#burdockcreek

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 88

Mitespark gets flustered when Wolverineheart compliments her woodworking skill.

[Image ID: Ravenweaver and Mitespark watch Wolverineheart go. Ravenweaver says, "You would be cute together!"]

(Ravenweaver: 23, female, artisan, nervous, den builder, very clever)

(Mitespark: 30, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)

(Wolverineheart: 20, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

Despite an awkward assessment, Shrewpaw recovers from his bruises and is named Shrewflame for his fierce confidence. Thundergale considers herself lucky to have mentored such a great cat.

[Image ID: Shrewflame is now an adult! Under him, it reads LEVEL UP! SHREWPAW → SHREWFLAME, COMPETITIVE → LOYAL, NEVER SITS STILL → FAST AS THE WIND. Thundergale watches proudly in the back.]

(Shrewflame: 12, male, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)

(Thundergale: 20, female, teacher, adventurous, good hunter, good speaker)

Halibutdusk is worried about the storm overhead, but continues on their date with Clammask anyway. As they walk along the river, a flash flood overcomes them. Halibutdusk clings to the stepping stones, but Clammask is washed to sea.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Clammask wander under a cloudy sky, where the ghosts of Twinekit, Locustseeker, Burdockcreek, and Rustshade watch and wait.]

(Halibutdusk: 80, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Clammask: 82, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Rustshade: 102, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Burdockcreek: 40, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

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

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

Wildclaw and Honeybuzz grieve. Honeybuzz wonders how Stormjump is doing.

[Image ID: Wildclaw talks to her littermate, with + CONDITION: GRIEVING under her. On the other side, Stormjump speaks with Downstar and Carnationspeckle. Honeybuzz watches them both, + CONDITION: GRIEVING written under him.]

---

Stars damn it all.

Honeybuzz knew it was natural for a kit to sit vigil for their parents as the latter grew old and their fur turned gray, but Honeybuzz still felt too young to lose Clammask too. And this time, there was no clear culprit he could blame. Halibutdusk wasn't like Rapidleaf, they didn't shove Clammask into the water, and they didn't run from whatever role they played in Clammask's death either. They even offered their freedom up to Venturedapple and Cobaltchaser, willing to sit through a trial and sort out the details of the incident. Not that the outcome wasn't clear, though; this was no living cat's fault. Perhaps Clammask's littermates decided to call her home. Perhaps the All-Seeing prevented any warnings from reaching the clerics' ears so their grand plan could unfold.

Whoever decided Clammask would die that day, stars damn them.

At least the Clan had a body to sit vigil for. While on patrol, hoping that Clammask found her way back to shore, Rapidleaf, Asterblaze, and Tallowheart found Clammask's body drifting along the edge of the beach. Troutpool and Oilstripe mournfully reported Clammask's spirit escorting the body to camp before departing with Twinekit, Locustseeker, and Burdockcreek. Weevilsight and Carnationspeckle dried her body and made sure she looked her best. The last child of RippleClan's first litter, departed for the stars.

Honeybuzz muttered along to Troutpool and Estherfern's ritual as he, Splashtuft, Leathermask, and Drumtooth pressed their noses into their mother's pelt one last time. To the side, Wildclaw and Halibutdusk leaned into each other, each bearing the other's grief on their backs. A long pelt covered Halibutdusk, fighting off the chill of the autumn water. Yet Honeybuzz was the one who couldn't stop shivering. Stormjump, Carnationspeckle, and Downstar built a large fire to the side of the vigil—a dash of warmth to send Clammask up to Silverpelt. It did not calm Honeybuzz's body.

Vervaincough, Potterypool, and Moontide curled up along Clammask's back. Vervaincough's breath itched at Honeybuzz's neck. Neither Clammask's sons nor her daughters wanted to be the first to leave their mother behind and embrace the night that had slowly enveloped them over the course of the vigil. Yet when Honeybuzz dared look up from Clammask's still-damp fur, he could see Oilstripe, Mosspounce, and Slushtrail patiently waiting for their turn to mourn. Honeybuzz kneaded his mother's still belly. Could he really leave her behind? Would he see her the next time he visited StarClan's Shrine? Whatever the case, Honeybuzz couldn't stay with his siblings forever. Clammask wasn't just important to them.

Honeybuzz pried himself away from Clammask's body with a pitiful moan. His cicada wing necklace left an imprint in her fur. His paws mindlessly carried him away, leaving room for Oilstripe to mourn her little sister.

"Honeybuzz, wait," Leathermask whined, lifting his head from the vigil.

"Let him go, Leather," Splashtuft sighed. "I… I think I need to leave, too." Splashtuft shoved himself up and hurried to the warrior's den. Billowhaze and Tallowheart, who quietly shared tongues outside the den, followed their fellow historian in, ready to offer whatever comfort they could manage.

"I'm not leaving," Drumtooth promised, pressing closer to Leathermask as Mosspounce found his opening to mourn.

Honeybuzz wandered toward Stormjump and the growing fire. He had no real agenda, no idea what he needed, but in the bottom of his heart, he knew Stormjump could provide it. Stormjump, to her credit, was the first to notice Honeybuzz's approach. She set a piece of kindling to the side of the flames and turned to see who joined her, Carnationspeckle, and Downstar in their work.

"Honeybuzz," Stormjump cooed. "Come warm up. You look wet." Stormjump moved aside so Honeybuzz could creep closer to the fire. His shivering eased as Carnationspeckle gently groomed his fur the wrong way.

"What do you need, Honeybuzz?" Downstar asked.

"You tell me," Honeybuzz scoffed, resting his head on the warm sand.

"It's late, but we could prepare a simple stew," Carnationspeckle suggested. "Something with heart-healing herbs to warm our bones."

"The Clan already had their evening meal," Honeybuzz sighed. "Don't waste food for the sunhigh meal."

"Take it from an older cat, Honeybuzz," Downstar sighed, eyes trailing to Clammask's body. "A loss like this is going to hurt, and you won't be the same cat you were this morning. But eventually the good memories will pad around that loss, dampen the sound of the grief. It'll be there, and it will still hurt. But you'll have more and more joy to draw strength from, if you allow yourself to hold onto it." Carnationspeckle licked her former mentor's shoulder and rested her chin on her back. Honeybuzz just closed his eyes. That little speech seemed more for Downstar than for him.

He never told her. Honeybuzz never told Clammask the truth about Scrubmask and Rapidleaf. She knew now, finally reunited with her first mate. She knew about Honeybuzz's silence. Did she understand his intentions? Did she see the chaos the truth would bring? Or did she only see her son, the liar, the secret keeper, the cat who let a killer share the same den as his brothers and sisters without so much as a meow of protest?

"It's alright to cry, Honeybuzz," Stormjump sighed, nuzzling Honeybuzz's neck. Honeybuzz didn't realize his breath had begun to hitch. "Maybe you should get some sleep. Want me to walk you to the medicine den?" Honeybuzz swallowed hard and nodded. He forced himself up, but this time, Stormjump was there, leaning against Honeybuzz, catching his weight. The pair sank into the sand. Honeybuzz didn't care to wipe it off his paws when he entered his den.

He tumbled into his nest with a pitiful mew. Stormjump gently grabbed the leather cord of his cicada wing necklace and lifted it off his neck. She placed the necklace beside his nest.

"I'll make sure I'm in charge of the sunhigh meal tomorrow," Stormjump promised. "I'll make Clammask's favorite meal. Herb-pelted bird fillets. Sleep well, Honeybuzz. I'm sorry about today." Stormjump's tail waved gently as she turned out of the den.

Honeybuzz couldn't stop himself from falling asleep, a weight settling over his back. Yet as he did so, he could have sworn he heard one last thing as Stormjump left.

"I love you."

(Honeybuzz: 36, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Wildclaw: 80, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Halibutdusk: 80, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Leathermask: 36, male, warrior, nervous, good fighter, eloquent speaker)

(Splashtuft: 36, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Drumtooth: 36, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Stormjump: 19, female, caretaker, charismatic, incredible cook)

(Downstar: 147, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Carnationspeckle: 90, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

While participating in a battle training holiday with other warriors and caretakers in LynxClan territory, Mosspounce, Yarrowclaw, and Brightreed come across a cougar’s den; the same cougar that once decimated LynxClan. The trio lead the celebrating warriors to kill the cougar once and for all, with Mosspounce delivering a deadly blow, but his eyes are clawed up as a result.

[Image ID: Mosspounce, Brightreed, and Yarrowclaw follow bloody pawprints. Under Mosspounce, it says + CONDITION: DAMAGED EYES.]

