RippleClan: Moon 20
The war between RippleClan and AshClan comes to a formal end, and everyone in RippleClan celebrates.
[Image ID: A crowd of RippleClan cats, including Oilstripe, gather to frame Downstar, who says “It’s over, everyone!”]
Oilstripe hated the wait.
All of RippleClan lingered in their camp’s clearing, the light of a central fire throwing shadows onto the shipwreck. A soft snowfall danced overhead, fizzling out well before it reached the warm camp. Everyone’s minds seemed far from camp, however. Weedfoot paced around the exit while Puddlespeckle watched her with a tired, but oddly soft gaze. Burdockcreek and Clammask silently shared tongues with Rustshade. Oilstripe sat close to the fire with Carnationspeckle and Applepelt. There were no StarClan spirits in camp that night to distract her. All she had were two friends stuck in the same state of mind.
“This seems like a formality, don’t you think?” Applepelt sighed, front paws kneading the sand. “AshClan hasn’t done anything since last moon’s Gathering. I don’t know why everyone is so tense.”
“We don’t know what Autumnstar thinks of us now,” Carnationspeckle said as Oilstripe groomed her long brown fur.
“I know exactly what he thinks,” Applepelt chirped. “He’s terrified to face me again!” She rolled onto her back and batted the air.
“Terrified to face StarClan, maybe,” Oilstripe scoffed. “His whole argument fell apart the moment Downstar came back to life. He can’t chase out a Clan accepted by StarClan, it’s in the code.”
“So StarClan’s truly real, is it?” Applepelt sighed. She squirmed deeper into the sand while Oilstripe gave a half-hearted laugh.
“Oh, you have no idea,” Oilstripe said.
“Applepelt, scoot away from the fire, your whiskers will catch,” Carnationspeckle chuckled.
“Make me,” Applepelt cooed. “It’s too quiet tonight. I’m gonna ramble for a while. Smack me if you wanna stop me.” She rolled back onto her belly. She ranted about WheatClan stories she picked up at the last Gathering, but Oilstripe tuned her out. She and Carnationspeckle groomed knots out of each other’s fur as the fire crackled and spat.
Soon enough, Downstar and Rabbitjoy both entered the camp. Weedfoot stopped pacing and joined them on their way to the Shiprock. Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe both kicked Applepelt, pausing her story mid-sentence. Applepelt seemed ready to whine, but spotted the returning leader and sat up.
“All cats old enough to catch their own prey, gather below the Shiprock for a Clan meeting!” Downstar called before she even got to the rock. Halibutpaw had been sitting quietly outside the apprentice’s den but now called his littermates into the clearing. The small Clan huddled around the fire. Their eyes shone in the dim light like Silverpelt brought down. Rabbitjoy sat at the bottom of the Shiprock. Oilstripe put her paw over Applepelt’s and her tail over Carnationspeckle’s as she held her breath. Downstar could only keep her serious expression up for so long, though.
“It’s over, everyone!” Downstar yowled, tail high. “RippleClan and AshClan are at peace!” A great cheer tore through the clearing. Oilstripe’s muscles melted like her namesake. “AshClan will hereby acknowledge our position as a Clan ordained by StarClan. As the moons pass, we will establish the same relationships we have with the other Clans. AshClan will allow us to walk along the border to visit the other Clans.”
“Finally,” Halibutpaw scoffed. Graypaw batted his ear.
“Aww, you afraid of a fight?” Graypaw laughed. “You’re the warrior apprentice. You should be sad you can’t show AshClan what’s what anymore.”
“Maybe I don’t want another friend to die, Graypaw,” Halibutpaw snapped. Graypaw stepped back, blinking wildly.
“Alright, alright,” James cooed, stepping between the pair. “That’s quite enough. When I lived with humans, they always celebrated special moments with a good meal. I say we do the same!”
“I like that idea, James,” Downstar chirped. “Carnationspeckle, you’re the best swimmer we have. Would you take Graypaw to the coast and find some fish for the Clan?”
