work out."
"Downstar!" The whole patrol paused, ears high. Pale gray markings framed the green eyes of the tom who emerged from the depths of the forest. Lettucestar? His deputy, Lighttrail, walked alongside him, all thick ginger fur and confidence.
"Stop right there!" Wildclaw barked. She dove between Downstar and Lettucestar, lips curled tight and her body slithering like a rattlesnake ready to strike.
"This has to be a joke," Wolverineheart scoffed. "I get you're a Clan leader, but you can't just stroll into our territory without an escort!"
"Do you want to get attacked?" Yarrowclaw growled, showing off her fangs.
"Wait, wait," Downstar huffed. She pushed through her protective Clanmates, tail high to still their sudden fury. "Let me talk to him." Leathermask bristled, back arched high as Downstar approached the SlugClan leader. Wolverineheart and Yarrowclaw kept their claws out, but gave Downstar her room. Wildclaw stayed where she was, face curling in and out of battle rage.
"I know I'm intruding on your territory," Lettucestar huffed, keeping his tail low as a show of peace. "Waiting by the border would have been inappropriate. In a sad way, my purpose here isn't much different from the war patrol you brought to my camp almost a year ago." There was a mild venom in Lettucestar's voice that made Downstar's ears grow hot with old grief.
"Except Downstar's not losing her mind," Yarrowclaw grumbled.
"Yarrowclaw, you will not disrespect Gorgestar's memory in front of me," Downstar suddenly growled, turning on the brown and white molly. Yarrowclaw stiffened under Downstar's amber glare. "He was a good leader and my friend. You of all cats should know better than to make a joke of something like that." Yarrowclaw stared down, unmoving under Downstar's assault. Downstar bit back a hiss of frusteration; why in the world did Yarrowclaw have to make a comment like that? Now Downstar seemed like a weak leader! She would handle Yarrowclaw's coldness later; she had intruders to manage.
"It's once again an issue of miscommunication," Lettucestar sighed. "Lighttrail, you're the better storyteller of the two of us. Explain the situation to Downstar and her warriors." Lighttrail stepped forward, clearing his throat. He looked like a kit in Downstar's eyes. Then again, at Downstar's age, most cats looked like kits.
"Recently, SlugClan encounter a loner queen and her kit by the river," Lighttrail said. "The kit was sick with feather-head, so we offered to provide treatment. The queen grew to trust us, and the pair decided to join SlugClan. They are now known as Nimblestep and Quickkit, though you would have known the queen as simply Nimble." Nimble. So much had happened that winter, Downstar almost forgot that Puddlewhisper was not Pearkit and Icekit's birth mother.
"Wait," Leathermask grunted. "Nimble joined SlugClan? No, she hates the Clans."
"Her mate hated the Clans," Lighttrail said with the patience of a mentor with their apprentice. Downstar couldn't stop her jaw from tightening at the tone. "Nimblestep supported and followed Achilles, but once she understood we only wanted to help Quickkit, she learned to trust us."
"It's not like we didn't try to do that!" Wolverineheart whined. "She wouldn't listen to us!"
"Your Clanmates murdered Achilles in cold blood," Lighttrail scoffed, twitching his whiskers. "Would you listen to yourselves?"
"No more comments, all of you," Downstar hissed, thrashing her tail. This was no time to be debating the details.
"She told us about her other kits, Downstar," Lettucestar finally sighed. "A silver tom and a pale ginger molly. They're Icekit and Pearkit, aren't they?" Wildclaw paced behind Downstar. Her jaw twitched with unspoken words. Her paws crunched heavily into the snow, turning it to slush.
"They are," Downstar admitted. "Nimble ran—Nimblestep ran from our patrol, but only took a brown kit. Quickkit, I assume. She abandoned the rest of her litter."
"A mistake she wants to correct," Lettucestar said, stepping closer to Downstar. "We're here to take Icekit and Pearkit back to their mother."
"Take?" Downstar and Wildclaw yowled in unison. Lighttrail unseathed his claws and crouched into a battle stance. Lettucestar hovered his tail over his deputy's shoulder. Downstar steadied her breath and grounded her paws flat, letting the cold sap her sudden anger.
"Lettucestar, Icekit and Pearkit are RippleClan cats now," Downstar said slowly. "All they've known is RippleClan. Puddlewhisper is raising them. Taking them would be cruel. Nimblestep abandoned them to what she thought would be their deaths. How can we trust she has their best intentions at heart?"
"She's a SlugClan warrior now," Lettucestar said, his words just as slow and restrained as Downstar's tone. "We will help her raise the kits, just as I'm sure your caretakers help Puddlewhisper."
"I'm happy to discuss Nimblestep visiting our camp," Downstar huffed. "If she wants a relationship with Icekit and Pearkit, I don't want to deny her that. But simply taking them? They aren't prey. Do you think they'd ever be loyal to SlugClan if you forced them from their home?" Lettucestar sighed deeply. He closed his eyes and pulled his tail away from Lighttrail. His claws peeked out of his paws. The RippleClan patrol slunk closer to Downstar.
"Warriors!" Lettucestar yowled. The snow behind Lettucestar shifted. Pelts peeked out from the white and gray terrain, shoving off snowy coverings and emerging from behind trees and rocks. The RippleClan patrol hissed and snarled. There was an entire war patrol of SlugClan cats, hiding just fox-lengths away! The SlugClan warriors glistened with snow melting into their fur. Narrow eyes bore into Downstar, ready to tear and bite.
"I'm sorry, Downstar," Lettucestar sighed, shifting into a battle stance, "but I can't take no for an answer. Nimblestep is their mother, not Puddlewhisper. You can't claim her kits. I wanted us to agree on this, but if you won't take us to your camp, we'll just go through you."
"Yarrowclaw, warn camp, now!" Downstar yowled. Yarrowclaw leaped over Leathermask and skidded across the snow. She raced like a rabbit along the patrol's snowy prints, tail weaving between the trees.
"Don't let her get reinforcements!" Lettucestar ordered. Half of the SlugClan patrol bolted after Yarrowclaw, stomping and kicking their way through the snow. Leathermask yowled and launched himself into a lilac tortie, the war-hungry Carvingfur. The pair rolled back behind an ancient pine.
"Wolverineheart, help Yarrowclaw!" Downstar ordered as Lighttrail lunged for her. "We'll hold them back!" Wolverineheart ran after Yarrowclaw's hunters as Lighttrail smacked Downstar into the snow. Downstar raked her claws along Lighttrail's white chest. Blood immediately dripped from his pelt onto Downstar's face.
Lighttrail stumbled off, shrieking, as the rest of the patrol converged on Downstar and Wildclaw. There were three or four SlugClan warriors for each remaining RippleClan cat. At least Lighttrail wouldn't be a problem; he stumbled against a pine trunk and pressed his bleeding wounds into the snow.
"I'd like to see you take me, foxhearts!" Wildclaw cried. She hooked her claws into Carvingfur as she and Leathermask rolled back into the crowd. Wildclaw ripped Carvingfur off Leathermask and dug her teeth into the tortoiseshell's soft ear.
Sharp claws slashed Downstar's ankle. She tumbled forward into a black molly. A cream-colored tom pounced on Downstar's back. His claws tore into her ginger patches. Blinding pain ripped through Downstar's blood.
Lettucestar crouched by Lighttrail as the SlugClan warriors beat Downstar into the ground. The leader and deputy whispered to one another, mute under the screech of battle. With a decisive nod from Lighttrail, Lettucestar hurried past the fight toward the unseen coastline and RippleClan's camp.
Leathermask and Wildclaw fought back to back against Carvingfur and the other SlugClan warriors. They spun to face every blow. Nicks and scratches riddled their faces. Neither could get to Downstar.
The black molly and the cream-colored tom stepped off Downstar, blood staining their paws. Downstar's ears rang. She stared into the now pink snow. Her legs shook. The pain coursed through her back and toward her paws. Downstar couldn't get up. She couldn't help her daughter. Yarrowclaw and Wolverineheart had to get to camp. They had to protect the kits. That was what mattered.
A brown and white mass of long fur flew past Downstar's blurry vision. The figure landed on Carvingfur just before the tortoiseshell could claw at Leathermask's eyes. Carnationspeckle! Her hunting patrol! Drumtooth and Tallowheart dove into the fight behind their patrol leader. Tallowheart pulled Wildclaw and Leathermask out of the mess. Drumtooth whipped around the SlugClan warriors like a fish. He'd land one blow, then kick back at a sneaky warrior.
"They're going for camp," Wildclaw yowled over the ringing in Downstar's ears.
"Yarrowclaw got there first," Tallowheart gulped. The fighting in front of Downstar blurred. Downstar rested her chin on the cold, stained snow.
"Mom!"
It took a while for Downstar to die. From what she could tell, she drifted in a melting mass of dreams and noise until her strength finally left her. She couldn't tell how much time had passed, and could barely hold on to a single thought. The sounds of the battle rose and fell. They blended into orders and questions, making the line between war and peace impossible to see. Were the clerics there? They should focus on the camp. SlugClan would not have those kits!
Summer warmth licked Downstar's pelt. That oh-so-familiar ocean hum replaced the ringing in her ears. Her back no longer burned. Downstar rubbed her cheek on the sand. Oh Downstar had missed the summer. RippleClan needed that light and warmth once more.
StarClan's coastline was the same as ever; mountains far behind the forest, pure salty water nuzzling the shore. Sunhigh glistened at the top of the sky, honey-bright and as welcome as a warm nest at the end of a cold night. Now Downstar didn't want to get up at all. For now, she could breathe.
Yet who would greet her this time? She was never alone on that lovely beach. Locustseeker, Duskkit, Fennelspot, Rustshade, Scrubmask… someone always had a kind word to say. Who would be there this time? Maybe Downstar had to go find them.
Despite the tempting warmth of the sand, Downstar got to her paws. She stood quicker than she expected. Old age didn't plague her in the strange land of Silverpelt. Downstar scanned the shore. Down the coast, paws dipping into the slowly rising tide, a black tabby sat, waiting. Downstar's granddaughter was unmistakeable, even with the newly gained glimmer in her pelt.
"I shouldn't be surprised it's you," Downstar called. Trumpetspore turned at her grandmother's voice. Her ears pressed backward. She snapped her eyes down.
Downstar strolled down the beach. Her heartbeat matched the gentle pull of the waves. She slowed the closer she got to Trumpetspore. Trumpetspore's head dipped lower and lower.
"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm sorry, Downstar. I should have talked to you. I missed them so much, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to hurt anyone."
"Oh, Trumpet," Downstar cooed. She placed her chin on Trumpetspore's warm head. She wrapped herself around Trumpetspore as the ageless black warrior shook. The hum of the ethereal ocean hid Trumpetspore's whimpers.
"I should have hung on," Trumpetspore whined.
"I know, I know," Downstar whispered. "It'll be alright now. I know, you're sorry."
Downstar wasn't sure how long she sat with her granddaughter. Those visits to StarClan rarely aligned with time in the living world, after all. Downstar just let the salt water soak her flank as she offered Trumpetspore a familiar shoulder.
"There are things I need to say," Trumpetspore eventually croaked, "before you go back." The pair pulled away, leaving imprints of each other in their pelts.