(Mosspounce: 49, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Brightreed: 20, male, warrior, righteous, student of art)

(Yarrowclaw: 23, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 46

Burdockcreek died of greencough.

[Image ID: Clammask, Rustshade, and Weedfoot stand together, each with + CONDITION: GRIEVING underneath them. The ghosts of Twinekit, Burdockcreek, and Locustseeker stand above them.]

Fennelspot asked that Burdockcreek’s loved ones say goodbye to him before he passed. He was asleep, his breath strangled by mucus, but Fennelspot assured everyone that he would be able to hear them. He and Troutpaw moved Wildclaw back into the medicine den to give each member of the Clan their moment alone with the young historian. 

Oilstripe asked to go first and quietly stepped into the quarantine den. Burdockcreek laid curled up in his nest, the symptoms of his deadly condition draining down his face. Oilstripe took a quiet spot beside him.

“Is it okay that I don’t feel too heartbroken?” Oilstripe asked. “I don’t want you to go, of course. You’re my brother. I trained you. I don’t think I’m as close to you as Clammask or Dad, but I’m still your older sister. It’s just that… did you know Twinekit joins you on patrol some days? And Locustseeker watches us when we’re studying the world and telling stories to the kits. I still haven’t seen our mom after so many moons, but our siblings visit so much, it’s like they never left. I forget that’s not how it is for other people.

“What I mean to say is, Twinekit and Locustseeker are in the den with us. Twinekit insists that she’ll be the Fetcher for all of her littermates, it’s rather cute. It’s true, Twinekit! You’re perpetually cute. If you wanted to be taken seriously, you could have waited to die. Locustseeker’s here for moral support, Burdock. They’re excited to talk to you again. You’ll have a good time in StarClan. I’ll see you soon, little brother.” Oilstripe ran her tail over Burdockcreek’s feverish head and left her brother behind.

Weedfoot came in next. Her belly was swollen with her second litter, making her waddle into the den. She pressed her muzzle into Burdockcreek’s neck.

“You were as much my apprentice as Oilstripe’s,” she muttered. “You shouldn’t be leaving before I do. I’m sorry.” Weedfoot lingered in Burdockcreek’s unconscious embrace, unafraid of catching his disease. She only looked up when Clammask’s soft paws padded in.

“I’m sorry,” Weedfoot gulped, sitting up and clearing her throat. “I forgot this wasn’t his vigil yet. I’m taking up your time.”

“No, don’t leave,” Clammask croaked, stepping in front of Weedfoot when she moved to go. “I don’t want to say goodbye alone.” Weedfoot welcomed Clammask into her embrace, letting the golden molly rest her head under her chin. Weedfoot’s warmth covered Clammask. The deputy gently licked Clammask’s ear until she was ready to talk.

“Do you remember the last Harvest Moon,” Clammask mumbled, “when Burdockcreek challenged the LynxClan historians to a climbing competition? StarClan, he lost so bad, he moped behind the Leader’s Stone for… for… I can’t do this. I can’t remember my brother like this.” Clammask turned away from her dying brother. Weedfoot waddled to her side and walked her out of the den.

Rustshade came in a short while later. He stared at Burdockcreek, whose breathing had grown slow in the moments since Clammask left. Rustshade couldn’t keep his claws seathed.

“Are you here, StarClan?” Rustshade growled, looking up into the ceiling of the shipwreck. “You can’t take him. Why do you think you can take another of my kits from me? You don’t get Burdockcreek. You can’t have him.” Rustshade slipped beside his son. He closed his eyes, willing Burdockcreek to claw back from the edge and stay by his side.

Burdockcreek stopped breathing shortly after.

(Burdockcreek: 40, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Oilstripe: 50, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Weedfoot: 95, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Clammask: 40, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Rustshade: 90, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

Puddlepaw and Ripplepaw are the first of their litter to earn their names. Ripplefern gets moth wings from Downstar as a gift for graduating.

[Image ID: Puddlewhisper and Ripplefern stand as adults. Ripplefern has moth wings tucked behind her ear. Above Puddlewhisper, it says LEVEL UP! PUDDLEPAW -> PUDDLEWHISPER, ODDLY OBSERVANT -> NATURAL INTUITION, MORBID CURIOSITY -> GHOST SENSE. Above Ripplefern, it says LEVEL UP! RIPPLEPAW -> RIPPLEFERN, AVID PLAY-FIGHTER -> GOOD FIGHTER, SPLASHES IN PUDDLES -> TALENTED SWIMMER, + ACCESSORY: MOTH WINGS.]

(Puddlewhisper: 12, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

(Ripplefern: 12, female, historian, charismatic, good fighter, talented swimmer)

The AshClan cleric, Newtstream, asks for spare thyme. Fennelspot hands some over.

[Image ID: Fennelspot and Darkkick face Newtstream, who says “I really am glad you’re alive, Darkkick.” Darkkick responds, “Where was this concern when you let Autumnstar exile me?”]

---

Newtstream was there. She was there, in RippleClan’s camp, speaking with Fennelspot and Spikecrash like it was the most natural thing in the world. And she would notice Darkkick any second.

With his tail as tended-to as it would be for now, Parsley and Carnationspeckle offered to take Darkkick on a tour of the territory. It was strange to walk through land that Darkkick knew in passing, knowing that it may soon become as familiar to him as AshClan territory once was. With spring weather bringing life to the territory, Darkkick had a lot to say on how the caretakers were managing their gardens and utilizing the ocean. He couldn’t lie, when he had been AshClan’s clerics, he dreamed of the days when he’d lead a patrol to the ocean to collect rare salt, but now, once his tail was healed, he would be able to swim in that glistening water whenever he wanted. Perhaps he should have joined RippleClan earlier.

That simple joy crumbled when Darkkick’s tour group returned to camp near sunset and saw Newtstream sitting in the sand. Darkkick kept his face still as his former apprentice noticed him. As soon as her brown eyes widened, Darkkick strolled across the clearing, ignoring how his tail ached when he held it high.

“The rumors are true then,” Newtstream said softly, studying Darkkick. “You’ve returned to the Clans.”

“So I have,” Darkkick huffed. He refused to break eye contact with Newtstream. He would not break first. From the corner of his eye, Darkkick could see Spikecrash get ready to interject, but Fennelspot put his tail on her worn splint.

“I don’t see any reason AshClan can’t use some of RippleClan’s thyme incense,” Fennelspot said. A movement of his paw broke Newtstream’s stare. Fennelspot rolled an incense stick to Newtstream’s paws. “This bowl is a beautiful offering.” He placed his paw on the lip of a well-carved wooden bowl, perfect for ceremonies or meals for honored guests.

“AshClan thanks you, Fennelspot,” Newtstream said, bowing. “And it was good to meet you, Mediator Spikecrash. I hope your recovery continues as expected.”

“Thank you,” Spikecrash gulped, casting a glance at Darkkick. “It… will be nice to see you and your Clan’s mediators at my first Gathering. With the way my healing is progressing, Fennelspot says I’ll be better by the end of the season!” Spikecrash flexed her back paws. It seemed Fennelspot had done a good job.

“If you’ll speak to Halibutdusk over there,” Fennelspot explained, nodding to Halibutdusk by the oven, “he can escort you back to AshClan.”

“May StarClan watch over you, Fennelspot,” Newtstream said. She reached down for the incense, but paused. She stood back up and looked at Darkkick, her whiskers drooping. “I really am glad you’re alive, Darkkick.”

“Where was this concern when you let Autumnstar exile me?” Darkkick spat. His spit flew onto the incense. Newtstream closed her eyes for a moment. Then she picked up the incense and walked toward Halibutdusk.

“Spikecrash,” Fennelspot sighed, “it’s probably better that you not mention your relationship to Darkkick around other Clans. They may not take it well.”

“Because he was a cleric?” Spikecrash asked.

“Because she’s the reason I’m not one anymore,” Darkkick growled, cocking his head at Newtstream as she left camp. “StarClan told all the clerics that RippleClan was to be founded, and when I told Autumnstar, he called me a liar and exiled me. Newtstream was my apprentice. She said nothing in my defense, even though she saw the same things I did!” He yowled in the direction of the exit, knowing full well that Newtstream would be able to hear him.

“Darkkick may not be a cleric anymore,” Fennelspot explained, rubbing against Darkkick to soothe his shaking pelt, “but it’s better if the Clans get used to the idea of his return before hearing that he stopped keeping his oath.”

“That oath stopped bearing weight when I followed StarClan’s will and they did nothing to protect me,” Darkkick growled.