“The ocean’s freezing, Mom,” Graypaw whined. “Can’t I help at the oven?”
“You’ll be a caretaker soon, Graypaw,” Downstar sighed, shaking her head. “If I ask you to do something, you’ll need to do it. It won’t take long.” Graypaw muttered something, but didn’t put up anymore fight.
“We have a bit of flaxseed oil from WheatClan!” Clammask said, jogging over to the portion of the shipwreck where the Clan stored jars and pots and baskets. “Let’s use that tonight!”
“Wonderful,” Downstar purred, hopping off the Shiprock. “We could use a feast. Enjoy yourselves tonight, everyone!” Weedfoot, Shadowpaw, Halibutpaw, and Rustshade surrounded Downstar. Carnationspeckle stretched and touched noses with both Oilstripe and Applepelt.
“I’ll catch a fish for us to share,” she promised. With a wave of her feathery tail, Carnationspeckle led Graypaw out of camp.
“My humans used to catch fish, did I ever tell you that?” Applepelt chirped.
“A few times already, yes,” Oilstripe purred, her heart as warm as the fire.
“You should have seen the fish they would bring in,” Applepelt laughed, stretching her legs as far as they could go. “Some of them were this big! I’ve never seen others of them before, either. I think they got on a ship and caught them, but I don’t know how that works. I know James helps build rafts sometimes, but they couldn’t go far enough to catch these fish. I don’t know if I could call some of them fish…”
Applepelt continued on, describing spider-like masses of flesh and fish with more teeth than she could count. As her words washed over Oilstripe, the ginger historian’s eyes drifted over the apprentice’s den. A cream-colored cat stood outside the den, shining as bright as the fire. Oilstripe nodded to her sibling and enjoyed her Clan’s victory.
(Oilstripe: 24, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)
(Applepelt: 29, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)
(Carnationspeckle: 22, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)
(Downstar: 79, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(Halibutpaw: 12, male, warrior apprentice, impulsive, quick witted, lover of stories)
(Graypaw: 12, female, caretaker apprentice, bloodthirsty, careful listener)
(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)
(Clammask: 14, female, caretaker, righteous, lore keeper, good teacher)
Two apprentices graduate from their training without their brother. Shadowpaw was held back to catch up on missed training from whitecough.
[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Graythroat pose. Under Halibutdusk, it says LEVEL UP! HALIBUTPAW -> HALIBUTDUSK, IMPULSIVE -> GLOOMY, QUICK WITTED -> CLEVER, LOVER OF STORIES -> GREAT STORYTELLER. Under Graythroat, it says LEVEL UP! GRAYPAW -> GRAYTHROAT, BLOODTHIRSTY -> FIERCE, CAREFUL LISTENER -> VALUABLE INSIGHT.]
(Halibutdusk: 12, male, warrior, gloomy, clever, great storyteller)
(Graythroat: 12, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)
Graythroat attacks a fox without hesitation, but merely freaks it out.
[Image ID: Graythroat faces down a fox while Fennelspot and James watch in the corner. Under Fennelspot, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: GRAY & GRAY (OMEN).]
---
Fennelspot loved having a proper selection of caretakers to help him manage his gardens. It could be hard to properly tend to the selection of herbs he had begun cultivating in the southern half of the territory, but with caretakers, Fennelspot could focus on his medical and spiritual duties while they made sure the herbs grew well. Yes, it was the last moon of winter, and most of the growths wouldn’t begin showing up until the next moon, but it was the perfect time to plant some of his seeds. Besides, James and Graythroat hadn’t had much experience with the garden, so this was as good a time as any to introduce them.
“Humans have their farms and gardens,” Fennelspot explained as Graythroat and James walked behind him with baskets of thyme and sage seeds. “That taught us how to start our own fields and rise a step above herbal scavenging. There are a lot of plants we let grow wild, but some, like the sage and thyme seeds I’ve kept in storage all winter, grow well in gardens. I found the areas near the southern edge have better conditions for maintaining a garden.”