"I understand," Downstar sighed. "Tell me first, though. Did Lettucestar take the kits?"
"No," Trumpetspore said, clearing her throat. There was a shift in her starry eyes, a soft dance of light cascading across her glittering pelt. Her gaze drifted to something Downstar could not see. "Puddlewhisper hid them in the medicine den when Yarrowclaw got to camp. She pretended they were in the nursery until Lettucestar's patrol had to retreat."
"As clever as her mother," Downstar purred. Good, the kits were safe. For now, at least.
"Happier moons are ahead," Trumpetspore promised as her focus returned to Downstar. She stiffened and glanced down as she added, "If I had known that earlier…" Downstar had no comforting words for that. Trumpetspore breathed deep and stood taller.
"You're on your last life, Downstar," Trumpetspore said. Her voice gained the sort of regal, knowing tone Downstar had grown used to hearing from StarClan cats. "The next time you wake up on these shores, you will not return to RippleClan."
"I understand," Downstar said. She could feel her body pulling her down. The weight of her many moons flowed back through her muscles. She laid on the sand, which now felt more like moss and leather. Downstar's body was likely in the medicine den. "One thing before I wake up. Can you pass a message to Shadowdrop and your siblings?"
"Anything," Trumpetspore gulped. Downstar purred at the light in Trumpetspore's eyes.
"Tell them I love them."
(Downstar: 151, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)
The first thing Whitepaw asks to do after being apprenticed to Billowhaze is to collect moss, shocking his mentor.
[Image ID: Whitepaw is now an apprentice. Under him, it reads LEVEL UP! WHITEKIT → WHITEPAW, SKITTISH → NERVOUS.]
(Whitepaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, nervous, active imagination)
Lightningrunner is murdered.
[Image ID: Whitepaw and Shrewflame hurry to Leathermask, Vervaincough, and Puddlewhisper.]
---
While Whitepaw couldn't claim to be as self-assured and skilled as his older brother, or as respected and proud as his adopted mothers, he certainly tried to live up to them. He would groom his long, wild fur and make sure his elders knew he was listening, ears locked and unmoving on them. He would keep an eye on Gingerkit and Frostkit, even though the caretakers insisted it was their job to mind them and Whitepaw could enjoy his last days of kithood. He would make sure he wasn't under anyone's paws or bothering anyone as they worked. There was a lot to do, a lot to protect, and all Whitepaw seemed good at was coming up with new games to pass the time until his ceremony.
Things should have been better with his apprenticeship. He should have found a way to support the Clan that immediately offered their love and support. He should have focused on his new studies, tackling Billowhaze's lessons on science and history with the same fire Shrewflame had in his apprenticeship. He should have been a good apprentice.
None of this should have happened.
Whitepaw seemed to carry the entire beach on his half-wet pelt as he ran after Shrewflame. He looked more cream than white. Even through Shrewflame's legs were equally soaked, the sand didn't slow him down. He bounded toward the shipwreck with an unmatched speed. Whitepaw, meanwhile, struggled to feel his legs. The waves smacked into the shore with a consistent, drum-like beat that pounded deeper and deeper into Whitepaw's head. The water ate the dusting of snow that shrouded the rest of RippleClan territory. The writhing tides ate the sunlight while the snow beyond the shore reflected it onto Whitepaw's back.
"Shrewflame, wait," Whitepaw begged, stumbling over his own paws. "I, I can't keep up!" Shrewflame danced to a stop and turned back to his younger brother. Whitepaw panted, falling back on his flank. He tried to groom the matted sand off his legs, but the dark tan flecks seemed to tangle in his long fur. The salty water stung his mouth and the sand irritated his skin. His tongue raked harder and harder through his pelt, but he couldn't get clean. The weight of it all pulled him deeper into the sand.
"Whitepaw," Shrewflame said softly as Whitepaw whined. It wouldn't come off! "Whitepaw, listen, everything will be alright. I promise you."
"How?" Whitepaw gulped, coughing on sand. "You can't promise anything. You don't know what'll happen next."
"I'm going to keep you safe," Shrewflame huffed. He rested a paw on Whitepaw's head, knocking his tongue away from his obsessive grooming. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Whitepaw. Trust me." Whitepaw nodded without thinking. Shrewflame touched his nose to Whitepaw's head. Whitepaw forced himself to breathe. It was only when Whitepaw could stand still before his brothee that Shrewflame stepped back and continued on the path to RippleClan's camp.
"Don't panic the Clan," Shrewflame warned as he and Whitepaw approached the camp entrance, guarded by Currentsmoke. "Let me handle this." Whitepaw nodded once more. He shivered as he passed through the thorny walls of the entrance. Currentsmoke eyed his soaked, sandy pelt. Shrewflame let his brother enter first, glancing north the way they came.
Whitepaw waited by the camp entrance for Shrewflame, below the stove where Rabbitjoy and Ravenweaver debated what to serve for the sunhigh meal. He could feel eyes on him; Asterblaze and Drumtooth glanced at him while they crafted more tooth-sticks, and Rapidleaf nudged Carnationspeckle from her work fortifying the camp walls as Shrewflame joined Whitepaw. Over by the Shiprock, Puddlewhisper sat with Leathermask and Vervaincough. They seemed focused on their conversation. Shrewflame jogged toward them, Whitepaw hot on his heels. Puddlewhisper's ear perked at the pair's approach.
"Shrewflame?" Puddlewhisper said, cocking her other ear. "What's with that face? I thought you were sparring with Lightningrunner at Battle Beach."
"What happened to you?" Vervaincough asked, peering at Whitepaw's sandy legs.
"Estherfern is with Lightningrunner," Shrewflame whispered, sticking his head in the middle of the three cats. "We need codekeepers. Right now." Leathermask's eyes slowly widened. Puddlewhisper's claws poked into the sand. Vervaincough's breath caught.
"What happened?" Leathermask gulped.
"Just come on," Shrewflame muttered, flicking his tail back to the exit. "Do you want to start a riot or start investigating?"
"Take me to my sister," Puddlewhisper snapped, jumping to her paws. Shrewflame started back to the exit with Puddlewhisper beside him. Leathermask and Vervaincough hurried to follow while Whitepaw scrambled to catch up with his brother.
"Whitepaw, stay here," Shrewflame sighed as Asterblaze and Drumtooth left their task and stalked toward the tense group. "You don't need to go back there. Someone should stay here to explain."
"I want to stay with you," Whitepaw whined softly.
"Just tell them what they need to know," Shrewflame said, straightening up under the growing attention of the Clan. "You'll be alright." Shrewflame didn't wait to finish talking; he continued onto the exit. Nervous energy propelled Puddlewhisper, Vervaincough, and Leathermask after him. Whitepaw's still wet fur dripped onto the sand, forming tiny balls underfoot.
"Whitepaw, you look terrified," Carnationspeckle whined, jogging up to her grandson with Rapidleaf at her side. "You're a mess! What's got you and Shrewflame hurrying into camp like this?"
"I…" Whitepaw gulped. "She…" Tell them what they need to know. I'm going to keep you safe. It's not your fault.
"Maybe start from the beginning," Asterblaze suggested, abandoning his crafts to join the small but growing group. Drumtooth squinted at Whitepaw and the sand glued to his fur. Yes, start from the beginning. Work through the story. Tell them what they need to know.
"Since Mr. Billowhaze is still fighting his allergies," Whitepaw finally gulped, "Shrewflame took me out to spar in the water. Ms. Estherfern joined us to check if we got too cold, and Ms. Lightningrunner asked to come along. Me and Shrewflame were sparring and swimming, and Ms. Lightningrunner was on the shore with Ms. Estherfern. She… Ms. Lightningrunner said she heard something in the trees, and she went to check. When she didn't come back, we got worried, and we followed her, and, and…"
"She's dead," Drumtooth said, voice low and tight. Carnationspeckle's breath tightened. Rapidleaf couldn't stop herself from gasping. Asterblaze tensed. "Lightningrunner's dead, isn't she? You would have brought her back if she was just hurt." Whitepaw begged StarClan to let him sink into the sand. Instead, he closed his eyes and nodded.
The few cats still in the Clan would soon rush about and search for Lightningrunner's siblings, scattered on patrols throughout the territory. They would find Downstar and Oilstripe, grimly informing them that yet another Clanmate had been found dead; this one, they'd soon learn, with a huge and bloody bite on the back of her neck like a sloppy hunt.
For now though, Whitepaw stood in the shock of it all, sand heavy on his legs, images of Lightningrunner frozen against his eyes.
(Whitepaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, nervous, active imagination)
(Shrewflame: 13, male, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)
(Puddlewhisper: 55, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, keen eye, ghost sense)
(Vervaincough: 24, female, codekeeper, insecure, understands nature, good mediator)
(Leathermask: 37, male, warrior, nervous, good fighter, eloquent speaker)
Scaleripple, Anchovystrike, Yellowburst, and Boughfur hear desperate screams coming from the seashore.
[Image ID: Anchovystrike, Yellowburst, Boughfur, and Scaleripple lead an old gray and white tom with yellow eyes along. Under Anchovystrike, it reads LEVEL UP! DEEP STARCLAN BOND → UNSHAKABLE STARCLAN LINK. Under the stranger, it reads NEW PLAYER: WASHINGTON, 217, MALE, NERVOUS, GOOD MEDIATOR, + CONDITION: BROKEN BONE. Under Boughfur, it reads LEVEL UP! GOOD CLIMBER → GREAT CLIMBER.]
---
"I heard Lemmy say the killer bit into her neck twice to make sure she was dead," Brightreed whispered to Wolverineheart in the warrior's den. "It's no wonder Whitepaw's been moping in the apprentice's den. Part of me just wants to hide in camp too!"
"You make it sound like he's just being sour," Wolverineheart huffed. "He's barely started his training. He could have been killed instead of Lightningrunner, you know! He's young, he's allowed to be scared."
"I'm not trying to insult him. I'm saying I'm scared too. Thinking about Lightningrunner makes my scar itch."
"It has to be a RippleClan cat, right? I haven't heard of any foreign scent by Battle Beach."
"I guess. But who would want to kill Lightningrunner?"
"Lightningrunner and Potterypool. You can't expect it to be a coincidence that they both died like that."
"I still don't know who would kill either of them. I don't think we should guess, either. That would be the worst gossip you could share. What are we supposed to do if we can't trust each other?"
"…maybe the killer has a thing for gingers. Oilstripe should watch her back."
"Wolverineheart! Scaleripple is sleeping right over there!"
Scaleripple was not, in fact, sleeping.
Yes, he laid in his nest, carefully barren of any irritating leathers, his graduation gift from Tempestshade carefully tucked by his paws, but Scaleripple was not asleep. His blue eyes were open, but turned away from Wolverineheart and Brightreed's nests. Scaleripple's claws poked at his rattle. He was Lightningrunner's big brother. It was supposed to be his responsibility to protect his little sisters, even though their chatty, gossipy behavior was stranger than what laid in the depths of the ocean. Yet Lightningrunner found her end just beyond RippleClan camp while Scaleripple was tied up in the medicine den with a pounding headache. What was he supposed to do with that? Even though dawn consumed the territory and urged the Clan out of the giant warrior's den and onto their duties, Scaleripple lingered, pretending to catch a little more sleep. What else could he do?