(Darkkick: 106, male, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Fennelspot: 103, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Spikecrash: 21, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 43

Winter disease continues to spread; while Weedfoot recovers from whitecough, Burdockcreek catches Mosskit’s greencough.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and Burdockcreek each sit on screen. Under Weedfoot, it says - CONDITION: WHITECOUGH. Under Burdockcreek, it says + CONDITION: GREENCOUGH.]

(Weedfoot: 92, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Burdockcreek: 37, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

Palepaw works with Fennelspot and Rattlepelt to negotiate herb-gathering disputes with AshClan. The meeting goes better than expected, and Palepaw has a plan to handle the issue for good.

[Image ID: Palepaw and Fennelspot face Newtstream, a single-striped ginger molly with a lavender accessory. Rattlepelt talks to Shellstripe in the back. Newtstream says “We just need a little rosemary.”]

---

Palepaw knew she couldn’t handle the meeting with AshClan without Rattlepelt and Fennelspot backing her up. Their strong presences gave her the courage she needed to keep her head high as she spoke with AshClan’s representatives.

Since the issue involved using trees near the border for medicinal purposes, Newtstream, AshClan’s cleric, was there. She was a bright ginger molly that reminded Palepaw of sun-dappled amber or rich honey. Shellstripe spoke with Rattlepelt to the side, but Rattlepelt constantly glanced Palepaw’s way, ready to help her apprentice if need be.

“I can understand your position,” Palepaw said, using words that felt too big in her mouth. “RippleClan’s ocean access makes it easier for us to get important resources. I don’t see why we can’t allow AshClan to harvest some of the trees in our territory, at least until spring.”

“You’re very kind, Palepaw,” Newtstream purred, bowing to the young mediator. “AshClan relies heavily on bark for our medicine in the winter moons.”

“Just don’t over harvest,” Fennelspot warned. “We don’t have many willows by our share of the river to start.”

“Despite what you may think, I do care about RippleClan’s health,” Newtstream huffed. “Our caretakers will be careful.” Palepaw cocked her head slightly, glancing at Fennelspot, but the cleric was silent.

“Well, we can have our caretakers meet you by the river and escort you in collecting willow bark,” Palepaw continued. “Would you meet them tomorrow at sunrise?”

“Perfect,” Newtstream purred with a casual flick of her tail. “I just have one more request for you. May I have some of your rosemary?”

“Rosemary?” Fennelspot muttered. “I have a dry sprig or two left. Is this medicinal or spiritual?”

“It’s important,” Newtstream sighed. The twitch of her whiskers was more than enough to make Palepaw not want to question her. “Would you be willing to bring the rosemary to the meeting tomorrow morning?”

“I suppose so,” Fennelspot said. “I’m not using it, so there’s no reason to keep it.”

“Wonderful,” Newtstream said with another bow. “If that’s all, I’ll collect Shellstripe and return home. StarClan protect you both.” Newtstream walked over to Shellstripe, who was laughing with Rattlepelt. Fennelspot winced as Newtstream turned away.

“Do you not like her?” Palepaw whispered. Fennelspot tensed, as though unsure if he should answer.

“When StarClan decreed we would be a Clan,” Fennelspot explained quietly, “they gave the message to all the clerics. But when Newtstream and her mentor Darkkick returned home, she said she had seen no such vision. She supported Autumnstar, and Darkkick was exiled.”

“Why would she lie?” Palepaw gulped as Newtstream and Shellstripe returned to AshClan.

“I never understood it,” Fennelspot sighed. “If you have to talk to her again, keep your guard up. I don’t trust her.”

“If you don’t trust her, why are you giving her rosemary?” Palepaw wondered.

“Because what sort of cleric would I be if I said no?” Fennelspot said.

(Palepaw: 9, female, mediator apprentice, insecure, picky nest builder, never sits still)

(Fennelspot: 100, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Rattlepelt: 26, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

Puddlepaw realizes tom doesn’t fit who she is anymore.

[Image ID: Puddlepaw stands proud. Under her, it says LEVEL UP! MALE -> TRANS FEMALE.]

(Puddlepaw: 9, trans female, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 40

Rustshade thinks Mosskit is being annoying. He says something that rubs Mosskit the wrong way.

[Image ID: Mosskit says to Rustshade “I’m bored! Play with me!” to which Rustshade replies “Watching you is Wildclaw’s punishment, not mine.” Under Mosskit, it says + NEW SKILL: STARES AT FIRE.]

(Rustshade: 84, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Mosskit: 1, male, kit, bullying, stares at fire)

Fennelspot argues with Wildclaw in front of other cats and reveals something embarrassing. 

[Image ID: Fennelspot, Trumpetkit, and Wildclaw stand together while Rattlepelt and Carnationspeckle approach from the distance. Under Trumpetkit, it says + NEW SKILL: PLAYS IN MUD.]

---

Shadowdrop had been back in RippleClan for a few days, and Wildclaw was smart enough to know that something would give way, and soon.

Halibutdusk and Wildclaw had naturally gathered around their brother upon his return from exile, making sure he slept close by that night. It certainly didn’t improve Wildclaw’s standing in the eyes of her Clanmates, but at least Shadowdrop was back. At least he was checking in on his kits. At least he… Wildclaw didn’t know how he was.

Maybe if Wildclaw could do anything but take care of the nursery, she could get her mind off what her brother did, what she helped him get away with, but no. She spent all her days eyeing the three black kits she’d stolen from a queen in pain.

Tempestkit and Mosskit were picking up language fast. Even though their eyes were still a bit big and blurry and they didn’t catch everything Wildclaw said, they were copying whatever they could hear. Mosskit was even forming complete sentences! Trumpetkit was slow to talk, but her small eyes were sharp and saw the world in perfect clarity. Was this at all what Wildclaw and her littermates were like at that age?

They and Troutkit were done nursing for a while and got the chance to crawl around the sand. Troutkit was properly strutting about, each paw carefully planted before she took another step. Carnationspeckle sat with Rattlepelt, helping her adopted daughter craft a drum as they both sat on her fox pelt. Usually Wildclaw would have been bored at the idea of helping make instruments, but even that would have been a blessing compared to—

“Trumpet!” Mosskit whined. Trumpetkit mewed and whined, limply shaking her front paw. A big thorn sat in the middle of her paw.

“Where did you even get a thorn?” Wildclaw groaned. “You’re surrounded by sand!” Trumpetkit cried as Wildclaw picked her up by the scruff. Tempestkit watched wide-eyed as Wildclaw took her sister to the medicine den. Inside, Fennelspot prepared some fresh herbs Clammask collected for him into potent powders and salves. He was just brushing freshly ground herbs into a bowl with his tail when Wildclaw and Trumpetkit appeared.

“Now why are you crying, little kit?” Fennelspot hummed, shaking the herbs off his tail. 

“She found a thorn,” Wildclaw groaned, setting the tiny black kit into a nest. Trumpetkit mewed pathetically, flinging her paw about.

“Trumpetkit, hold still,” Fennelspot sighed. He cradled the injured paw on top of his own. “This is in deep. Where did she find thorns?”

“I don’t know,” Wildclaw moaned, wandering deeper into the den. “It’s like I look away for a second and they’re getting into something they shouldn’t. This is exactly why I don’t like nursery duty! I can’t exactly fight a thorn or scare off a kit’s curiosity.”

“You should know by now that you can’t solve all your problems that way,” Fennelspot muttered. “Why do you think your mother gave you nursery duty as your punishment?”

“Because if I’m going to steal kits, might as well look after them,” Wildclaw grumbled. Her fur prickled as Fennelspot glared at her. He held the stare for a while, making Wildclaw squirm.

“Keep Trumpetkit calm while I pull out the thorn,” he finally said. Wildclaw crawled into the nest with Trumpetkit while Fennelspot got a good angle on the thorn.

“It’ll only hurt a moment, then you’ll be fine!” Wildclaw promised Trumpetkit. 

“No no no!” Trumpetkit wailed. She kicked at Wildclaw’s side and tried to run away. Wildclaw grabbed her by the scruff. Trumpetkit’s body went loose, but she screamed like a cougar was upon her.

“What is happening in here?” Carnationspeckle and Rattlepelt ran into the medicine den just as Fennelspot got his teeth around the thorn in Trumpetkit’s paw. 

With one swift pull, Fennelspot yanked the thorn out of the small kit’s paw. Trumpetkit screeched as loud as lightning striking the shipwreck. Wildclaw instinctively covered her ears. Her jaw dug into her skull. Trumpetkit blubbered and sobbed with a voice like a fox while Fennelspot cleaned the small wound on her paw. Trumpetkit furiously smacked Fennelspot, trying to get away.