“Do you expect me to dig?” James scoffed, his words muddied by the basket in his mouth. “I don’t dig. I can barely tolerate the constant sand between my paws, I will not willingly coat myself in mud.”
“We’re caretakers, that’s our job,” Graythroat grunted.
“The mud’s not as bad as you think it is, James,” Fennelspot said, some of this enthusiasm seeping out. “It reminds me of SlugClan. It’s nice. At least I won’t ask you to help smoke out beehives. I don’t think you’d stay in RippleClan if you had to do that.” Fennelspot chuckled awkwardly as James tilted his head. The face Graythroat made told him all he needed to know on the subject.
The gardens were a section of an open field west of the RippleClan graveyard. At first glance, it seemed like any other field, but the grass was only half-grown and the remnants of plants that did not survive the winter sat in rows that would never have formed without an intelligent paw to guide them. A dusting of snow covered the gardens, but it wouldn’t stop the patrol.
Fennelspot was about to direct Graythroat to tear up the dead plants while he explained planting to James, but a gray shape on the other side of the gardens made him pause. It was a silver fox; its black fur was dusted white as though it had been caught in the snow. Brilliant orange eyes stared at Fennelspot. It stood in profile, watching the three cats, completely frozen.
“It’s likely passing through,” Fennelspot whispered as his companions noticed the fox. “We’ll wait for it to leave and come back later.”
“No,” Graythroat huffed, dropping her basket. “This is our territory. No fox is going to steal our prey.” Graythroat bolted past Fennelspot and James before either could respond. Graythroat hissed and screeched, catching the fox’s attention. The fox screamed at Graythroat, ears pulled back as far as they could go. Graythroat launched at the fox and dug her claws and fangs into its silver coat.
“Graythroat!” Fennelspot yowled. “It’s done nothing to us. Leave it alone!” StarClan, he wished there was someone in the Clan who could speak to foxes. James set his basket of sage seeds down and stood in front of Fennelspot, ready to defend the cleric.
Morning light bounced off Graythroat’s pelt. The sun illuminated the fox’s fur, blending the white flecks into its black undercoat. In that light, Graythroat’s pelt looked just like the foxes. Gray fur scrambled over gray fur in a shiny mixture of rage. A sudden sense of familiar clarity flooded Fennelspot’s mind as the fox scrambled out from Graythroat’s clutches and bolted toward the trees, barking madly. This was a sign. No, not a simple sign. An omen. StarClan may not talk to him like they talk to Oilstripe, but by the stars, he was good at his job and he knew an omen when he saw it.
What the omen meant, however, he could not say.
(Fennelspot: 77, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)
(Graythroat: 12, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)
(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)
James escorts the WheatClan deputy to camp.
[Image ID: James stands in the corner as Valleybrook, a golden tabby with Rustshade’s markings and lavender in his fur, speaks to Rustshade and Oilstripe. He says “I wish we were talking under better circumstances, Rust.”]
---
There were a lot of cats Oilstripe would have expected to walk into camp, but her uncle was not one of them.
Oilstripe and Rustshade were sharing one of their rarer moments of peace, quizzing Shadowpaw on the code so he could catch up to his littermates. They were halfway through the Code of Caretakers when James entered camp. Oilstripe would have paid him no mind if a slender golden tabby didn’t follow him in. The tom was so star-struck by the bulking shipwreck that he didn’t notice Weedfoot jogging his way.
“Valleybrook?” Weedfoot called. Rustshade snapped his head around.
Valleybrook broke out of his trance and faced Weedfoot, saying with an awkward sigh, “I’m sorry. I’m very impressed by your camp. A shipwreck makes quite the statement.”
“I was enjoying my afternoon when he waved me over from the WheatClan border,” James huffed, scratching an itch behind his ear. “He asked to come to camp.”
“Downstar’s out on patrol right now,” Weedfoot said with a slight cock of her head. “What brings the WheatClan deputy to our camp?”
“It’s something of a favor,” Valleybrook admitted. His gaze shifted to Rustshade and he said, “I was hoping to speak with my brother.”