"Scaleripple?" Scaleripple sat up, spooking Wolverineheart and Brightreed. Yellowburst stood outside the warrior's den, tail swaying as she waited. "Are we still going on patrol?" Oh. Right. Downstar wanted Scaleripple to lead a patrol south to clean up the shoreline. The investigation into Lightningrunner's death the day before had to abandon their search for the killer early due to a violent late autumn storm that left the beaches covered in debris. Scaleripple was supposed to lead Anchovystrike, Boughfur, and Yellowburst at dawn. How long had they been waiting for him?
"I'll join you outside camp," Scaleripple promised. Wolverineheart and Brightreed shifted uncomfortably, their dark gossip staining their hearts with guilt. Good. Scaleripple groomed his strange white spots as Yellowburst left his sight. He plucked his jay feathers from his nest and wove them into his tail, focusing on the gentle ritual. Feathers were a good sensation, the opposite of fur and leather. They were a comfort in such dark times. Lightningrunner loved them, and so Scaleripple loved them even more.
Scaleripple left Wolverineheart and Brightreed to wallow in their embarrassment. Yellowburst, Boughfur, and Anchovystrike waited for him by the camp entrance. The sand gently coated the bottom of Scaleripple's paws, still wet from last night's freezing rain. Scaleripple simply flicked his tail for his Clanmates to follow him out into the late dawn.
The coast south of RippleClan camp was riddled with debris. A rotting wolffish stunk up the rocks that formed the southern beaches. Broken wood like the planks that formed the shipwreck floated in the waves and caught against the rocks that stuck out of the foam, watery reflections of the rocks that lined camp. Sticks, grass, and seaweed polluted the usual gray, pristine image of the beach. At least the sky offered a glimpse of peace. The stormclouds broke apart into gray sheets against a yellow sky.
"I think a ship sunk," Boughfur noted as the patrol approached the beach. "I've never seen so much wood on the shoreline before. We should bring it back to camp! There are a lot of planks on the shipwreck that could be replaced. Who knows, maybe we can open up space for another den in there!"
"Yellowburst," Anchovystrike chuckled. He hopped across the rocks to the beached wolffish. He hooked his paw under the wolffish's jaw. "Wouldn't it be funny to take this back to camp and claim it was Wolfgaze's reflection?" Yellowburst snickered with Anchovystrike.
"This isn't the day for jokes," Scaleripple huffed. His tone had more bite than he expected. Anchovystrike dropped the fish. Yellowburst crept away to the debris. Distant seabirds filled the silence that followed.
"Scaleripple, we'll tear our fur out if we don't unwind," Anchovystrike pointed out. "There's nothing any of us can do about… you know. Let's just clean up the beach and try to keep the mood light." Scaleripple hummed under his breath. Boughfur and Yellowburst shared an awkward glance.
"Why don't Yellowburst and I collect the usable wood and make a pile?" Boughfur suggested when Scaleripple refused to give an actual response. "We can have Mitespark and Venturedapple carry them home later."
"Go ahead," Scaleripple said, hopping down to the beach. He grabbed a chunk of grass and dragged it to the treeline where the mice and squirrels could use it for nesting material. Anchovystrike dug a hole to bury the dead wolffish. Boughfur and Yellowburst quietly debated the best way to carry the heavier planks out of the rocks and onto solid ground. Scaleripple tuned them out, ears pricked to the eager waves at his side.
As Scaleripple worked, his thoughts drifted back to his family. What was he supposed to do for them? He wanted to protect them, but was that feeling any stronger than his desire to protect everyone in RippleClan? What would Tempestshade have thought of the last moon? Did Oilstripe or Troutpool ever see their spirit wandering camp, checking in on their littermates or sitting beside Scaleripple? Scaleripple couldn't help but sneer at the thought of how RippleClan would treat Tempestshade if they were still alive. Would the Clan blame them for Potterypool or Lightningrunner's deaths?
Scaleripple paused with a large chunk of seaweed in his mouth. His pelt prickled as old memories of Tempestshade's mistreatment itched at his chest. He knew the cats in his Clan were good cats, or at least tried to be. Yet it seemed that even the wiser among them still gave into superstition and overcaution. They avoided being alone with Tempestshade. They didn't know how to spend time with Scaleripple without sharing tongues. Scaleripple even saw how cats like Carnationspeckle and Elmsprout flinched when Yarrowclaw raised her voice, as though any sign of overeagerness was a step away from the brown and white molly dissolving into madness. Wasn't there something Scaleripple could do for cats like that? The only answer he received was the gentle churning of the ocean and far-off, feral screaming.
Wait. Screaming?
Scaleripple stared out into the sea. Larger planks and chunks of a now sunken ship bobbed along the water. Some pieces had bright swaths of paint splashed over the wood, turning the planks green and yellow. One large bicolored wreck tumbled with the waves. A soaked gray and white cat clung to the wood, claws embedded in their one saving grace. Bleary yellow eyes stared at Scaleripple and the RippleClan patrol. The drowned cat screeched with all the strength they had left as a wave splashed over their makeshift raft.
Scaleripple didn't realize he was running until he plunged into the icy ocean, salt stinging his eyes. His feathers floated to the yellowish-gray surface. He breached the water with a large gasp. The drowning cat was a few bear-lengths away. Scaleripple paddled, letting the ebb carry him closer to the stranger and pushing against the flow.
"Careful, Scaleripple!" Boughfur yowled from the shore just as Scaleripple reached the ocean's victim. He could barely smell the stranger's tom-scent through the salt. The stranger's soaked tail smacked Scaleripple's face. Scaleripple shivered so violently, he almost slipped under the raft. Yet that gave him an idea. He paddled around the drowning tom and shoved his head against the broken, ragged edge. The raft rolled toward the shore, even as the water pushed it every other way. Scaleripple's head hurt with the raft's pressure, but it was better than someone else's wet fur against his skin.
Anchovystrike scrambled into the water. As the ocean floor climbed to meet the surface, the pressure of the waves eased. Yellowburst splashed beside Anchovystrike. She grabbed the edge of the raft and stabilized it. Anchovystrike grabbed the terrified tom by the scruff and lifted him onto the rocks. Scaleripple shoved the raft aside and crawled to dry land.
Now that the salt wasn't blinding Scaleripple, he could better see just who he rescued. The tom was old; his white chin was coated in aged gray and his eyes sagged. Had he not been soaked clean through, he would have been a fluffy old tom. He coughed up water and shivered hard enough to spray the warriors surrounding him.
"You're on dry land," Anchovystrike promised as Yellowburst licked the tom's fur the wrong way. "You've landed in RippleClan territory."
"The crew," the old tom croaked, staring back at the sea. "The ship! The storm!"
"We have cats who can take care of you," Yellowburst said, coughing out wet hair. The old tom's eyes shook, mouth half open and ears pushed back.
"They're gone," he moaned. "They're all gone."
"Were there other cats on your ship?" Boughfur asked. "Maybe they washed up somewhere else along the coast."
"Not cats," the tom whined. "My humans. I caught rats for them. They're gone! They're sunk!" He pushed himself off the rocks, but his back right leg gave out under him. He yowled, spasming as he smacked back onto the rocks.
"That looks broken," Scaleripple muttered as Anchovystrike and Yellowburst hurried to help.
"We could make a splint from all this wood," Boughfur realized, dragging over a small plank. "That should help him walk back to camp. Let me go find something to tie it on." Boughfur adjusted the dry flowers in her fur and hurried off to the forest. Scaleripple stared at the shipwrecked tom as he clawed at the stones, moaning. Loving humans, those strange, unknowable beacons of intelligence and craft, did not seem much different from how Scaleripple loved his family, or how they loved him.
"What's your name?" Scaleripple asked the soaked tom. The tom swallowed his grief and blinked saltwater out of his eyes.
"They named me Washington," he sighed. Scaleripple nodded softly, shoulders tense.
"I'm sorry, Washington," Scaleripple said.
For what else could be said? What else could be done?
(Brightreed: 21, male, warrior, righteous, student of art)
(Wolverineheart: 21, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)
Icepaw and Pearbranch learn that Nimblestep has died. They are unsure how to feel.
[Image ID: Troutpool speaks with Icepaw and Pearbranch. Under her, it says + NEW SKILL: GOOD CLIMBER.]
"Caretakers and warriors can be called upon to sit guard over cats who could prove a danger to themselves or others," Icepaw explained, digging into his memories. "If someone is in the medicine den because of a condition of the mind, it's better to keep them around others than isolate them because… they heal better knowing they aren't alone."
"That sounds right to me!" Pearbranch chirped, resting her head on Midnightpaw's empty nest. "You'll be able to help a lot of mediator apprentices in the future!"
"I'm glad I don't have to do the work, though," Icepaw groaned. He rubbed his paws over his muzzle, chin resting on the exposed sandy floor of the apprentice's den. The Clan didn't have enough leather flooring after the Ocean's Assault to line the apprentice's den yet. Most of the camp was back to normal, with fresh materials forming the once wrecked roofs and debris cleaned out. Still, with Pearbranch enjoying her new nest by Puddlewhisper, Midnightpaw sleeping in the medicine den, and Valleypaw… well, the apprentice's den was pretty lonely.
At least Pearbranch was willing to keep him company so late in the night. The pair whispered in the quiet of the apprentice's den while the rest of RippleClan enjoyed the restored warrior's den. They could hear Rattlepelt working on crafts in the light of the central bonfire, tended by Asterblaze. Icepaw wondered if the pair were helping each other. He hoped so.
"Do you have another headache?" Pearbranch asked.
"Just tired," Icepaw muttered, moving his paws.
"You can practice in the morning if you want to sleep," Pearbranch hummed. She slowly got to her paws, but Icepaw smacked her down.
"Come on, we haven't been able to sit together since your ceremony," Icepaw huffed. "We haven't even…" Icepaw glanced out of the den, just in case Rattlepelt and Asterblaze were close enough to hear.
"We haven't seen Quickpaw since before the flood," Pearbranch finished Icepaw's thought.
"I should be practicing these lessons with her," Icepaw said.
"We—" Pearbranch said, but the sound of soft paws pushing against the sand choked out the conversation. Icepaw and Pearbranch's ears perked. Icepaw forgot it was the half-moon; the clerics were back from their meeting at StarClan's Shrine.
"If Burdockcreek thinks I should visit the human settlement," Estherfern sighed, entering camp with Gingerspring on her tail, "then I'll go to the human settlement."
"Let me come with you," Gingerspring chirped. "I can help you avoid the humans!"
"We'll see," Estherfern muttered, making her way to the medicine den. Weevilsight and Honeybuzz entered next, both quiet and lost in thought. Their gazes caught onto Icepaw and Pearbranch as they passed. Icepaw's neck prickled. When Troutpool entered camp, rather than following her fellow clerics to sleep, she drifted to the apprentice's den.
"I'm glad you two are awake," Troutpool sighed. "I was hoping to see you." Pearbranch sat at Icepaw's side, quiet and attentive, just like they were kits in the nursery, focused on their mother's gentle explanation of their past. Troutpool had the same strained look on her face as Puddlewhisper all those moons ago.