“Wildclaw, hold her!” Fennelspot groaned.

“She’s bursting my ears!” Wildclaw yowled. Carnationspeckle wrapped herself around Trumpetkit with a deep purr.

“So you’ll leave a queen to die but won’t help her kit,” Fennelspot grumbled as Trumpetkit’s small wound stopped bleeding. Wildclaw sat up. Her ears burned as Trumpetkit’s screams settled into sobs. Fennelspot’s face fell as the weight of his words settled over him.

“That…” Wildclaw growled, “is not… what happened.” Her claws tore up the edge of the nest.

“I…” Fennelspot stammered, stepping away from Trumpetkit and Carnationspeckle. He steadied himself and his yellow eyes sparked as he breathed deep. “Wildclaw, you are a violent molly. Your ruthlessness causes more pain than it solves. I’m not just referring to Shadowdrop’s situation.” Heat flooded Wildclaw’s face.

“You have no idea what goes on in my mind,” Wildclaw hissed.

“You do tend to overreact…” Rattlepelt admitted. Wildclaw’s fangs dug into her tongue.

“Rattlepelt, I need you to take Trumpetkit back to her siblings,” Wildclaw said quietly, her jaw tense. Trumpetkit’s sobs were now mournful mews as she itched her injured paw. Wildclaw plucked her from Carnationspeckle’s embrace and passed her to Rattlepelt. Rattlepelt tried to day something, but Wildclaw’s amber gaze was like the sun scorching Rattlepelt’s delicate skin. Rattlepelt gently grabbed Trumpetkit and left the medicine den with her.

“Help us understand, Wildclaw,” Carnationspeckle purred.

“Do you two actually think I approve of what my brother did?” Wildclaw hissed, spinning to face Fennelspot and Carnationspeckle. “He was so heartbroken over you that he decided to sire his own litter and try to play pretend.” Wildclaw’s tail jutted at Carnationspeckle’s face. “Anyone can see that’s disturbed! But when he asked for my help, all I saw was Shadowdrop and his kits. Neither of us knew Cinderella was dying. StarClan forbid I try to protect my brother from his own stupidity!”

“It still wasn’t right,” Fennelspot said quietly.

“I don’t want to hear you comment on my so-called ruthlessness,” Wildclaw snapped, turning on Fennelspot. “You can’t understand it. I am a caretaker, and I protect my Clan. We give threats a mouse-length of room to breathe and they can rip out our throats. Don’t you remember Puddlespeckle’s corpse? Foxes did that to him! So when I see a fox, I make sure it can’t hurt us. I drive away rogues and humans and anything that dares lay a claw on my Clan, because I swear on Silverpelt, if anyone has to die that day, it’ll be me! That is my job, and I do it well!” Carnationspeckle glanced at Fennelspot. Fennelspot simply grumbled and turned to his work along the den wall.

“Now if you need me,” Wildclaw growled, “I’m going to continue with my job. Feel free to join me, Carnation. Consider it my apology for Shadowdrop’s behavior.” With that, Wildclaw left the medicine den and stepped into the cheerful squeals and chirps of her young charges, ignorantly basking in the simple joys of playing with one another.

(Wildclaw: 32, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Mosskit: 1, male, kit, bullying, stares at fire)

(Trumpetkit: 1, female, kit, nervous, plays in mud)

(Fennelspot: 97, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Carnationspeckle: 42, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Rattlepelt: 23, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

Rattlepelt gives Wildclaw a colorful pebble she found.

[Image ID: Rattlepelt talks to Wildclaw, saying “I’m sorry I upset you earlier. Here, I found this.” Wildclaw says “I... Thank you, Rattlepelt. this is nice.”]

(Wildclaw: 32, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Rattlepelt: 23, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

Parsley has a difficult conversation with Troutkit.

[Image ID: Parsley talks to Troutkit. Troutkit asks “What’s wrong?” Parsley says “I’m sorry, but you have to know... you have a fish face.” Troutkit replies “Noooooooooo!” Underneath Troutkit it says + NEW SKILL: MORBID CURIOSITY.]

(Parsley: 134, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

(Troutkit: 1, female, kit, insecure, morbid curiosity)

Weedfoot’s litter is apprenticed, much to the pride of their parents; Palepaw to Rattlepelt as the first mediator of RippleClan, Wasppaw and Puddlepaw to Mousesong and Rustshade, Ripplepaw to Oilstripe, and Lavenderpaw to Scrubmask.

[Image ID: Each of the JamesWeed kits stand in their apprentice sprites. From left to right, we have Palepaw (LEVEL UP! PALEKIT -> PALEPAW, IMPULSIVE -> INSECURE), Wasppaw (LEVEL UP! WASPKIT -> WASPPAW, BOSSY -> STRICT), Puddlepaw (LEVEL UP! PUDDLEKIT -> PUDDLEPAW, POLITE -> THOUGHTFUL, + NEW SKILL: ODDLY OBSERVANT), Ripplepaw (LEVEL UP! RIPPLEKIT -> RIPPLEPAW, KNOW-IT-ALL -> CHARISMATIC), and Lavenderpaw (LEVEL UP! LAVENDERKIT -> LAVENDERPAW, NOISY -> BOLD).]

(Palepaw: 6, female, mediator apprentice, insecure, picky nest builder, never sits still)

(Wasppaw: 6, male, codekeeper apprentice, strict, interested in clan history, eye for detail)

(Puddlepaw: 6, male, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)

(Ripplepaw: 6, female, historian apprentice, charismatic, avid play fighter, splashes in puddles)

(Lavenderpaw: 6, male, warrior apprentice, bold, likes to sing)

Palepaw got caught trying to sneak out of camp without an adult.

[Image ID: Tempestkit confronts Palepaw, yowling “Caught you!” Under Tempestkit, it says + NEW SKILL: LOVES TO EAT. Rabbitjoy yowls “Palepaw!” in the back.]

(Palepaw: 6, female, mediator apprentice, insecure, picky nest builder, never sits still)

(Tempestkit: 1, female, kit, troublesome, loves to eat)

(Rabbitjoy: 77, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

Shadowdrop finds an injured cat who was trampled by a horse.

[Image ID: Shadowdrop and Burdockcreek approach a brown tabby facing away from them. Under the brown tabby, it says NEW PLAYER: ???, 15, FEMALE, GOOD SPEAKER, LORE KEEPER.]

---

All Shadowdrop wanted to do was cuddle with his kits. Despite the chaos, despite the hate and shame attached to everything he’d done, despite the pain and loneliness of spending half a moon alone, wandering the outskirts of the territories… Shadowdrop really loved his kits. 

Tempestkit, Mosskit, and Trumpetkit were all chatty, active, and finally weaning. It was better for them to stop nursing from Carnationspeckle, Shadowdrop supposed. They were all developing their own personalities, and each new trait fascinated Shadowdrop. Tempestkit was just like her long-dead aunt, always searching for adventure. Mosskit was more like Wildclaw, trying to be a leader of the group despite not having all the skills for it. Trumpetkit was much quieter and more like her uncle, often asking for a bit of water so she could play with wet sand.

Shadowdrop would probably know even more about the kits if Weedfoot wasn’t sending him on patrols all the time. He was a father now, he wanted to bond with his kits! He was constantly helping other cats with their tasks, whether that be collecting plants or, like now, studying…

“What exactly are we studying?” Shadowdrop groaned as he crouched in the grass beside the horse path.

“We’re going to figure out how monsters keep horses trapped,” Burdockcreek explained, his mangled tail twitching. “They’ll have to stop for the branch we’ve laid across the path. They hate crossing bumpy terrain.” He nodded toward the large branch Shadowdrop dragged from the forest. “While the humans get out and move the branch, we’ll get a good look at the monster.”

“That seems foolish,” Shadowdrop grumbled.

“How else will we learn about them?” Burdockcreek huffed. “Do you want to run in front of a horse’s hooves and hope they stop?” Shadowdrop grit his teeth. He should really learn to shut up sometimes.

As the pair waited, a figure approached from the other side of the border. It was a brown tabby; a molly, from the smell drifting downwind. Her droopy fur in the strong wind. She trotted forward with a destination in mind. Shadowdrop thought she would cross the horse path, but instead, she sat some distance away from it in a spot Clammask had been ruthlessly eager to show Shadowdrop.

“Is she visiting Cinderella’s grave?” Burdockcreek muttered.