“Rustshade, you never told me you’re littermates with WheatClan’s deputy,” Shadowpaw said as Rustshade wandered over to Valleybrook, his tail stiff behind him.
“They haven’t talked much since we left WheatClan,” Oilstripe whispered. From what she remembered of the first half of her kithood, Valleybrook had been a loving uncle, encouraging Oilstripe to learn all about WheatClan’s crops. He was always the perfect image of grace at Gatherings, but his soft eyes rekindled Oilstripe’s old memories of him.
“Hello, Valley,” Rustshade sighed, gracefully sitting in front of his estranged kin.
“I wish we were talking under better circumstances, Rust,” Valleybrook sighed. He spotted Oilstripe watching and called to her. “Oilstripe, join us, please.” With a worried glance at Shadowpaw, Oilstripe joined her father and uncle. Weedfoot and James stepped away in a feeble effort to give the group privacy.
“What’s so wrong that we couldn’t talk about it during the Gathering?” Rustshade asked matter-of-factly. “You’d only have to wait a few days.”
“I didn’t want you to be blinded by the news,” Valleybrook sighed. He tucked his tail over his paws and took a deep breath. “Sunstrike came down with some sort of infection. I don’t fully understand what happened. She passed away yesterday.”
Well that didn’t make sense. Oilstripe would have seen her. She spoke to Sunstrike at Gatherings, they were polite to each other, she knew she cared that Oilstripe was happy. She wouldn’t head to StarClan without visiting her kits. Should she even be thinking of her mother’s death in such simple terms? Should she feel more than she did? Rustshade seemed similarly stunned, at least. His unreadable expression gave no clues as to how he felt.
“I see,” Rustshade said. “Thank you for telling us before the Gathering.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Valleybrook said. “If you two want to share soup together at the Gathering, I think that would be nice.” Rustshade nodded softly. Valleybook gingerly reached a paw out and placed it on Rustshade’s head. Rustshade stayed still. “I’m sorry, Rustshade. I know things haven’t been wonderful between you and your old mate, but I understand what it’s like to lose someone you shared so much of your life with.” Valleybrook couldn’t have been more obvious about what he meant, but Oilstripe couldn’t tell if her father noticed.
“Do you want me to escort you back to the border?” Rustshade asked.
“That would be nice,” Valleybrook sighed, moving his paw and standing. “I hope it’s alright if I visit your dirtplace first.”
“There’s a path looping around the shipwreck for you to follow,” Rustshade explained, nodding toward the dirtplace path. Valleybrook nodded and his gaze lingered on his brother as he crossed through camp.
“Oilstripe,” Rustshade muttered into Oilstripe’s ear. “Clammask and Burdockcreek will be back from Downstar’s hunting patrol before I get back. Will you tell them about Sunstrike?” Oilstripe nodded absentmindedly, then realized exactly what that would entail.
“You want me to…” Oilstripe gulped, locking eyes with Rustshade. Rustshade sighed and nodded.
“If they haven’t figured it out themselves,” Rustshade explained, “they deserve to know now. They should get a chance to mourn their mother.”
“I’ll tell them,” Oilstripe promised. She couldn’t predict how they would react, but her father was right. It was important for them to know where they came from.
Valleybrook returned soon after and walked with Rustshade out of camp. Oilstripe dismissed Weedfoot’s questions of concern and went off to a quiet corner of camp to think. Well, not really think; look. She scanned the camp and the trees beyond and the humming waves that brought the shipwreck to its home.
Sunstrike was nowhere to be seen.
(Oilstripe: 24, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)
(Weedfoot: 68, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)
(Rustshade: 64, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)
(Shadowpaw: 12, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)
Carnationspeckle finds an abandoned kit while on patrol with Weedfoot.
[Image ID: Weedfoot and Carnationspeckle face a silver kit with a white left ear and copper eyes. Under the kit, it says NEW PLAYER: RATTLEKIT, 3 MOONS, FEMALE, INSECURE, PLAYS WITH PREY. Weedfoot asks, “What happened to your fur, little one?”]