"What's wrong," Icepaw huffed. Troutpool's eyes searched for the best place to begin.
"SlugClan has been facing a yellowcough outbreak," Troutpool explained slowly. "I spoke with their cleric, Mushroomstripe, and she had some news you need to hear." Troutpool squirmed as she gathered her courage. "There's no easy way to say this, but Nimblestep caught yellowcough after the last Gathering. She passed away last night."
Huh. She was dead. Icepaw blinked. Should he… mourn? How should he react to something like that? Was Troutpool expecting something specific from him? She stared intently at Icepaw and Pearbranch, waiting. Waiting for what? Pearbranch's ears dipped. Should Icepaw act sad? He didn't really feel sad. He only saw Nimblestep at the few Gatherings he'd ever attended and… sat through what conversation he felt required to sit through. What was Icepaw feeling? What should he feel?
"Was it peaceful?" Pearbranch asked quietly.
"I'm not sure," Troutpool sighed, dipping her head. "I'm sorry. I can tell Paleseed about this in the morning, if you want to talk through this with someone."
"No thanks," Icepaw said. He realized that wasn't the appropriate thing to say when Troutpool blinked hard, unable to mask her surprise.
"If you're sure," Troutpool gulped. "I'm sorry you found out this way. Mushroomstripe also had a message from Quickpaw for you."
"How is she?" Pearbranch gulped, standing.
"Mushroomstripe just said that Quickpaw wants to see you," Troutpool sighed. "I'll make sure Oilstar takes you both to the next Gathering. Again, I'm so sorry I'm the one to tell you." Troutpool floundered for a moment, unsure what else she could say to the brother-sister pair. Eventually, she slunk after her fellow clerics, leaving Icepaw and Pearbranch softly illuminated by the bonfire a few fox-lengths away. Dread creeped into Icepaw's chest.
"You know what Quickpaw means by that," Icepaw muttered, catching Pearbranch's eyes. "Pearbranch, she's waiting for us."
"You know," Pearbranch gulped, "we don't have to crawl over the dirtplace wall anymore. I'm a historian now. I can leave whenever I want."
"And take an apprentice with you?" Icepaw chuckled, paws itching.
Nothing more had to be said. The pair hurried to the camp exit. Elmsprout sat guard outside and eyed Icepaw sharply when he appeared. Yet Pearbranch held her tail high and refused to hestitate. She escorted her brother around the night guard. As soon as their paws touched the crunchy autumn grass, their restless energy erupted.
Their blue eyes were wide and honed in on the glimmers of the half-moon through the shrouded sky. They did not watch their paws for twigs or leaves that had yet to fade to dust from the pressure of rain and life. There was nothing to hunt that night, and nothing to be hunted by. Only a destination and a pair of brown eyes waiting there.
"I hope she hasn't gone back to camp," Pearbranch gulped as the pungent smell of the WheatClan/AshClan border hit Icepaw's nose.
"She'll be there," Icepaw promised. After all, wouldn't Icepaw and Pearbranch wait until dawn if Puddlewhisper had passed? Icepaw slowed as they crossed the border. The scent of the RippleClan clerics still floated along the scent markers, a path of safe travel to the rest of the Clans. Icepaw took the lead and trailed along that scent path. Pearbranch's nose brushed his tail at times, a reminder that the night had not claimed her.
The conifers thickened and the grass grew greener, a sign of moisture perpetually clinging to the mud underneath. Icepaw forced himself not to cringe; it was worse than chunky sand sinking between his pads. How could Quickpaw stand it? Icepaw shoved the disgusting sensation deep into his thoughts, dragging up the most important questions of the night; was Quickpaw okay? Icepaw got his answer as he and Pearbranch arrived at their secret meeting place.
[Image ID: Icepaw and Peabranch sit next to Quickpaw. Quickpaw says, "I… could think about it."]
Now, it wasn't really "secret" by any means. It was just past the boundary of WheatClan, AshClan, and SlugClan; an old wolverine den, protected by roots as thick as Icepaw's legs. Although the wolverine had been gone for moons upon moons, its scent still clung to the mud, masking RippleClan scent from any who didn't expect to find it there. It was the perfect place for littermates to meet outside of Gatherings and pre-arranged meetings along the border. As Icepaw and Pearbranch pierced SlugClan territory, soft yet strained breathing tickled their ears.
"Quickpaw," Icepaw whispered as the wolverine den came into view. A brown muzzle shifted in the dim moon-light. The figure's breath hitched in a sob. Pearbranch dove into the wolverine den. She threw herself over Quickpaw as her SlugClan sister cried. Icepaw crawled in next to the pair.
"She died, Pear," Quickpaw whined. "She's gone."
"We heard, we heard," Pearbranch whispered. She licked Quickpaw's ears. "We're so sorry."
Icepaw was trained to teach others how to handle such displays of grief and empathy. He knew what a mediator was meant to do in such a situation; focus on the grieving cat, work through their emotions together. But Icepaw couldn't truly use the skills he was meant to teach. A wall formed around his words.
"I told her about our meetings," Quickpaw gulped. "She was so happy we were close. She didn't get to see that." A feeling Icepaw couldn't name squirmed into his head. In the end, Nimblestep left all three of them behind.
"Come with us," Icepaw huffed as Quickpaw cried. Quickpaw choked on her grief, staring wide-eyed at her brother.
"Icepaw, let her grieve," Pearbranch grumbled, grooming Quickpaw's neck.
"No, I mean it!" Icepaw scooted closer to Quickpaw. "You don't have any family left in SlugClan. You could see us all the time. RippleClan would love to have you. Slushtrail can help you finish training!" Quickpaw squirmed into herself.
"I don't like being a mediator," she whispered.
"You don't?" Pearbranch echoed. "But you're so good at it! You're so social."
"I don't like how cats need me," Quickpaw whined. "I don't… something bad will happen if I say the wrong thing. I hate it. I just wanted to see you two."
"So come home with us tonight!" Icepaw snapped. "Oilstar will take you in. You can be whatever you want!"
"She can't leave tonight," Pearbranch groaned. "SlugClan will think we kidnapped her!"
"I…" Quickpaw gulped, swallowing a sob, "could think about it." Icepaw and Pearbranch's tails perked up.
"I think you should think about it," Pearbranch said, rubbing against Quickpaw. "If you're lonely in SlugClan, though… we'll tell Oilstar to let you in."
"Can I just cry tonight, though?" Quickpaw whimpered. "Mom's gone. She's gone." Quickpaw pushed her head into Icepaw's shoulder. Icepaw rested his cheek against her. Pearbranch copied the gesture.
The orphans sat in the quiet of the wolverine den for as long as they could, soaking in grief over a mother they barely knew.
(Pearbranch: 11, female, historian, righteous, good hunter, good storyteller)
(Estherfern: 135, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)
(Gingerspring: 17, male, cleric, charismatic, human expert, good hunter)
(Troutpool: 62, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sight, good climber)
Mitespark announces she is expecting kits. She and Wolverineheart work on crafts together to celebrate their upcoming family.
[Image ID: Mitespark and Wolverineheart sit around a vole. Under Mitespark, it says + CONDITION: PREGNANT. Boughfur jokes with them, saying, "Be honest… you picked that handsome WheatClan mediator as your sire, didn't you?"]
(Mitespark: 43, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)
(Wolverineheart: 33, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)
(Boughfur: 33, female, historian, righteous, great climber)
Estherfern visits the human settlement with Brightreed.
[Image ID: Estherfern walks with Brightreed as tbhe latter says, "I don't know what to say to her." A black and white molly with yellow eyes follows them. Under her, it reads NEW PLAYER: VASCO, 12, FEMALE, LONESOME, GREAT KITSITTER, + CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH.]
---
Estherfern and Brightreed knew better than to spend much time in the human settlement. As StarClan directed, Estherfern brought the Witch Hunters a share of RippleClan's mullein. The smell in the streets made it apparent that Indigo was not the only cat hailing from the settlement to contract yellowcough. Even the few Witch Hunters that greeted the RippleClan cats seemed to choke down coughing fits and snatch the mullein like hungry dogs. Mother and son were quick to retreat to the forest.
"She's your mate, son," Estherfern sighed as the pair journeyed back to the Great Northern River. "If you're having these issues, why won't you talk to her about them?"
"It's just…" Brightreed groaned, staring at the bone-gray branches overhead. "Well, Ravenweaver always wants to work. She doesn't want to relax with our friends. And she's not even that good at her work! What am I supposed to tell her? I love you, but you shouldn't be an artisan?"
"Maybe leave that part out," Estherfern sighed, rolling her eyes. "It's an exaggeration. Ravenweaver is merely sloppy in her initial work. She cleans out the mistakes in time. If she feels as anxious socializing as you do, then perhaps you can start there."
"I fight through that, though," Brightreed huffed.
"I don't know what else you expect me to say about it," Estherfern tutted softly. "How's she supposed to know you're lonely if you don't tell her? Do you need me to arrange a talk with Slushtrail?"
"You know I don't want you interfering with that." Brightreed couldn't stop himself from curling his lip as he spoke. He swallowed hard when his words hit his mother, though. He coughed and turned his harsh eyes back to the dying path at his paws.
"You're right, you're right," Estherfern cooed, literally swallowing her pride with a deep breath. "I'll leave you to your woes, then."
"Estherfern!" The sound of the Great Northern River covered what awkwardness remained between mother and son. The cool mist flowing off the rapids soothed Estherfern's lungs, irritated in sympathy for the sick. On the other side, Anchovystrike and Halibutdusk waited beside a basket of tiny fish, each barely big enough to hold in one's mouth. Sandhollow collected fresh water in a bottle hanging around his neck. Late autumn wind pummeled the cats' ears.
"Did Wildclaw send a patrol for us?" Estherfern hummed as she stepped onto the drowned stepping stones.
"We were just fishing," Anchovystrike explained, nudging the basket. "We can dry out these fish to last through the winter!"
"I don't think I can eat fish for a while," Brightreed groaned, hesitating on the unclaimed side of the river. "My fur still reeks of stormwater." Estherfern bit back to the urge to point out that everything smelled like stormwater; they lived next to the ocean, for God's sake.
"Did you bring a Witch Hunter with you?" Halibutdusk muttered, whiskers rapidly twitching as they took in a shadowed scent. Estherfern opened her nose. The mist and fish hid whatever Halibutdusk smelled. Yet a moment later, Estherfern didn't need her nose. A loud cough from behind Brightreed shocked the golden warrior into the river. He scrambled to RippleClan's side as a black and white figure emerged from the same path Estherfern took home.
The molly was lanky, with silvery swirls over a black pelt. Tangles covered her white chest. Her bony legs shook as she approached the river. Her jaw quivered, fighting off another cough. Sandhollow let go of his bottle, watching the loner. Water splashed out of the unsealed bottle, wetting his chest. Yet before he could call out to the coughing molly, Anchovystrike dragged Sandhollow away from the river, dumping out what remained in the bottle.
"Anchovystrike!" Estherfern snapped as the silver-striped molly reached the riverbed. "She can barely stand. What threat does she pose?"
"What color are her eyes?" Anchovystrike hissed. He stood in front of Sandhollow and Estherfern, pupils blown wide.