Shadowdrop didn’t speak to Cinderella much outside of their lessons, but he knew she had kin. That was part of why she agreed to help him, to learn the skills she needed to help her family. And Shadowdrop took her from them…

A monster rumbled toward the three cats, surging on with shocking speed. Shadowdrop had never seen a monster push its horses so hard. They neighed and shrieked like they would die if they stopped moving. Shadowdrop instinctively crept back. The branch he and Burdockcreek had pulled across the path was thick, but would it stop the monster? Burdockcreek and the stranger on the other side of the path crouched as well, unsure how to react. As the horses pulled their monster toward the branch, they did something Shadowdrop thought was impossible.

They ran off the path.

The stranger shrieked as a wild hoof collided with her side, sending her flying. The monster whipped around the branch, nearly falling on its side in its frantic race. The horses veered back onto the path as fast as they left it.

“They can leave the path?” Burdockcreek screeched. The brown molly rolled on impact. Blood caught on the dying grass. She slowed at the crest of a nearby hill. 

No. Not again. Shadowdrop wasn’t going to be blamed for someone else’s death again. He’d been so blind to his own excitement to start a family that he didn’t notice Cinderella’s pain, he left her to die. He wouldn’t let that same fate befall her kin.

“We need to bring her to Fennelspot, now!” Shadowdrop launched across the horse path and barreled toward the crumbled brown molly. No one was going to die that day.

(Shadowdrop: 32, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Burdockcreek: 34, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(???: 15, female, loner, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 32

Rustshade and Downstar see each other in a different light and have become mates.

[Image ID: Rustshade and Downstar face their living children. Under Rustshade, it says + MATE: DOWNSTAR. Under Downstar, it says + MATE: RUSTSHADE.]

“This can’t continue,” Rustshade grumbled.

“What are you talking about?” Mousepaw huffed. The pair shared a meal Rabbitjoy and Rattlepelt claimed would become a culinary staple of RippleClan some day; salted, kelp-wrapped meat. It was nothing like any of the other Clans made, and Rustshade wasn’t too sure if he liked it, despite the positive feedback from the rest of the Clan. Then again, his mind was not on food that day. Instead, his eyes were stuck on Downstar’s den.

“I didn’t mean to say that aloud,” Rustshade gulped, hiding his expression in his kelp wrap. “Just some private concerns. No need for you to worry, Mousepaw.”

“Since when do I worry about anything anyone else does?” Mousepaw scoffed. Rustshade sighed and stood, shaking sand and snow off his belly. 

“You can eat my leftovers,” Rustshade muttered, heading for the leader’s den. 

He weaved between the masses of Clanmates gathered to share their own portions of the salty new treat. He slipped into the shadows of the shipwreck and the depths of Downstar’s den. Downstar laid in her nest, quietly eating her small kelp wrap. She looked up as soon as Rustshade entered.

“Is something wrong?” Downstar asked, hurrying to her paws.

“Not with me,” Rustshade grunted, marching to Downstar’s side. He squared his jaw and said, “Downstar, as your friend, I am ordering you to leave your den.”

“You’ve never had a good sense of humor, Rustshade,” Downstar muttered, sitting back down.

“This is not a joke,” Rustshade snapped. “Your leg has been fine for over a moon. You’ve avoided half a year’s worth of Gatherings and holidays. This isn’t like you.”

“I haven’t been in a social mood, Rustshade,” Downstar growled, curling her lip. 

“The Clan is worried,” Rustshade hissed, meeting Downstar’s sneer with his own bared teeth. “You haven’t been yourself since the darkhound attacked.”

“Leave me alone, Rustshade!” Downstar snapped. “Go back to your apprentice.” Downstar flicked her tail at Rustshade and turned her back.

“You know better than to believe this is healthy,” Rustshade grunted. He stomped around and faced Downstar, despite the way her amber eyes focused on anything but him.

“What am I supposed to do?” Downstar huffed. “You’re out there, enjoying yourselves, when all I can think about is what we need to do to prepare for the next challenge StarClan will throw at us. Staying in here has been easier.” 

“I understand, I do,” Rustshade insisted. “When my kits died, I wanted to put all my energy into making sure my others thrived. I forgot that I had to thrive too for a while there.”

“You did?” Downstar asked.

“I keep it hidden better,” Rustshade sighed. He sat next to Downstar and said nothing for a while. Downstar’s quiet breaths filled the den. 

“I don’t quite know where to go from here,” Downstar admitted.

“Just know you’re not alone,” Rustshade said. His paw slipped next to Downstar’s. A little-felt spark passed through him. A moment later, Downstar rested her tail over his. Rustshade leaned into Downstar, and Downstar into him.

(Rustshade: 76, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Mousepaw: 9, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

(Downstar: 91, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

James confessed his feelings to Weedfoot and they have become mates.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and James stand together, facing Oilstripe. Paleshade’s ghost stands next to Oilstripe, transparent. Oilstripe says, “Paleshade couldn’t be happier.” Under Weedfoot, it says + MATE: JAMES. Under James, it says + MATE: WEEDFOOT.]

---

Oilstripe wasn’t sure what to think of her father’s new relationship. He liked Downstar? Oilstripe knew they were close, all the founding members were to some degree, but Downstar? Didn’t she still hate Oilstripe? Her opinion seemed to have softened since Oilstripe revealed her secret sight to the Clan, but still… did she have to consider Wildclaw and her brothers as her own siblings? Did she have to call Downstar her mother? Please. She had no idea where her real mother’s spirit even was, she wasn’t going to get another mother. At least they had the good graces to quickly inform their children.

“Good for Rustshade!” Applepelt chirped. Her ghost spent a lot of time around camp, keeping an eye on Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle. Currently, she and Oilstipe sat by the oven, enjoying the leftover scent of Rabbitjoy’s kelp dish. “If they think they’ll be better off together, I say this is something to celebrate.”

“I’m allowed to be a little grumpy,” Oilstripe scoffed, flicking her tail through Applepelt’s transparent back leg. Applepelt’s star-speckled whiskers twitched. A shiver ran down her back.

“Oh, oh, Oilstripe!” Applepelt chirped. “Pay attention. More cats are visiting.” Star-studded cats slipped out of nearly every den in camp. Wasppaw, a bright golden tom, charged out of the apprentice’s den. Lavenderleaf, in all her soft brown glory, rubbed past Rabbitjoy as she made her way into the heart of the camp. Even more warriors whom Oilstripe almost never saw joined the more familiar faces, with everyone eagerly chatting. But it was Paleshade, emerging from behind the Shiprock, who caught Oilstripe’s attention. Her gray and cream pelt glimmered against the snow lining camp. 

“They’ll be here in a few moments, everyone!” Paleshade cheered. She caught Oilstripe’s eye and called, “Oilstripe! Join us! You will want to celebrate.”

“Applepelt, do you know why they’re here?” Oilstripe asked.

“I have no idea,” Applepelt chirped, as obnoxiously positive as ever. “The Ashes in the Water are always doing something together.” Of course, the cats Oilstripe didn’t recognize were other members of the Ashes in the Water! The old red tom laying between Burdockcreek and Clammask had to be Redcloud. The gray and brown toms were Finstrike and Sprucespring. And the fawny molly trotting around camp was Burdockstream! Everyone Weedfoot lost in AshClan was gathering in camp, eagerly waiting for… something.

Oilstripe hopped off the rocks and weaved around her living Clanmates (mostly her siblings and the Downstar litter, still discussing their parents’ announcement). Wasppaw bounced around Paleshade, straining to look over the rocky borders of camp.

“Where is she?” Wasppaw groaned. “I can’t take it!”

“Patience is a virtue, Wasppaw,” Paleshade purred. “I think I hear their pawsteps in the snow outside.”

“Who exactly are we waiting for?” Oilstripe muttered. Even though the Clan knew she saw ghosts, she still held hushed conversations when others were in ear-shot.

At that moment, Weedfoot and James strolled into camp. They walked in sync, pelts together and tails interwoven. StarClan cheered as James nuzzled Weedfoot’s cheek. 

“Are those two finally together?” Mousepaw scoffed from where she shared tongues with Shadowdrop. Her blunt question caught the attention of the living cats. RippleClan’s eyes rested on James and Weedfoot.

“A rather rude way to phrase it,” James chuckled, “but the two of us have grown closer these last few moons, and after a long discussion… yes. We are together.”

“StarClan, two in one day!” Burdockcreek groaned. The living and the dead swarmed James and Weedfoot. Rustshade and Downstar peeked out of the leader’s den and investigated the hub-bub. Oilstripe stayed outside of the crowd. To her surprise, Paleshade stayed with her.