---
“I wish I could say I’m surprised that Graythroat attacked the fox, but I’m not,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “She’s always been more ready to fight than she should be.”
She and Weedfoot were at the gardens, carefully planting some heal all seeds Rabbitjoy traded with SlugClan. The ground kept freezing as night fell, but Fennelspot insisted the frost wouldn’t hurt the seeds. The frost still clung to the grass when Carnationspeckle and Weedfoot arrived. Carnationspeckle found the simple practice of spreading seeds to be a mindful activity, allowing her to connect with the world around her. Weedfoot kept shaking mud out of her paws, but at least she was willing to help.
“If she wanted to focus on fighting,” Weedfoot huffed, “she should have trained as a warrior. Her brothers learned to curb their battledrive, I don’t know why she hasn’t.”
“StarClan only knows,” Carnationspeckle said. She studied the edges of the garden and asked, “Do you suppose there is a way to protect the herbs from rabbits and those sorts of creatures?”
“We would need some sort of wall,” Weedfoot muttered, tilting her small basket of heal all seeds onto the ground. “I don’t know how we would keep other animals out but let ourselves in.” Carnationspeckle hummed softly and shoved dirt over the heal all seeds.
“Mom?” a high-pitched voice called. Weedfoot and Carnationspeckle’s ears shot up. The wild growth beyond the garden was quiet, but distant plants swayed as an unseen figure pushed past them.
“Hello?” Carnationspeckle called into the trees. A soft gasp reached her ears and the plants shifted while the figure hurried toward the garden. Weedfoot tensed up and took a cautious step toward the approaching form.
A silver face peeked out from the half-alive plants beyond the garden. Dark orange eyes shone in the light of the early morning. Carnationspeckle held back a gasp as she realized the silver coloration was not fur like it should have been, but skin. The kit lacked a single hair anywhere on her face. Wrinkles settled over her body like fluff. Her left ear was shiny and white like a fin sticking out of the water. Her face soured at the sight of Carnationspeckle and Weedfoot.
“You’re not my mom,” she huffed. She stepped back into the trees.
“Wait!” Carnationspeckle yelped. “Come back!” The kit emerged once more, studying Carnationspeckle just as the brown molly studied her.
“What happened to your fur, little one?” Weedfoot asked softly, getting down to the kit’s level.
“I never had any,” the kit said, hesitating. “Who are you? Have you seen my mom?”
“I’m Weedfoot,” the deputy explained. “This is my friend, Carnationspeckle. What does your mother look like, little one?”
“Like me,” the kit explained. “Have you seen her?”
“I’m sorry, we haven’t,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “What’s your name?”
“Rattlesnake,” the kit muttered. As she stepped further into the garden, Rattlesnake shivered violently. Carnationspeckle hurried up to her. Rattlesnake yelped, but Carnationspeckle brought her close and pressed her into her long pelt.
“You’re freezing,” Carnationspeckle gasped. “Stay here, please. I can keep you warm.” Rattlesnake shivered so hard, she almost knocked Carnationspeckle over. The skin of her needle-like tail was red and blistered.
“She’s no Clan kit,” Weedfoot sighed. She sat next to Carnationspeckle. “Rattlesnake, when did you last see your mother?”
“She woke me up and brought me to the forest,” Rattlesnake explained. She buried her bony face into Carnationspeckle’s fur.
“So you’ve been out here all night?” Weedfoot mumbled.
“Weedfoot, she has frostbite,” Carnationspeckle said, draping a paw over Rattlesnake. “I can’t warm her up here.”
“Rattlesnake, can we bring you to our home?” Weedfoot asked. “We have some warm leather and a fire you can sit by.”
“Mom said not to go with anyone unless they were a Clan cat,” Rattlesnake gulped, eyeing Weedfoot.
“Then you’re in luck,” Carnationspeckle purred. “We’re from RippleClan.” Rattlesnake purred and rubbed her cold nose against Carnationspeckle.
“I’m going to run ahead and make sure the Clan’s ready for her,” Weedfoot explained. “Will you escort her to camp?”