"What?" Sandhollow gulped, blinking wildly. Panic shot up Estherfern's throat, invisible to her Clanmates. Memories of a black, vicious mass overwhelmed her vision.
"They're yellow," Estherfern muttered. Anchovystrike's stiff hackles lowered slightly, but he still guarded Estherfern and Sandhollow, gaze locked on the loner.
"What are you doing?" the silver-striped molly coughed. "I need help!"
"And we will," Anchovystrike called across the river. "Just not in the way you think. Stay right there, we'll be over in a moment." Anchovystrike turned to his Clanmates, face pulled tight, and whispered, "She's not possessed, but there is ichor on her paws. There's some sort of Dark Forest influence on her."
"Can you tell what it is?" Halibutdusk asked, sparing a glance at the infected molly.
"I haven't really encountered enough ichor to tell what the problem is," Anchovystrike scoffed with an awkward chuckle. "I'm going to have to pull it off and deal with whatever comes out."
"We'll help," Halibutdusk huffed, nudging Brightreed out of his stunned expression. The golden tom nodded along with the senior warrior.
"I overheard you!" the sick molly called. "When you saw my friends, you mentioned a cat named Indigo. They're my friend. Are they alive?"
"Indigo is alive," Estherfern called back, moving around Anchovystrike. "He's almost recovered from his yellowcough."
"I'm not important enough to earn any of the mullein you gave the Witch Hunters," the sick molly coughed. "I just need some for myself, and I'll go. I won't get you sick."
"We might be able to help more," Anchovystrike said. He approached the river's edge. "Just don't call me a witch while I do this, alright?" Anchovystrike followed the stepping stones to the coughing cat, Halibutdusk and Brightreed behind him.
"What's your name?" Sandhollow called as his Clanmates got closer to the newcomer.
"Vasco," the sick molly said. She eyed Anchovystrike as he approached. She tightened her jaw to suppress a cough, but nearly threw up with the intensity of it.
"We can bring you to our camp and help you, if you're willing," Anchovystrike explained, couching by Vasco's paw. "Before we can do that, I have to do something. Again, please don't fight me."
Anchovystrike snapped his fangs together just above Vasco's paw, his whiskers brushing her fur. Estherfern blinked, and the black ichor all of RippleClan so deeply feared could at last be seen. Ichor smeared each of Vasco's paws. A force like gravity pulled the ichor toward Anchovystrike's jaws. Black slime dripped onto the grass like spit. Anchovystrike's fangs pierced deep into the ichor like the scruff of an enemy warrior.
Vasco shrieked. She flailed back, her front paw smacking hard into Anchovystrike's chin. As she spun and whirled away, the ichor whipped off her body, sudden tension snapping back at Anchovystrike. The ichor smacked into his face like a soaked moss-ball. Anchovystrike hissed and peeled the big blob off. Slime smeared his lilac fur.
The ichor blob squirmed like dying prey. It writhed and bubbled, sending unwanted memories through Estherfern's mind. Sharp squeaks gurgled out of it. Features took form and color before a terrified audience. Pale pink ears. Black, soulless eyes. Matted gray fur. Slimy, worm-like tails, tied together, twisting into endless knots, leaving their owners trapped in perpetual panic.
The ichor had become a mass of snarling rats, conjoined together by their tails.
"Rat Leader!" Estherfern cried. Halibutdusk shoved Anchovystrike aside as the quivering swarm of rats scrambled toward the younger warrior like a spider. Halibutdusk grabbed the knot of tails, gagging at the touch. They reared their head back and slammed the Rat Leader into the stepping stones of the Great Northern River. The spirit's stomach-curling screech was soon overtaken by the gurgle of the river. Halibutdusk tossed the stunned horde along the river's current. The Rat Leader splashed into the deeper waters beyond. Its writhing form clawed at the water, but the weight of its own horror soon brought it below the surface. The Spirit of Shadow was gone as quickly as it appeared.
"What was that?" Vasco yowled, cowering at the base of a tree while Estherfern and Sandhollow joined their Clanmates. Halibutdusk lapped up the fresh river water like their life depended on it—because truthfully, it did.
"A Rat Leader," Estherfern growled. "A vicious spirit that infects whoever it comes across. One of many spirits to haunt the dead cursed to the Dark Forest."
"What sort of horrors does your faith contain?" Vasco gasped, hackles rising.
"I'm so sorry," Sandhollow gulped, softening his voice. "I don't know how a monster of Clan life could have attached itself to you. Spirits of Shadow aren't supposed to target those outside the Clans. I have good news, though." Vasco stopped shaking. Her ears remained stiff and her hackles raised, but she stayed where she was, yellow eyes locked into Sandhollow's blue gaze. "We owe you. If you're sick because of a Clan-made monster, the Clans owe it to you to help you recover." Vasco said nothing, thoughts swirling behind her unblinking stare.
"Am I going to get yellowcough?" Halibutdusk asked, gagging on their own tongue.
"Clean your mouth with salt water to be safe," Estherfern ordered. "Go, go! We'll take care of Vasco." Halibutdusk scrambled back to the safety of RippleClan territory. They followed the river toward the ocean, holding their tongue out the whole way.
"Thank you!" Anchovystrike called after them. He shuddered, rubbing his stained face in the grass. "That thing almost bit me."
"You're going to give me the herbs I need?" Vasco finally gulped.
"Better," Sandhollow promised. "We can take you to our camp and help you recover. Oilstar won't turn you away."
"Your friend Indigo is there, too," Brightreed awkwardly chirped, standing behind Sandhollow and peering over the cream-tinted tom's head. "You can check on him!" Vasco stood, slowly, hesitantly. She eyed the RippleClan cats, one by one.
"If you say you owe me," she finally gulped, "then show me. Take me to camp."
"Lean on me if you feel weak," Sandhollow said, sliding up to Vasco. "I'll help you over the river."
As the three RippleClan toms helped the young silver-striped molly across the river, Estherfern's gaze drifted through the trees, back toward the settlement hidden beyond. StarClan itself had requested Estherfern's presence there, and now she understood why. Vasco was certainly not the only Witch Hunter smeared in black ichor, coughing up yellow pleghm and choking on air.
The Dark Forest had gotten its claws into the Witch Hunters.
(Estherfern: 135, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)
(Brightreed: 33, male, warrior, righteous, student of art)
Now that Indigo has recovered from yellowcough, he asks to take on a proper name as a teacher of RippleClan and abandon his kittypet name. Oilstar decides to name him Chicorycough. They love the joke in their name.
[Image ID: Indigo, now named Chicorycough, stands tall and healthy. Under them, it says LEVEL UP! INDIGO → CHICORYCOUGH, - CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH.]
(Chicorycough: 41, half tom (he/they), teacher, playful, incredible runner, great teacher)
As Wildclaw moves on from grieving Clammask, she and Rattlepelt go for a walk together.
[Image ID: Rattlepelt and Wildclaw approach two black newborns. Under the leftmost kit, it reads NEW PLAYER: VALLEYKIT, 0, MALE, QUIET. Under the rightmost, smoky kit, it reads NEW PLAYER: MIDNIGHTKIT, 0, MALE, POLITE. Under Wildclaw, it reads - CONDITION: GRIEVING.]
Rattlepelt typically despised winter. The snow was beautiful, Longest Night was lovely, and she always purred when kits played in the snow. But her Clanmates had fur. They could handle the cold. The winter wind didn't sting their bodies and quickly numb their limbs. They could safely leave camp! Meanwhile, Rattlepelt stayed huddled in the artisan's den, tucked under extra leather pelts while she, Rabbitjoy, and Frostpaw fixed baskets.
The artisan's den was packed with supplies and tools; leather wraps for managing hot stoves, drums, dry ferns and grass for basket weaving, and more. All those supplies trapped heat within the rocks and brambles. There was just enough work for the three artisans to sit and do their work.
"Trust your claws," Rabbitjoy said as Frostpaw pulled twine through the stakes of her basket, weaving it back and forth. "Your claws are made to snag material like this. Let them hook the twine and treat it as an extension of your paw."
"My wrist keeps getting stuck," Frostpaw muttered. She tried to hook her paw around the next stake, but since she was repairing a hole in the side of the basket, her paw had little room to move. The twine kept slipping off Frostpaw's claws in her effort to pull it through without breaking the basket further.
"Repairing a basket is harder than weaving it from scratch," Rabbitjoy assured her. "Don't worry if you can't make it tight. Try your best."
"How do humans do this?" Frostpaw groaned as she finally pulled her thread back around.
"Malformed paws," Rattlepelt explained with a chuckle, tying off the broken base of her basket. She waved her paw, flexing her pads. "Their paws are flexible and good at crafts, but they barely feel a thing."
"They also don't have claws!" Gingerpaw suddenly stuck his big fluffy head into the aritsan's den, his maple seed necklace bouncing on his chest. Estherfern lingered behind him with a bundle of bark, but her apprentice was ignorant to his mentor's shoving. "They just have hard rocks on top of their paws!"
"Gingerpaw, go away!" Frostpaw whined. "We're working! Don't eavesdrop!" Estherfern finally knocked Gingerpaw away from the artisan's den and back to his chores. As Gingerpaw walked off, laughing, Frostpaw groaned and threw her paws over her ears. "I hate him sometimes!"
"He's just being silly," Rabbitjoy said, patting Frostpaw's back. Rattlepelt placed her repaired basket against the den wall. As she stretched her front legs, Wildclaw peeked into the den. Her amber eyes seemed brighter than they had in a few moons.
"Rattlepelt, come outside!" Wildclaw chirped. "It's finally a bit warm. I want to go on a walk."
"I should really help Rabbitjoy finish the basket repairs," Rattlepelt chuckled, snatching loose twine in her claws.
"You've been trapped in camp for ages," Rabbitjoy scoffed. "If it's warm, go outside! We only have one other basket to repair. Frostpaw and I can fix it." Rabbitjoy rolled the remnants of a broken basket toward her. Wildclaw kneaded the sand, eyes glowing. Rattlepelt purred. It was hard to resist that face.
"Let's go, then," Rattlepelt sighed, fixing her lavender-lined fox pelt onto her back. Frostpaw grumbled under her breath as she searched for fresh twine and Rattlepelt joined Wildclaw outside of the artisan's den.
Wildclaw was right; it was so unseasonably warm that the Clan didn't need a bonfire in the center of camp. Snow clung in piles along the dark and cool corners of the rocks and wood, but RippleClan could once again relax against the cool sand of their home. The land beyond camp was no longer white and brown, but a strange, gray-tinted mixture of tan and green. Though Rattlepelt's skin still danced under the soft chill, it was a pleasurable chill. It was a fool's spring, the sort that RippleClan would usually take full advantage of.
But RippleClan was not, in fact, taking advantage of the good weather. Instead, Wolfgaze, Weevilsight, Ravenweaver, and Trumpetspore hovered around the medicine den. They quietly shared tongues and muttered soft encouragement. Some of their friends and mates (Billowhaze, Anchovystrike, Brightreed, Scaleripple) comforted them, glancing into the shadows of the medicine den and quickly looking away.
"It's Mosspounce," Wildclaw sighed when she noticed her mate's confused look. "Honeybuzz just told his daughters. The infection is getting bad. They aren't sure how much longer he has."
