Rattlepelt and Wildclaw are asked to take in a litter of three from AshClan.
[Image ID: Wildclaw and Rattlepelt stand above three newborns. The first, a gold spotted tom with a white belly, has the caption NEW PLAYER: SUNKIT, 0, MALE, FEARLESS. The second kit, a red tom with a few white spots, has the caption NEW PLAYER: BERRYKIT, 0, MALE, BULLYING. The last kit, a calico molly, has the caption NEW PLAYER: SKYKIT, 0, FEMALE, KNOW-IT-ALL.]
"I don't like this, Rattlepelt," Wildclaw muttered as every step sent her sinking to her belly in air-like snow. "I don't like AshClan requesting to see us both like this. I have no friends in AshClan. This can't be good."
"You are the Clan deputy," Rattlepelt reminded her mate. The tail of her fox pelt left a long line in the snow. "It's not so strange for AshClan to speak with you. They could want to discuss some new form of trade, so they invite your artisan mate along."
"Enough bad things happen to the two of us that I'm allowed to be concerned," Wildclaw huffed. "We still don't know what happened to Billowhaze, Splashtuft, and Tallowheart."
"I don't think AshClan is able to make bodies disappear so easily," Rattlepelt sighed, still managing to chuckle despite the weight of the strange tragedy.
It was a gray morning when the two mollies left camp for the AshClan border. Dovefur had returned early from his border patrol, explaining that Leathermask and Rapidleaf were waiting with a gaggle of AshClan cats who wanted to speak with Wildclaw and Rattlepelt. The weather matched the tension each RippleClan cat carried in their hearts. No one, not even the clerics who confirmed their deaths, had an answer for the strange disappearances that rocked the Clan. It barely felt like the three toms were dead, just… out on patrol. So that's all most cats could do. Patrol, and hope to fill the sudden, inexplicable hole in their lives.
At least it properly looked like winter. The snow was so ridiculously fluffy that Wildclaw could barely feel it. It was the sort of snow that kits should spend their days frolicking in and apprentice should bury themselves under to pull pranks on their poor mentors. Wildclaw wondered if Midnightpaw had memories of snow from his early moons. She hoped Valleypaw could enjoy the snow in StarClan, free fron the deadly cold.
Wildclaw and Rattlepelt spotted Leathermask and Rapidleaf before either of them could continue overthinking the situation. They waited by the border alongside Terracottafoot and one of AshClan's mediators. Wildclaw put on her deputy's mask and nodded to the AshClan representatives.
"Greetings, Terracottafoot," Wildclaw said. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"That's not the least of it," Rapidleaf pointed out. "There were two other cats here before we sent Dovefur for you. They still haven't come back."
"I'm glad you both could make it," Terracottafoot purred, licking their cold paws. "Truthfully, Paleseed has raved about how good-hearted you both are."
"Excuse me?" Rattlepelt said with a slight head tilt.
"Well, the two toms you adopted, Midnightpaw and Valleypaw," Terracottafoot stammered, tail curling as they searched for the right words. "They were your third adopted litter, right? You've taken in a lot of kits who needed love and attention."
"Shrewflame and Whiteflower weren't really litters," Wildclaw chuckled politely, "but they needed someone in the nursery with them, and we've never regretted it." Rattlepelt nodded along to her mate's assessment, touching her nose to Wildclaw's cheek.
"That's why we asked for you two specifically," Terracottafoot gulped. "I don't have a good way to ask this, but there are some cats who need your help."
"Oh stars," Leathermask muttered, catching sight of the returning AshClan cats before the smell of birth and milk reached Wildclaw's nose.
The two AshClan cats who had left before Wildclaw and Rattlepelt's arrival carried three kits with them. The first AshClan cat carried two kits at once; both stocky for their tiny forms, one was a stunning red while the other at first seemed pure white, but revealed ginger patches and a black tail when she squirmed. The other AshClan cat carried a golden spotted tom. None of them could have been older than half a moon, but were almost certainly younger than that.