“I won’t leave her side,” Carnationspeckle promised. The pair touched noses and Weedfoot took off, grabbing the seed basket and leaving deep pawprints behind her. Carnationspeckle reached for Rattlesnake’s scruff, but paused. Without fur, would Carnationspeckle’s teeth pierce her gentle skin? She decided against it.
“Rattlesnake,” Carnationspeckle whispered, “have you ever had a horse ride?”
“What’s that?” Rattlesnake asked, peeking out from Carnationspeckle’s fur. Carnationspeckle crouched down so her belly touched the ground.
“Climb onto my back and hold on tight,” Carnationspeckle chuckled. Rattlesnake hesitated for a while, one paw gently reaching toward Carnationspeckle. Eventually she scaled Carnationspeckle’s back. Carnationspeckle gently stood and adjusted her stance for Rattlesnake’s weight.
“Here we go,” Carnationspeckle chirped. She waddled out of the garden as quick as she could as Rattlekit’s tiny claws poked into her skin.
It was a long walk back to camp, but at least the frost melted underneath Carnationspeckle and Rattlesnake didn’t shiver so intensely. When the shipwreck came into view, Fennelspot was waiting for her outside camp.
“Let me see the frostbite,” Fennelspot gulped as Carnationspeckle ran toward him. Fennelspot walked alongside Carnationspeckle and studied Rattlesnake. Downstar and James tended a fire in the center of camp while Rabbitjoy set out a few soft leather pelts beside it. Weedfoot waited anxiously by the fire.
“Set her down here,” she said when Carnationspeckle got close. Carnationspeckle laid on her belly so Rattlesnake could drop off. She purred as she curled up on the soft vole pelts. Fennelspot examined her tail and ran a paw over the blisters. The rest of RippleClan watched from the sidelines.
“It’s in its early stages,” Fennelspot explained. “I can treat this easily. Put a pelt over her. She needs warmth.”
“I didn’t know cats could be born without fur,” Downstar muttered as Fennelspot jogged to the medicine den. Rabbitjoy set a rabbit pelt over Rattlesnake, furry side up.
“I know a furless cat!” Parsley stepped out of the crowd. “When I lived in the barn, I heard stories of a furless molly the humans kept as a breeder.”
“What do you mean?” Carnationspeckle gasped.
“Humans sometimes keep a molly around so she can keep kitting litters,” Weedfoot explained with a sneer. “They don’t care how exhausting it is.”
“What an awful fate,” Carnationspeckle growled. “Why did her mother leave her out here? If she could leave, why wouldn’t she join her daughter?” Rattlesnake had fallen asleep by this point. Her whiskers twitched peacefully in her dreams. Fennelspot returned with a salve in a small jar and spread it over Rattlesnake’s tail.
“Maybe she couldn’t leave for long,” James suggested. “If humans like the cat living with them enough, they’ll look for them if they leave. You said her mother wanted her to go with Clan cats, didn’t you? Perhaps she thought her daughter would have a better life without her.” Carnationspeckle curled around Rattlesnake and groomed her wrinkly head.
“She will,” Carnationspeckle promised. She met Downstar’s eyes and said, “I’ll raise her. I can’t let her sleep in the nursery alone.”
“I’m not surprised,” Downstar purred.
“It’ll be hard to explain this to her,” Weedfoot sighed, sitting by Rattlesnake and Carnationspeckle. “She can’t be much older than three moons.”
“Do you think she’ll want a Clan name?” James hummed.
“If she does,” Carnationspeckle purred, “we could call her Rattlekit. That’s what you did with my name.” Downstar and Weedfoot nodded as Carnationspeckle rested her head by her new daughter. Yes, that was what she would be. The decision was as clear to Carnationspeckle as a cloudless sky. The small furless molly would not go through life without a mother.
(Carnationspeckle: 22, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)
(Weedfoot: 68, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Rattlekit: 3, female, kit, insecure, plays with prey)
(Fennelspot: 77, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)
(Downstar: 79, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)