"Should we visit?" Rattlepelt gulped.
"Later," Wildclaw quietly promised, heading for the camp exit. "The walk might give me time to think of what to say." Rattlepelt watched as Honeybuzz trailed out of the medicine den, merging into the small crowd. Trumpetspore scrambled into the medicine den as Honeybuzz spoke softly to Wolfgaze, Weevilsight, and Ravenweaver. Rattlepelt dipped her head, allowing her fox pelt to cover her eyes. She ignored the rest of the Clan and pressed into the false spring.
The birds hesistantly tested the warm weather, chirping their questions to one another, as though their fellow feathered friends could provide an answer. The mid-morning light offered the land a chance to stretch and feed itself before the explosion of frost and snow that would mark the remainder of the year. Twigs and branches, reminders of summer's rich foliage, rubbed against Rattlepelt's fox pelt. Her paws sank into the wet earth. Wildclaw strolled beside her, quiet, her ever-present guardian.
The silence stretched on for longer than Rattlepelt expected. The pair journeyed deeper into the forest, simply basking in the light. At one point, they spotted Tallowheart and Splashtuft, going over a few tales. Wildclaw raised her tail in greeting and passed them by. The two mates wandered over boulders and roots. All the while, Rattlepelt thought and thought and thought.
A twig snapped deep within the trees. Rattlepelt froze, eyes locking on the sound. A great buck stared at Rattlepelt and Wildclaw. Its magnificent crown of antlers snagged leaves that refused to fall from their trees despite the pressure of snow and time. Its brown coat blended into the forest. It flicked a round ear at Rattlepelt, blinking thoughtlessly.
"Wonder if it thinks you're a cat or a fox," Wildclaw hummed. The buck slowly lost interest in the two cats. It bent back down and chewed on a twig just beginning to bud, tricked by the heatwave. Rattlepelt took a deep breath. Her chest still hurt from the shock.
"We should go home," Rattlepelt suddenly said.
"What?" Wildclaw scoffed. "We're barely past mid-morning. Why turn back now?" Rattlepelt couldn't answer her mate. Did she even have an answer?
"Do you ever have a feeling that something bad is about to happen?" Rattlepelt asked. She jumped onto a large, mossy rock and spun in circles, trying to get comfortable among the limp leaves.
"Define 'something bad' for me," Wildclaw said. She joined Rattlepelt on top of the rock.
"We've had a lot of good in our lives lately," Rattlepelt groaned. "You've been a great mother to the toms."
"Now that I don't have a death wish anymore?" Wildclaw chuckled.
"You still get into some good scraps," Rattlepelt hummed, gently bunting her mate. "No, I just mean that even with… what happened with Lemmy, the two of us, we've been alright."
"Don't tell the rest of the Clan this," Wildclaw muttered, batting at the wet leaves under her, "but I get where Lemmy came from with killing Achilles and everything. It all spun out of control for her. I feel bad for her, even if she killed our Clanmates."
"It just makes me think," Rattlepelt groaned, "is it our turn next? When am I going to suffer some major loss again?"
"What do you mean?"
"When will tragedy strike the ones I love? Will one of my moms die? Will something happen to Shrewflame, or Whitepaw?" Rattlepelt pulled her fox pelt off. She was almost panting under its heat. "I feel like something's standing right behind me. Like I'm going to ruin everything."
"Is this about the Shardling? We keep telling you that wasn't your fault. It's not like you wanted to be possessed."
"It still happened, Wildclaw. It nearly broke me. Something's telling me that it will happen again. I know I sound crazy—"
"You don't sound crazy." Wildclaw leaned against Rattlepelt. "It's been a hard few moons. You've been stuck in camp. You're stressed. Why do you think I wanted to go on a walk with you?" Rattlepelt sighed. She forced the ripping, anxious itch in her chest out with her breath.
"You're right, you're right," Rattlepelt groaned.
"I always am," Wildclaw chirped.
"Don't gloat," Rattlepelt chuckled, shoving Wildclaw's muzzle down. Rattlepelt dragged her fox pelt back over her sensitive skin as a breeze made the bare branches dance. Rattlepelt could still smell the deer on the wind, but she smelled something else too, something pungent and stranger than any deer.
"Humans?" Wildclaw muttered, tasting the air. "Oh, those are definetely humans. Yuck." Wildclaw sneered at the smell.
"I hope they aren't setting more traps," Rattlepelt gulped. "Frostpaw almost stepped in one last moon!"
"Let's see if they are," Wildclaw suggested, hopping off the rock. "Keep low, alright?" Rattlepelt nodded. She and Wildclaw crept through the twigs and leaves, letting their noses lead them closer to where the WheatClan and AshClan borders met. As they pushed deeper into the forest, the humans soon became audible. There were two of them, with gangly meows that wavered in pitch. Rattlepelt kept low, the tail of her fox pelt dragging on the undergrowth. Wildclaw, nimble as ever, slipped silently closer to the noisy humans.
The two humans stomped around the corner of the three Clans. They were young from their size, with the tight-fitting leathers that typically marked males. Rattlepelt marveled at the leather's bright colors and strange patterns, unlike anything artisans could achieve. The smaller of the two held his front limbs close to his chest, keeping two small forms steady while his taller friend followed and yowled.
"I've never seen humans fight each other," Wildclaw muttered as the smaller human hissed at his companion. The black masses resting in the human's embrace shifted. Tiny mews broke through the human screeching. Rattlepelt held her breath when two sets of baby blue eyes peeled over the leather. The small human had two black kits!
The storyteller in Rattlepelt imagined what the humans could be doing. Were they yowling about the kits? Who were the kits? Did the humans take them from their mother? Did they even know their mother? Rattlepelt's anxieties slipped away, overshadowed by overwhelming curiosity focused on the strange unknowable creatures called humans.
The small human suddenly made a quick, snappy hiss at his companion. His strange eyes focused on the undergrowth… the undergrowth where Rattlepelt and Wildclaw lurked. The pair stayed utterly still, eyes locked on the smaller human. The small human slowly crouched, still staring at the two mollies. He made a soft, mouse-like chirp that drew all of Rattlepelt's attention. It made her stomach growl, as though she spotted a mouse shuffling through the leaves. Her ears turned straight on to the human. Rattlepelt caught herself before she slipped a paw out of her hiding spot. Whatever strange magic the human was wielding, Rattlepelt could not give in!
The human continued making that alluring sound as he carefully placed the two kittens on the ground. They couldn't have been more than half a moon old. The kits crawled on top of each other, stunned by the sudden lack of warmth. The human crept back like a hunter. He crouched at the side of a tree fox-lengths away from the kits.
"Is this some type of trap?" Rattlepelt asked.
"What kind of trap uses kits?" Wildclaw muttered. "I think… they want us to take the kits."
"I thought humans loved kittens."
"Maybe they don't want to take care of them."
"So they leave them in the forest? How cruel."
"But they aren't, they see us. I think they're looking for Clan cats." Did the humans know about the Clans? Did they know about RippleClan?
The tall human snapped at his smaller friend and grabbed his shoulder. The human spun and shoved him off, sneering. They yipped and growled at each other, with their mangled paws waving wildly at the kits. Rattlepelt steadied her jaw. She crept out of the undergrowth. The nose of her fox pelt touched the light first. Wildclaw snuck alongside her. The humans no longer noticed them.
Rattlepelt snatched the scruff of the bulkier kit, a tom with a slight smoky pattern across his pelt. Wildclaw grabbed his brother, who looked nearly identical. As soon as they had a good hold of the kits, Wildclaw and Rattlepelt ran. The two humans startled, finally aware of what the cats were up to, but they had no chance of catching them.
Rattlepelt and Wildclaw only slowed down when the ocean peeked between the trees. They skidded up to a sandy beach and dropped the kits. Both toms were shockingly quiet, merely huffing at the sudden stop and trying to get their bearings. Rattlepelt panted hard. Wildclaw groaned, stretching her hind legs.
"Well," Wildclaw huffed, "I think we found your bad feeling." She waved a paw at the kits.
"You know this isn't what I meant," Rattlepelt muttered. She sat beside the two black kits. Her fox pelt slipped off from all that running. The tail floated on top of the kittens' heads. The bulky tom's permanently unsheathed claws snagged one of the dried lavender petals woven into the fur. So much like Shrewflame.
"I don't know about you," Wildclaw hummed, slipping next to her mate, "but this feels like one of those moments StarClan designs just for us." Wildclaw dipped her paw in front of the smaller black tom, who instinctively crawled to it. He latched his tiny muzzle onto Wildclaw's toe. "The next step seems pretty clear to me. Ready to be a mom again, Rattle?"
(Wildclaw: 83, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)
(Midnightkit: 0, male, kit, polite)
(Valleykit: 0, male, kit, quiet)
Mosspounce died of an infected wound.
[Image ID: Ravenweaver, Trumpetspore, Washington, Wolfgaze, and Weevilsiht crowd around Mosspounce.]
---
"Lemmy better get here soon," Mosspounce muttered. His bandaged, sightless eyes gazed out of the medicine den. "She'll be… very upset if she misses this."
Mosspounce laid in the back of the medicine den, surrounded by his daughters and Trumpetspore. The other clerics all left the den, giving the family their privacy. Washington was still there, though; Mosspounce had insisted the old tom not leave. The glow of a yellow sunset dripped between the thin gaps in the wood, dappling Mosspounce's pelt. Trumpetspore practically laid in the nest with Mosspounce, curling around him. She whimpered as though he had already died. Whenever her voice rose to a cry, Weevilsight had to close her eyes and push back her sudden rage. She couldn't even think about her father. All she wanted was for her aunt to shut up.
When Mosspounce made his comment, Ravenweaver looked ready to join Trumpetspore in her pre-mature vigil. Wolfgaze's hazel eyes tightened. Weevilsight stuck her nose into Mosspounce's ear. For a moment, she was just a cleric again, checking on her sick patient. Mosspounce's ear burned.
"If she wanted to be here she wouldn't have…" Wolfgaze growled.
Wolfgaze bit her tongue, however, when Ravenweaver quietly snapped "She's still our mom, Wolf." Wolfgaze paced around the empty nests of the medicine den, keeping her supernatural gaze off her father. Ravenweaver crawled to the edge of Mosspounce's nest and rested her head by his sickly-smelling wounds. Her lavender crown fell onto Mosspounce's head. Mosspounce shifted just enough to nose Ravenweaver's forehead.
"Your old molly's just off hunting, Mossy," Washington suddenly coughed from his nest. "She's on her way." Mosspounce purred softly and groomed his daughter's head, unable to lift his own and properly share tongues. All the mollies in the den stared at the old gray tom.
"I don't know if we should lie to him, Washington," Wolfgaze muttered, squirming under Washington's wizened eye.
"He can't understand what's happening anymore," Weevilsight quietly explained. "He's too far gone."
"Don't say that, stop saying that," Trumpetspore whimpered. She buried her face in Mosspounce's back.