“Shouldn’t you be congratuating your old mate?” Oilstripe asked. She winced and said, “That’s not a sore subject, is it? I don’t know how you manage having one mate in StarClan and another alive.”

“I’m overjoyed for Weedy,” Paleshade purred. “James is a charming tom. I know they’ll be happy together. I also know that I’m certain to become close friends with James once he joins our ranks.” Paleshade winked and Oilstripe couldn’t hold back a snort. “But how about you? Weedfoot is your closest friend. Congratulate her.” 

“I don’t know if that’s true anymore,” Oilstripe muttered, staring at her old mentor. Weedfoot laughed and joked with the cats around her, utterly unaware that her old friends were a part of the festivities. “I always knew other cats thought I was weird before they knew I spoke to the dead. But Weedfoot thought I was sick and said nothing. If she really cared about me, why didn’t she talk to me?”

“She thought Fennelspot was helping,” Paleshade explained. Her misty tail passed through Oilstripe’s body. “She didn’t want to overstep. She didn’t know how to approach the subject.”

“How much of our friendship was her taking pity on me?” Oilstripe gulped. “Did she even see me as an equal?” She couldn’t bear to look at Weedfoot any longer.

“The only way you can answer those questions is if you have the conversation you’ve been avoiding for moons,” Paleshade huffed. “It doesn’t take the wisdom of StarClan to know that communication is the greatest tool a friend can wield to heal a relationship. I can’t tell you how many hours Weedfoot and I spent hashing out disagreements and ideas when we were young. You’re both mature enough to work through this. Now why don’t we see her together? I believe the crowd is thinning out.” 

Paleshade waved her tail and sure enough, the Clan drifted away from the second new couple of the day. Weedfoot made eye contact with Oilstripe. Oilstripe held her breath. Weedfoot nudged James and the pair slowly approached Oilstipe.

“I’m glad you finally said something to him,” Oilstripe stammered as Paleshade’s tail phased through her own.

“Actually, James brought it up first,” Weedfoot purred, bunting her new mate. “I’m glad, though. We’ll be stronger together.” Paleshade stood tall and nodded to Oilstripe. Oilstripe steadied her nerves.

“Paleshade couldn’t be happier,” she said, barely breathing. Weedfoot stilled, blinking slowly as she processed what Oilstripe said. “She, uh… she’s really proud of you.” Weedfoot glanced around, as though hoping she could see Paleshade herself. The molly in question moved to Weedfoot’s side, purring. Weedfoot stepped away from James and got closer to Oilstripe.

“I’m sorry I upset you, Oilstripe,” Weedfoot said. “I should have told you my concerns moons ago.”

“I was scared to tell others, because I thought they wouldn’t believe me,” Oilstripe said. “I don’t want to be the odd cat out.”

“You’re the best apprentice I’ve ever had,” Weedfoot said. She pressed against Oilstripe with a deep purr. Oilstripe pressed back, burying her face in her dear friend’s warm pelt.

(Oilstripe: 36, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

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

(Mousepaw: 9, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

(James: 108, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Burdockcreek: 26, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Weedfoot: 81, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Fennelspot and Oilstripe have a long conversation about goals and aspirations and discover they have a lot in common.

[Image ID: Fennelspot and Oilstripe face each other.]

(Fennelspot: 89, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Oilstripe: 36, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Weedfoot organizes a mock battle to keep RippleClan’s skills sharp.

[Image ID: Weedfoot watches a large crowd of cats, including Fennelspot, Parsley & Scrubmask, and Oilstripe, James, & Carnationspeckle.]

---

The entire camp was a part of Weedfoot’s big training exercise, even those who were never expected to fight. Wildclaw was stuck to Rattlepelt’s side, showing her some swift defensive tactics with Halibutdusk’s help. Parsley and Scrubmask practiced some basic manuvers on the rocks surrounding camp. Rustshade and Mousepaw were arguing about who to spar with, held back only by Rabbitjoy and Downstar (who had finally started participating in Clan activities again). Oilstripe’s moves were off that day, but James and Carnationspeckle both took the time to work through some kinks with her. Fennelspot and Shadowdrop were the only ones not participating; Fennelspot kept an eye out for any overeager fighters while Shadowdrop had to keep his front leg still so the bone could heal.

Weedfoot directed the practice from a comfortable spot by the oven. The Clan had some excellent fighters in their ranks! Everyone rolled and tumbled about, unaffected by the late winter chill, putting their all into showing their strength. It reminded Weedfoot of AshClan in some regards. It was the perfect distraction.

At least until Oilstripe broke off from James and Carnationspeckle and joined Weedfoot.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong today,” Oilstripe groaned. “I can’t focus on anything! Can you spar with me for a while? You always had great things to say in battle training.”

“Oh, I’m sure James and Carnationspeckle are more than enough to help you,” Weedfoot stammered, shaking her head. “I want to make sure everyone is getting their practice in. LynxClan has been stirring up such a fuss about access to our salt resources, I want everyone to be prepared if they make a move.”

“Carnationspeckle gets nervous when she pushes too hard,” Oilstripe groaned, “and James doesn’t want to push at all. You’re still the best fighter in RippleClan, paws down.”

“Thank you, Oilstripe,” Weedfoot gulped, “but I’m sure, I don’t want to spar right now.”

“Why not?” Oilstripe asked. Her curious gaze drifted over Weedfoot’s fur. “Are you not feeling well? You devoured that bass like you haven’t eaten in moons.” Weedfoot glanced at her Clanmates, but they were all focused on their own tasks or disagreements.

“Step outside with me,” Weedfoot whispered, flicking her tail to the exit. Oilstripe quietly followed her out of camp. Weedfoot led her to the thin coast south of camp, far enough away that no one could hear them. She sat where the sand met the snow-speckled grass.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and Oilstripe face each other. Weedfoot says, “I don’t know if I can be a mother, Oilstripe. I only just decided to be a mate again.”]

“You aren’t the sort to be so nervous,” Oilstripe hummed. “What’s wrong?”

“Are there any ghosts listening in?” Weedfoot wondered as the fur on the back of her neck stood up.

“Weedfoot, just tell me what’s bothering you,” Oilstripe snapped.

“I can’t spar because I’m pregnant,” Weedfoot blurted. It was like the words exploded out of her. She subconsciously tucked her tail over her belly. Oilstripe’s whole pelt stood on end.

“Is this something we’re excited for?” Oilstripe gulped hesitantly, unable to tear her eyes off Weedfoot’s stomach.

“I don’t know,” Weedfoot groaned. She stared out at the ocean, which blew salty drops into her face. “I think I want these kits. James and I talked about parenthood half a moon ago. He would love to be a father. He said it would give him more excuses to stay in camp.” Weedfoot chuckled at the memory and looked back at Oilstripe, whose whole attention was stuck on her. “I don’t know if I can be a mother, Oilstripe. I only just decided to be a mate again.”

“You have a whole Clan of cats who adore you,” Oilstripe insisted. “We won’t put this all on you. We’ll drown your kits in love and attention.”

“I know,” Weedfoot purred, curling around her stiff belly. “I want these kits. That doesn’t stop me from being scared.”

“Does James know?” Oilstripe asked.

“Only Fennelspot and I,” Weedfoot admitted. “He told me this morning. I’m still overwhelmed.”

“It might make you feel better to see James lose his mind,” Oilstripe suggested, flicking her ears back toward camp. 

“I don’t want to stop the battle early,” Weedfoot said, settling down. “Could you sit with me for a while? We’ll go back soon, I promise.” Oilstripe scooted close and settled pelt-to-pelt against Weedfoot. It was hard for Weedfoot to form a complete thought as her mind fluttered through half-finished words and vague memories. As a large wave crashed onto the shore and stretched to meet Weedfoot’s paws, however, one word clarified itself like the shimmer of salt water on sand.

Wonderful.

(Weedfoot: 81, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Oilstripe: 36, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 56, Part 2

Mosspounce takes Scalepaw battle training while Lavendertwist recovers.

[Image ID: Mosspounce says to Scalepaw, “Half of glory is believing you deserve it.”]

“Get back up!” Mosspounce yowled, wiggling his flank as Scalepaw shook sand out of his long fur. “You can do this, keep going!” Mosspounce dug his paws deeper into the wet sand lining the shore. Scalepaw’s panting mixed with the gentle waves. 