"It's happening, Trumpetspore!" Weevilsight suddenly hissed, the petals in her fur fluttering out as she turned to her grieving aunt. "And… and there's nothing else we can do for him." Weevilsight stepped back, forcing her sneer off her face as Trumpetspore wailed again. Trumpetspore clawed at the edge of Mosspounce's nest and shook so hard that Mosspounce moved as well. A painful buzz filled Weevilsight's chest and made her limbs ache. Her head burned with too many thoughts. There was nothing she could do. Not for Mosspounce, not for Lemmy. She was losing both of them in less than a moon.
"I'm not trying to intrude," Washington croaked, shaky paws pushing out from his nest, "but could you help me close to him?" Weevilsight took a while to move, even as Washington groaned under the simple yet mountainous effort of standing. Washington's groaning mixed with Trumpetspore's moans in a painful chorus that threatened to undo Weevilsight's remaining sanity. The tortoiseshell cleric slipped beside Washington and supported his large weight. With Weevilsight under him and his broken leg stiff and splinted at his side, Washington limped to Mosspounce's nest.
"You're a funny old flea-feast," Mosspounce whimpered as Washington fell next to him.
"I'm glad I could make you laugh," Washington purred, "even if we haven't known one another long." Washington set his paw against Mosspounce's shoulder. "I'm sorry to see you go. But this is a good death, in my eyes."
"A good death?" Wolfgaze huffed, marching in front of Washington. "What would be 'good' is if my father wasn't dying at all!"
"But he's dying with his family around him," Washington groaned, waving at the mollies crowded around Mosspounce. "That's more than many get."
"Hi again, Tempest," Mosspounce muttered, lifting his head slightly. "Have you met my mollies? They're good kits." Weevilsight's paws inched toward the exit. She needed to stay, she had to stay, yet her body pushed her outside. Still, she stayed long enough to catch her father's last words.
(Trumpetspore: 52, female, warrior, nervous, makes the best pottery, good storyteller)
(Weevilsight: 26, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)
(Wolfgaze: 26, female, codekeeper, thoughtful, connection to StarClan, great speaker)
(Ravenweaver: 26, female, artisan, den builder, very clever)
(Washington: 219, male, elder, nervous, good mediator)
Mitespark and Wolverineheart have grown closer over time, relying on one another through the recent chaos. They decide to become mates. Wolverineheart’s littermates celebrate with the pair.
[Image ID: Mitespark speaks with Wolverineheart while Boughfur, Thundergale, and Brightreed stand behind their sister in support. Under Mitespark, it says + MATE: WOLVERINEHEART. Under Wolverineheart, it says + MATE: MITESPARK.]
(Mitespark: 33, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)
(Wolverineheart: 23, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)
(Boughfur: 23, female, historian, righteous, great climber)
(Thundergale: 23, female, teacher, adventurous, great hunter, good speaker)
(Brightreed: 23, female, warrior, righteous, student of art)
Moontide and Cobaltchaser don't move in time to avoid a large fir tree falling right on top of them. A patrol doesn't find them until they've both moved on to StarClan.
[Image ID: Moontide and Cobaltchaser are both StarClan spirits. Moontide says, "We need to see our sisters."]
Honeybuzz recovers in time to give Weevilsight her name. However, while the other clerics commune with StarClan and Weevilsight sits her vigil outside, she's attacked. While she can't identify the attackers, she reeks of SlugClan.
[Image ID: Honeybuzz, Troutpool, and Estherfern gather around Weevilsight. Weevilsight yowls, "Finally!" Under her, it reads LEVEL UP! WEEVILPAW → WEEVILSIGHT, CURIOUS ABOUT STARCLAN → DEEP STARCLAN BOND, + CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL. Under Honeybuzz, it says - CONDITION: TORN EAR.]
(Weevilsight: 15, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)
(Honeybuzz: 28, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)
(Estherfern: 114, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)
RippleClan welcomes a new batch of graduates: Yellowburst, Stormjump, Thundergale, Boughfur, and Wolverineheart. When her vigil is through, Thundergale has a strange proposition.
[Image ID: Yellowburst, Stormjump, Thundergale, Boughfur, and Wolverineheart stand together, the latter three sporting adult sprites. Under Yellowburst, it says LEVEL UP! YELLOWPAW → YELLOWBURST, COLD → ADVENTUROUS, QUICK TO MAKE PEACE → GOOD MEDIATOR. Under Stormjump, it says LEVEL UP! STORMPAW → STORMJUMP, LOVES TO EAT → INCREDIBLE COOK. Under Thundergale, it reads LEVEL UP! THUNDERPAW → THUNDERGALE, MOSS-BALL HUNTER → GREAT HUNTER, + NEW SKILL: GOOD SPEAKER. Under Boughfur, it says LEVEL UP! BOUGHPAW → BOUGHFUR, CONSTANTLY CLIMBING → GOOD CLIMBER. Under Wolverineheart, it says LEVEL UP! WOLVERINEPAW → WOLVERINEHEART, COMPASSIONATE → TROUBLESOME, ALWAYS ASKING QUESTIONS → STUDENT OF SCIENCE.]
---
Thundergale couldn't have imagined sitting vigil alone. She pitied cats who graduated without their littermates; how could they manage a night alone, roaming the edges of camp, pondering the enormity of adulthood with no escape? Of course, Thundergale was a bit privileged when it came to guarding camp. With her hearing loss, it simply wasn't safe for Thundergale to be alone on guard duty. There were too many things she could miss. But that just made nights like her vigil better, because she always had someone at her side.
Thundergale could tell that Yellowburst and Wolverineheart itched to speak as dawn showed its first beams. They padded around the camp entrance, a dozen thoughts trapped in their mouths. Stormjump stared at the sunrise, constantly glancing back to camp for someone to end the long night. Boughfur was the only one to sit tall and proper, opposite of Thundergale. Stormjump and Yellowburst had built a small fire outside camp to fight off the freezing snow around them, but now that fire was little more than smolders.
"Good morning!" Asterblaze and Waspdawn slipped out of camp, pelts fluffed and eyes bright. Yellowburst and Stormjump slunk to their father's side, bunting heads and purring. Thundergale peered into camp. Estherfern sat outside the medicine den, tail tucked over her paws, ear flicking gently in the soft winter breeze.
"Did you hear me, Thundergale?" Asterblaze asked. Thundergale turned back as what little heat remaining inside her went to her ears. Wolverineheart and Boughfur danced around one another, but Thundergale couldn't hear their celebration. "I said you're free to speak again."
"Thank you," Thundergale said. Her voice still echoed in her head, but it seemed quieter when it escaped.
"Let's find Sandpaw," Stormjump told her sister as the pair followed their father into camp. "I want to brag…" Her voice grew too far for Thundergale to hear the rest of the comment. Asterblaze followed the family through. Boughfur and Wolverineheart suddenly pulled themselves from their little party and pounced on Thundergale.
"No more flea duty!" Wolverineheart signed, almost too excited to sign clearly.
"Who do you think made our graduation presents?" Thundergale wondered. She paused mid-sign with a huge yawn.
"Let's go to sleep and find out," Boughfur quickly signed, her paw-work sloppy as she tried to head for the camp entrance. She led her sisters into RippleClan, licking her cold paws.
Oilstripe organized a sunrise patrol by the Shiprock with Lemmy, Cobaltpaw, and Puddlewhisper. Ravenweaver, Mitespark, and Clammask argued over the Clan's first meal beside the unlit stove while Paleseed did her best to mediate the disagreement. Yarrowclaw rushed past Thundergale, kicking up sandy snow in her rush to get out of camp. Trumpetspore and Mosspounce rekindled the bonfire in the center of camp, dulled after a peaceful night. Even though Thundergale eagerly ached to rest in her new nest, she soaked in the life of her Clan. There was so much to learn from every single cat, so many skills and tasks a cat could master, even outside of their chosen role. Joining RippleClan was the best decision Estherfern ever made.
Speaking of Estherfern, the brown molly waved her daughters toward her. Boughfur and Thundergale glanced at each other while Wolverineheart squinted to see what was happening. No one dared make the first move. Spikecrash's scent drifted closer. Thundergale spotted the scarred mediator first and drew her sisters' attention. Spikecrash strolled up to Thundergale's ear, stretching to reach her.
"I'll lead you over there," Spikecrash promised. She stepped back and winked at the trio. She strolled toward the medicine den, tail high. Thundergale took a deep breath. She, Wolverineheart, and Boughfur made their way toward their mother.
"I'm proud of you three," Estherfern said when the group approached. Spikecrash quickly stepped away, cheekily glancing at the new graduates as she left them. Estherfern paused before she continued. She slowly made the sign for "proud", flicking her ears toward Thundergale one by one. Truthfully, it was closer to the sign for "dig" with how slow she went, but Thundergale stayed quiet. She was trying, after all.
"Thanks, Mom," Wolverineheart sighed, signing while she spoke.
"The dog spit and bird blood in the wound puts Brightpaw at risk for severe infection," Estherfern explained. "He's resting right now, but I'm watching him closely."
"You're watching him?" Wolverineheart scoffed. Even her signs looked dismissive. "I thought medicine wasn't a priestess's domain."
"It isn't," Estherfern admitted, shoulders shifting under her daughters' scrutiny. "It is a cleric's domain, however. If I'm a cleric by name, I should be able to help my fellow clerics in all aspects of their work."
"You know medicine now?" Thundergale asked. She focused on the sign for "medicine"; a paw, raised slightly, and spinning over the other paw like a cleric grinding herbs.
"I've asked Weevilsight to help me," Estherfern admitted. "Unlike some cats, she won't make my lessons more difficult than they should be."
"But why?" Boughfur asked. "Why learn now?"
"My pride got in the way of everything," Estherfern sighed, making the same sign as earlier with her ears. "No more. I've killed my old habits. I'm learning to be a new cat, and hopefully a new mother." Learning… Estherfern really was learning a lot. Medicine, Clan-sign, motherhood, listening; it was so much like the informal second apprenticeships many cats pursued after graduation. Yet Estherfern had to pursue a lot of this knowledge on her own, hoping others would give her a second chance and show an old molly a new way to see the world. What if there was someone in the Clan dedicated to helping cats like Estherfern?
"Wolverine," Thundergale asked slowly, glancing toward the leader's den. "Can you help me? I need some translation."
"Can it be after we sleep?" Wolverineheart asked, words lost in a yawn.
"Yes, I should let you rest," Estherfern coughed, stepping back into the medicine den. "We can speak more later. If you want."
"I think I do," Thundergale stammered, "but Wolverineheart, I really need a translator right now, before Downstar leaves camp."
"I'll help, Thunder," Boughfur chirped, adjusting her forget-me-not decor as Estherfern hid a purr and returned to the shadows of the medicine den. Thundergale nudged her dark brown sister toward the leader's den, skirting around Lemmy's departing patrol while Wolverineheart gleefully hurried to the warrior's den for a well-deserved rest.
"Downstar?" Thundergale called into the leader's den. The gray-muzzled leader rested in her nest, still grooming herself. Halibutdusk and Wildclaw lounged beside her, talking too quiet for Thundergale to hear.
"Thundergale, Boughfur," Downstar said, nodding to each new graduate. "I thought you would be settled in your nests by now. I told Asterblaze he could relieve you." Downstar's voice weakened at a few essential moments, but Boughfur was there to help. She instinctually moved in front of Thundergale and signed what Downstar said. She had become as skilled in Clan-sign as Thundergale.
"You did," Thundergale said, "but there's something I wanted to talk to you about before I lost my words." Downstar studied Thundergale for a moment. Then she muttered something to her kits, who touched noses with their mother and slipped around Thundergale. When they were gone, Downstar nodded for Thundergale to continue. Thundergale's throat tightened. She turned to Boughfur, her ideas trapped. Boughfur balanced on her hind legs, ready to support her sister with whatever she needed. Thundergale forced herself to breath.
"I enjoyed my training as a caretaker," Thundergale signed. Boughfur stammered for a moment, catching up with her sister's message. Downstar glanced between Thundergale and Boughfur as the former spoke and the latter explained. "Drumtooth was a good mentor. I like caring for others. In some ways, though, Mummichogleap was the more important mentor. Without his lessons, I would struggle to explain myself. I would lose my words because I couldn't hear them. I'd fail to speak to others because I could not hear them. I'm so grateful to Mummichogleap for teaching me Clan-sign. When I came back from my lessons, I began to realize, my favorite thing to do wasn't tending the fire or watching kits or any of the typical caretaker tasks. I loved teaching.
"I've taught all my littermates how to use Clan-sign, and my mother is starting to learn as well. Stormjump, Yellowburst, and Sandpaw wanted to learn as well. Drumtooth is able to sign the most important words, and I've had a few cats ask me for the signs of specific phrases. I loved all of that. I want to do that for the rest of my life.
"Downstar, I think the Clans are missing something. Historians remember our history and study the world. Warriors learn the most complex battle techniques. Codekeepers memorize every detail of the code. But it all rests on the mentor to teach their apprentice those skills. If the apprentice wants to learn other skills, they have to ask for favors. They have to hope someone will let them study in a second apprenticeship. What if we made learning easier? What if cats could come to a teacher whenever they wanted to learn a new skill? Mentors could get help for their apprentices without insecurity. Kits could learn basic skills as they decide on their futures. Downstar, I don't want to be a caretaker. I want to be a teacher."
"Are you suggesting an entirely new position in the Clan?" Downstar finally asked after Boughfur finished translating.
"Teachers could learn a bit about every position," Thundergale explained. "I would know enough about most subjects to assist an apprentice during their training. I can learn the best ways to teach cats, young and old, so that anyone who wants to learn has someone to talk to. I want to teach cats more Clan-sign, but I also want to teach codekeepers about fire safety. I want to teach artistic warriors about making paint. I want to teach antsy artisans better hunting skills. I want the Clans to know anything they want to know."
"What you're suggesting is a major change to RippleClan's lifestyle," Downstar pointed out. "You may step on more than a few mentors' paws."
"I think they'll like the help," Thundergale said aloud, confidence restored. "I have ideas, Downstar. Can I try?" Downstar tappd her paw on the edge of her nest. Her whiskers twitched, deep in thought. Thundergale couldn't help but crouch as her leader decided her fate.
"Get some rest," Downstar finally said. "We can discuss the details of this… teacher position once you've slept."
"Thank you, Downstar!" Thundergale gasped, almost flying off the ground.
"I still want you to fulfill your caretaker duties while we see if this new role is viable," Downstar warned, "but RippleClan is the Clan of new opportunities. I can tell you're earnest. Good luck, Thundergale. Now, both of you, go to your nests. Ravenweaver made you both a down-stuffed head rest." Boughfur and Thundergale both dipped their heads to the tortoiseshell leader. Boughfur brushed against Thundergale and nudged her toward the warrior's den. Thundergale took the lead. She wouldn't be surprised if she couldn't sleep.
Thundergale was going to make history!
(Thundergale: 12, female, teacher, adventurous, great hunter, good speaker)
(Yellowburst: 11, female, caretaker, adventurous, good mediator)
(Wolverineheart: 12, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)
(Boughfur: 12, female, historian, righteous, good climber)
(Asterblaze: 27, male, caretaker, thoughtful, constantly fiddling with tools)
(Waspdawn: 46, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)
(Estherfern: 114, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)
(Spikecrash: 55, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)
(Downstar: 139, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)
Yellowburst gets yellowcough, making the clerics wonder if it is an omen. Meanwhile, Shrewkit tells Ravenweaver to make a move on Brightpaw.
[Image ID: Yellowburst stands in the back, with + CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH under her. Brightpaw and Venturedapple chat to the side. Brightpaw now has an adult sprite. Shrewkit says to Ravenweaver, "Talk to him!"]
(Yellowburst: 11, female, caretaker, adventurous, good mediator)
(Ravenweaver: 15, female, artisan, den builder, very clever)
(Shrewkit: 4, male, kit, bossy, never sits still)
(Brightpaw: 12, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, lover of art)
Currentsmoke falls through melting ice on the Great Northern River and breaks his jaw.
[Image ID: Yarrowclaw, Anchovystrike, Moontide, and Leathermask watch Currentsmoke in the distance, who has + CONDITION: BROKEN JAW under him. Yarrowclaw yowls, "Current!"]
---
Yarrowclaw had been running herself into the ground over the last quarter moon. Anchovystrike hardly saw his sister in the warrior's den, or even in camp. She always seemed to be out on some patrol, like she was the only warrior in the Clan. Anchovystrike hadn't seen Yarrowclaw sharing tongues or rest at sunhigh. Maybe Yarrowclaw was simply worried about Weevilsight and Yellowburst. Maybe she didn't know her limits now that she was a warrior. Whatever it was, Anchovystrike needed to remind his sister how to breathe, and a trip to the river seemed like the best solution.
Anchovystrike led the way, bounding through the snow like a kit. Yarrowclaw kept pace with him in a swift jog. Currentsmoke, Leathermask, and Moontide trailed behind, chatting about nothing at all. No matter where Anchovystrike looked, he couldn't see a single sliver of ichor. The land was finally pure. That alone was reason to head out!
"Maybe we can build a snowcat, like when we were kits!" Anchovystrike suggested, nudging his sister.
"We need to build a fire first," Yarrowclaw chirped. "With how long you want to spend by the river, we need to keep warm. If we have a fire, we can fish and not worry about freezing."
"Or we can have fun," Moontide laughed, hurrying to Yarrowclaw's bad side. "This isn't a patrol, Yarrow! It's a day by the river. I want to go swimming!"
"But Yarrowclaw is right," Leathermask pointed out. "We do need a fire if we want to go into the water in this weather. Even our long fur isn't going to keep us warm enough, Moontide."
"Exactly," Yarrowclaw said, tail high. "I'll find dry sticks. We will have fun, but we'll also help the Clan, check the border, find some fish, socialize…" Yarrowclaw shook out her pelt and picked up speed. "Come on!" Anchovystrike and Moontide shot each other a cocky glance, but it was Currentsmoke who raced past them first, laughing.
"Last one to the river is crowfood!" he laughed. Anchovystrike eagerly took up the challenge. His paws skidded through the snow as he picked up momentum. Moontide howled, copying her friends.
The water along the sides of the river was completely frozen. The ice glistened and burned in the sun. Rocks jutted through the ice, forever sturdy against the passing seasons. Water still flowed through the heart of the river, icy cold and skittering across the surface-level stones.
A black and white molly paced along the ice, her clawed-out eye facing the Clan cats. Crow feathers lined her pelt. Yet as she turned in her pacing, Anchovystrike realized they weren't just decor, not in his eyes. The feathers seemed to grow out of the molly's pelt as naturally as fur. A few feathers constantly drifted off and fluttered onto the snow, stark black against white. Yet when Anchovystrike blinked, those fallen feathers would vanish. What supernatural sign was this? An old memory stirred inside him of the nursery, gathered around Lemmy as she explained the origins of her odd name and just where she came from. Those feathers meant something.
"Hello?" Anchovystrike called, trotting to a stop. Yarrowclaw and Currentsmoke stared at the stranger silently, whiskers flicking in curiosity. Leathermask's fur prickled as he slid in beside Anchovystrike. Moontide stumbled past Anchovystrike, taking a moment to recognize the outsider. The black and white molly lifted her head, staring at Anchovystrike.
"RippleClan?" she called. She sat at the river's edge, feathery tail covering her downy paws. She seemed half-bird when she faced the Clan cats head-on.
"We're RippleClan, yes," Anchovystrike said, approaching the riverside. "Those feathers… are you the Witch Hunter General?"
"I am," the molly said, dipping her head, "but not the one you know. My name is Pearl. Our old General, Madeline, has passed to the Other Side. I have taken command of the Witch Hunters. I seek to honor the peace between our colonies and introduce myself as a new leader to your Clans, as a sign of friendship."
"Well, thank you!" Currentsmoke chirped. "It's nice to meet you, Pearl. I'm Currentsmoke. Yarrowclaw and I met one of your Witch Hunters a while ago! He joined RippleClan. His name used to be Venture, did you know him?"
"I was wondering where he ran off to," Pearl hummed, gently cocking her head. "Did he tell you while he left the settlement?"
"He didn't go into specifics," Currentsmoke said. Yarrowclaw left the riverside and sniffed around the trees for suitable fire materials. "He just said he wanted to leave."
"He had a good reason to," Pearl admitted. "I'm afraid after Madeline's passing, Achilles and I argued about the future of the Witch Hunters. My ascension to Witch Hunter General was not clean. I can't say either of us were fair or just, and Venture was one of a few who left the settlement because of that. I hope RippleClan is a fairer place for him to live."
"Why don't we take you to Downstar?" Currentsmoke suggested. He stepped onto the snow-covered ice of the Great Northern River. "If you want to discuss better relations, she would be the cat to talk to!" The snow crunched under Currentsmoke's weight. He watched the flowing water closely, eyeing the thickness of the ice. He playfully wiggled his flank as he gauged how far he had to jump.
"Currentsmoke, don't show off," Moontide chuckled. Currentsmoke tensed and crouched against the ice and snow. His claws snapped onto the ice. He jumped over the open water, shoving a clump of snow into the current. His front paws smacked onto the ice, the snow providing the needed friction. His back paws, however, landed on the corner of the ice. A loud crack bounced through the trees.
"Current!" Yarrowclaw yowled, shoving past her Clanmates. The ice broke away from the shore. Currentsmoke's flank tumbled into the flowing water. The ice shard flipped and smacked Currentsmoke hard in the face. The ginger and white caretaker fell limp into the river. His body caught on the stepping stones. Blood seeped from his face and thundered toward the ocean.
"Careful, careful!" Leathermask yowled as Yarrowclaw raced toward the river. Pearl scrambled to Currentsmoke, grabbing his scruff. The Witch Hunter General lifted the tom's head out of the water. Anchovystrike's stomach dropped. A huge gash trailed over Currentsmoke's cheek and his teeth stabbed through his lips. His jaw dangled at an awkward angle.
Pearl and Yarrowclaw lifted Currentsmoke out of the freezing water and off the snowy ice. Anchovystrike shoved Pearl aside and took her place carrying his brother. Anchovystrike couldn't help but whimper at the smell of Currentsmoke's blood. Anchovystrike didn't care about the Witch Hunter General, he didn't care about Yarrowclaw's bad mood or the ruined plans.
He just had to make sure Currentsmoke didn't die.
(Anchovystrike: 15, male, warrior, playful, deep StarClan bond)