Since Lavendertwist could barely talk with the stitches in his neck, let alone train his apprentice, Mosspounce volunteered to take Scalepaw battle training. It had taken a generation or two to give the grass-touched northern beach a name, but now every mentor and apprentice practiced their battle moves on Battle Beach. Sure, Mosspounce wasn’t a proper mentor yet (and he doubted he would get to train Clammask’s kits, since a lot of the Clan was still upset with him about Lemmy), but training Scalepaw made him forget that for a while. They were training with the sunrise, working up an appetite for the sunhigh meal Tempestshade was spending the whole morning on. Scalepaw’s white spots, which took over more and more of his fur every day, looked like stars against his gold fur.

“Charge me!” Mosspounce cheered. “Don’t give up until I’m running away or I can’t stand up!” Scalepaw grit his teeth. Sand exploded behind him. Mosspounce was going to shove the apprentice away, but he was bigger than Mosspounce expected. Scalepaw’s sheer weight knocked him down. He knocked the air out of Mosspounce. Sand filled his nose. He squirmed and tried to push Scalepaw off, but he couldn’t move the heavy tom. It seemed Scalepaw took Mosspounce’s orders literally. He was a great fighter!

Yet despite that, Scalepaw shivered violently and scrambled off Mosspounce. Mosspounce coughed up sand. He shook out his pelt and stared at Scalepaw. The round tom squirmed. His paws danced over the sand like he was walking on fire. He groaned and itched at his neck.

“Why’d you jump off?” Mosspounce asked. “You had me. I wasn’t going anywhere.” Scalepaw groaned again. His mouth opened and closed, trying to form an explanation. He squeezed his eyes tight. He bolted toward the trees, tail low. With the lack of foliage, Mosspounce could see Scalepaw’s thick cream fur far into the scrub. “Scalepaw, where are you going?” 

This was just like his first Gathering; Tempestshade managed to bring him back eventually, so perhaps Mosspounce could do the same? Perhaps solving Scalepaw’s crisis would Downstar that Mosspounce was mentor material; if not with Clammask’s litter, then the next. As dreams of grandeur filled Mosspounce’s mind, he jogged up to the tree line. It wouldn’t be hard to track Scalepaw down. Even if he wasn’t easy to see, even a kit would be able to track his thick scent. Maybe Downstar would agree to let Mosspounce finish Scalepaw’s training, even though they were of different roles? 

Mosspounce stopped and batted at his own ear. No, what was he thinking? Scalepaw wasn’t a stepping stone to being a mentor or deputy. He was an apprentice who was obviously struggling with something. Mosspounce needed to treat him like a tom, not a tool. Now if he could just remember what Tempestshade did for the young apprentice…

Scalepaw stopped beside the base of a pine and curled into a ball. Mosspounce slowed to a stalk. Scalepaw glanced at Mosspounce before burying his face under his paws with a groan.

“Should I fetch Spikecrash?” Mosspounce asked. Spikecrash often accompanied Lavendertwist and Scalepaw out to train, helping Scalepaw through his unique sensitivities. Perhaps this was a job for a mediator.

“I’m too embarrassed,” Scalepaw mumbled. Mosspounce hid his surprise. Usually when Scalepaw got upset, no one could get a word out of him for ages. Was he improving? Perhaps it was all a part of growing up.

“Why?” Mosspounce scoffed, scooting closer. “You were great! You’ll be an amazing warrior some day.”

“I can’t touch you,” Scalepaw said. He risked a glance under his paws. “I can’t touch anyone. I hate it. It feels like too much. Fur makes me cry. I can’t be a warrior.” Scalepaw shivered and hid his face again.

“Not with that attitude,” Mosspounce chuckled. Scalepaw sat up slowly. His deep blue eyes glared at Mosspounce, a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “I mean it! You have a great instinct. My sister was telling me about the patrol. You fought with just as much skill as every other warrior out there. If touching others is as bad as you make it seem, you didn’t show it to those Witch Hunters.” Scalepaw bristled and stared at his paws. “Here, I’m going to put my paw on your tail, try to stand it for a minute.” Mosspounce sat next to Scalepaw. The apprentice didn’t move away, so Mosspounce made his move. He set a paw on Scalepaw’s fluffy tail. Scalepaw shivered and his tail flinched, but he stayed still.

“I think you’re going to be the sort of warrior who learns every advanced combat move the Clans have ever made,” Mosspounce said. “You just have to be proud enough to step up and work through your issues. Half of glory is believing you deserve it. And trust me, kit, you deserve it.” For a few minutes, Mosspounce wasn’t sure if Scalepaw really heard him. Then, slowly but surely, Scalepaw turned his head and touched his nose to Mosspounce’s shoulder. Mosspounce purred and gave Scalepaw a friendly nuzzle.

“Stop touching me now please,” Scalepaw said. Mosspounce quickly stepped back. Scalepaw shook out his pelt, but he stood tall. 

“Ready to get back to training?” Mosspounce asked, cocking his head back toward the beach.

“I want to learn moves where I don’t have to touch someone for long,” Scalepaw said, stretching his neck to try and seem taller. “New claw strikes. Special kicks. What do you know?” Mosspounce cocked his tail and purred.

“Let’s go have some fun,” he laughed. He jogged back toward the beach. Scalepaw ran past him like a beam of light, a newfound eagerness leading his young paws to a fresh start.

(Mosspounce: 17, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

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

Fennelspot heads out alone to collect juniper. Oilstripe, Weedfoot, Downstar, and Scrubmask come across him just as he plummets from the tree.

[Image ID: Downstar, Oilstripe, Weedfoot, and Scrubmask watch something offscreen that gives off a loud CRACK. Downstar yowls “Fennel!” Under her, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

---

Oilstripe needed to be out and about. Downstar may not have wanted her near the border for fear of the Witch Hunters, but she still had a vast territory to patrol. She needed to keep her mind busy. She couldn’t obsess over what the Witch Hunters were doing to Carnationspeckle. She had to work.

Weedfoot, Downstar, and Scrubmask agreed to join her on a hunt. Oilstripe was a bit surprised Downstar agreed to it, especially when she let Oilstripe take the lead on the patrol. She supposed the old hostility that used to plague her interactions with the leader had faded over the moons. She lingered with Scrubmask in the back while Weedfoot walked alongside Oilstripe. A late winter snowfall blanketed the territory. It was a thin snow, the sort that Oilstripe’s paws sunk into and left a layer of ice underneath. Oilstripe had to unseathe her claws a few times to keep from slipping. 

“I’ll be glad when we see the end of this,” Weedfoot sighed, her tail flicking the snow. “The hunting has been so poor this winter.” Oilstripe bit her tongue. She had planned to catch some prey with Carnationspeckle when they were finished in the human settlement; the squirrels and mice were likely sheltering in the warm human dens. The Witch Hunters likely weren’t feeding Carnationspeckle; how much was she suffering? Was she warm? Was she bleeding?

The death cry of a mouse snapped Oilstripe out of her thoughts. Scrubmask carried a mouse in her jaws; small, but good to add to soup at dusk. Oilstripe made a silent promise to share a bowl with Rattlepelt and Troutpool; her daughters were suffering just as much as she was. Oilstripe dug a small hole for Scrubmask’s catch. She licked her numb paws as Scrubmask buried the mouse for later.

“Should you go back early?” Scrubmask asked, nodding at Oilstripe’s paws.

“I just need to warm up,” Oilstripe said, breath fogging around her. As she groomed warmth back into her legs, she picked up a familiar scent in the approaching wind. “Huh. I thought Fennelspot was still in camp. I can smell him a ways ahead of us.”

“He snuck out while you were making dirt,” Downstar explained. “I believe he wanted to collect some juniper.”

“Let’s go see if he needs any help,” Oilstripe suggested. “Maybe he’s seen some squirrels.”

“Lead the way,” Weedfoot purred. With feeling restored to her feet, Oilstripe marched on through the snow. She rubbed against Weedfoot, who gave her a comforting lick on the ear. Things felt at least close to being alright when Oilstripe was on patrol with her mentor. The wind continued to blow Fennelspot’s scent into Oilstripe’s face. Thank StarClan he was better; Oilstripe needed her old friend.

There were a few tall junipers that grew in the southwest portion of the territory. Oilstripe had helped Fennelspot collect juniper berries and leaves many a time before, so she knew just where to go. She even spotted a squirrel digging at one of Fennelspot’s pawprints halfway there (Weedfoot beat her to the catch, sparking some playful teasing that further eased her heart). Oilstripe even pranced within Fennelspot’s pawprints, making Weedfoot laugh. For once, Downstar said nothing of the mischief.

The junipers grew in a few bundles overlooking a thick patch of maples, ashes, and rowans. While some juniper trees were only a few fox-lengths tall, a few glared down at the patrol, fluffing up like thick manes against the cold. Snow sat on ice-covered branches. Oilstripe squinted through the leaves of each tree, but didn’t see Fennelspot.

A sharp, sudden yowl drew Oilstripe’s attention. Fennelspot’s bright orange body tumbled from the branches of the tallest juniper. Oilstripe gasped, back arching. Fennelspot landed with all four paws flat on the ground, the perfect example of a cat’s natural agility. The snow splashed around him. He froze with his back curved and tail puffed and held high. He panted, shivering slightly. Oilstripe couldn’t help but laugh. Did Fennelspot just fall out of a tree? Oh she was sure to make fun of him for that. 

Oilstripe was going to tease him. She was going to make sure he was alright, that he didn’t fall too far. She was going to playfully find wherever he set his basket and offer to carry it home for him. She was going to cherish the moment, right up until a massive crack echoed across the territory and a huge, ice-covered branch tumbled off the juniper and slammed into Fennelspot’s head at high speed. 

Blood sprayed across the trunk of the juniper. Fennelspot crumbled like a newborn kit. His eyes froze in the half-shocked, half-embarrassed glimmer they held before everything went wrong. The snow turned red. The dried petals that covered Fennelspot’s back slipped out of his fur.

“Fennel!” Downstar shrieked. She shoved past Oilstripe and Weedfoot. She skidded across the snow and ice to crouch at Fennelspot’s side. She looped around Fennelspot. Downstar whimpered as she caught sight of the back of his head. She looked sick. 

Scrubmask trailed slowly up to her dear friend. She placed a paw on Fennelspot’s shoulder. A shiver ran down her fur. A mournful mew broke out of Scrubmask’s chest. 

“Not like this,” Weedfoot moaned softly. Downstar wailed with the fury of the crashing sea. Birds scattered from the trees. Weedfoot hurried to her leader’s side. Her eyes shook at the sight of Fennelspot’s wound. Oilstripe could not bring herself to look at it. She couldn’t move at all. Her paws were once again numb, but not from the cold. Had that really just happened? Just like that, a careless branch….

Fennelspot’s pelt began to sparkle. Little lights danced within his rosette markings. A glow outlined his body. Reality broke apart in Oilstripe’s eyes as Fennelspot blinked with open eyes. Another muzzle shifted from his face. New legs pushed a new body up from the snow. A second Fennelspot, translucent and shimmering, stood on top of his own body, paws going through the white vested pelt.

“Owww…” Fennelspot groaned, squeezing his eyes tight. “That is an awful headache.” When Fennelspot opened his eyes, he saw the three mollies gathered around his body, wailing and crying, prodding his fur. He looked down at his own dead body. He yelped and jumped away, dancing over the snow without a single paw print. That was when he met Oilstripe’s eyes and recognized that her gaze did not pass through him.

“That’s it?” Fennelspot said, looking back at his body. “I… died? That can’t be it. I need to help Rustshade with his yellowcough. Lavendertwist needs help. Oilstripe? What do I do now?” Oilstripe tried to find the words, but her mouth was as numb as the rest of her. 

“Fennelspot!” a young voice cried. Starlight glimmered in the corner of Oilstripe’s eyes. Twinekit stood in the snow, gazing joyfully at Fennelspot. Fennelspot’s tense eyes melted at the sight of the ticked tabby kit. He crouched to Twinekit’s level. Twinekit ran full speed at Fennelspot. She smacked into his face and rubbed against Fennelspot. 

“You came to fetch me, then?” Fennelspot sighed, placing a paw on Twinekit’s tiny back. 

“Actually, we all came this time!” Twinekit chirped. Oilstripe’s spine tingled. She looked behind her. She couldn’t breathe.

The spirits of old friends waited between the trees. Locustseeker and Burdockcreek laughed at their little sister’s antics. Duskkit and Shadowdrop lounged on top of one another while Mousesong sat beside them. Puddlespeckle and Ripplefern looked at Fennelspot with pride while Applepelt bounced about, purring. Even more cats stood behind them, cats Oilstripe couldn’t recognize. SlugClan warriors?

“Why are you all here?” Fennelspot gasped. Twinekit led him toward the horde of StarClan warriors. 

“Because we wanted to thank you,” Locustseeker laughed. “Thank you for all the hard work you’ve done for RippleClan. We wouldn’t be what we are without you.”

“You are RippleClan’s first cleric,” Burdockcreek reminded him. “We thought you deserved a more personal escort to StarClan. Everyone you’ve ever taken care of is here. We all want a chance to share tongues with you.”

“I don’t think I deserve that,” Fennelspot gulped, eyes bulging as he tried to get a good glimpse of all the dead souls in front of him.

“Of course you deserve it!” A white molly pushed her way through the crowd. 

“Moonpaw,” Oilstripe muttered softly. She bowed her head to the long-dead apprentice. “Fennelspot, this—”

“Moonpaw has visited me before,” Fennelspot said with a flick of his ear. Twinekit nuzzled his leg as Fennelspot bowed his head as well.

“You don’t need to do that,” Moonpaw insisted. She trotted up to Fennelspot and nosed his head back up. “I should bow to you! Fennelspot, you helped found an incredible Clan that will last for moons upon moons. Your name will be remembered across all five Clans!”

“I’m not the skilled cleric you think I am,” Fennelspot said. Moonpaw batted his ear. Fennelspot stared wide-eyed as the more youthful souls of StarClan laughed.

“Listen here, young tom,” Moonpaw huffed. “I’m allowed to call you that since I’m actually hundreds of moons old. But do you remember what you were like in SlugClan? You weren’t happy. You were always doubting yourself, and it certainly didn’t help when Gorgestar got hurt. But once you came to RippleClan? Wow, Fennelspot! You became a kind, understanding, and clever cleric that every cleric after you will spend their lives trying to emulate!” Fennelspot’s eyes rippled. He cleared the emotion from his throat. 

“We all love you, Fennelspot,” Twinekit purred. “We can’t wait to welcome you home.” Fennelspot licked Twinekit’s head. He glanced back at Downstar, Scrubmask, and Weedfoot. They were still huddled over his body, shaking.

“You can always come back and see them,” Oilstripe reminded him, moving closer to the ghost. “I expect you to visit me a lot, too.” StarClan surrounded Fennelspot. Locustseeker bunted against the cleric. Duskkit joined Twinekit and leaned against Fennelspot’s leg. Moonpaw touched Fennelspot’s nose. The glow of a hundred warriors blinded Oilstripe. It was all she could do to shield her eyes.

“I promise,” Fennelspot purred. 

When Oilstripe’s vision returned, Fennelspot and the spirits of StarClan were gone.

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

(Weedfoot: 105, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

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

(Downstar: 115, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

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

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

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

(Burdockcreek: 40, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

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

(Shadowdrop: 34, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Mousesong: 25, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

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

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

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

(Moonpaw: 10, female, mediator apprentice, childish, good hunter)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 37

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you blame me?” Oilstripe laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

“It worked? It really worked!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rock pushed back against the river’s flow.

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

Maybe he still could.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 29

Burdockcreek falls for a prank and gets a thorn stuck in his paw.

[Image ID: Burdockcreek yowls “Graythroat! Stop putting thorns in my nest!” Offscreen, Graythroat calls, “I didn’t do anything to you!” Unbeknownst to Burdockcreek, Rabbitjoy is chuckling in the background.]

(Burdockcreek: 23, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Graythroat: 21, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

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

Rattlepelt becomes a fully trained artisan of RippleClan.

[Image ID: Rattlepaw, now Rattlepelt, stands in an adult sprite. Under her, it reads LEVEL UP! RATTLEPAW -> RATTLEPELT, INSECURE -> FIERCE, PLAYS WITH PREY -> PREY CLEANER.]

(Rattlepelt: 12, female, artisan, fierce, prey cleaner)

Mousepaw becomes an apprentice, with Shadowdrop as her mentor.

[Image ID: Mousepaw stands as an apprentice. Under her, it reads LEVEL UP! MOUSEKIT -> MOUSEPAW, KNOW-IT-ALL -> LOYAL.]

(Mouseaw: 6, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

Downstar struggles to connect with her Clan.

[Image ID: Downstar watches Oilstripe, Puddlespeckle, James, and Weedfoot talk from some ways away. Under Downstar, it says + PERMANENT CONDITION: DEPRESSION.]

(Downstar: 88, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Oilstripe: 33, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Puddlespeckle: 155, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

(James: 105, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Weedfoot: 78, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)