"We didn't want them to wait in the cold if we didn't find a patrol," Terracottafoot explained awkwardly.
"So colorful," Wildclaw muttered. The calico, the only molly of the three, shifted her half-sealed gaze toward Wildclaw. Baby blue eyes gleamed like spots of sky against a cloudy sky.
"I didn't know you had a flair for the dramatic, Terracottafoot," Rattlepelt huffed. "You didn't think to say anything about this before you brought the kits?"
"Maybe you should just hear the story," Terracottafoot awkwardly suggested.
"Are you giving away AshClan kits?" Rapidleaf asked.
"They belonged to Caretaker Dayhaze," Terracottafoot explained. "You probably knew her best, Warrior Leathermask. She suffered complications in the birth and finally past yesterday."
"Dayhaze is mates with Bluesun," Leathermask pointed out. "Why aren't these kits with their father?"
"You misunderstand," the mediator beside Terracottafoot said. "They are Dayhaze's children, but not Bluesun's."
"Oh," Wildclaw gulped. She instinctively shifted a paw to touch Rattlepelt's. Rattlepelt returned the gesture.
"The sire was a kittypet in the human settlement," Terracottafoot continued. "The yellowcough outbreak took him shortly after Caretaker Dayhaze became pregnant. We discussed what she wanted for her kits after she passed, and she decided they would fare better in RippleClan."
"No one in AshClan would adopt them?" Wildclaw muttered. "If a nurse is what you need, Mitespark gave birth to her litter two days ago. She could help."
"If Caretaker Dayhaze did not want the kits to be adopted by an AshClan couple," the mediator beside Terracottafoot sighed, "we have to respect that. Don't look at us like we're tossing them out."
"I'm more-so surprised Eelstar agreed to it," Wildclaw scoffed.
"He didn't have to," Terracottafoot sighed, dipping their head. "I'm sad to announce that Eelstar has joined StarClan."
Good, Wildclaw thought as the faces of her Clanmates shifted with the less-than-awful news. Wildclaw stood taller. Eelstar may have changed from the lackey he was under Autumnstar, but he was still a spirit of suffering in the collective memory of RippleClan. For him to live beyond Downstar and Weedfoot was an insult to their suffering under his burnt paws.
"Barkfur has his nine lives, then?" Wildclaw grunted, the mask of diplomacy slipping with a crack in her voice.
"Elder Barkfur is as old as Eelstar," the interrupting meditator said. "He decided, for the good of the Clan, to retire and give leadership to younger blood. The reign of Lichenstar has now begun."
"My niece," Terracottafoot coughed, concealing a purr of pride. Well then! Wildclaw knew Lichenstar, once Lichenfur. She had been a codekeeper with an unmatched lust for the intricacies of trials and the balance of justice and mercy. Wildclaw made a note to tell Oilstar of this, although as the calico kitten continued to stare at her, her focus slipped.
"Lichenstar deeply values parental rights and the wellbeing of our kits," the mediator noted. "This was Dayhaze's wish, and Lichenstar respects it. As she decreed, it is better for our children to live beyond our reach than to live within and feel the claws of uncaring hearts. Bluesun… has not reacted well to the affair." Maternal fury sparked in Wildclaw's heart. Rattlepelt gently nosed Wildclaw, drawing her eyes off the kits.
"Do you remember what you told me when we found Midnightpaw and Valleypaw?" Rattlepelt said. "It felt like one of those moments StarClan designs just for us. Every time we've taken someone in, they've only made our lives brighter."
"I thought you would be hesitant," Wildclaw stammered. She shifted her back to AshClan, giving her and Rattlepelt a bit more privacy. "We lost Valleypaw just a few moons ago. I thought you'd want to mourn longer. I'm usually the one convincing you of these things."
"I'm sure I don't need to convince you of this," Rattlepelt sighed, brushing her fox pelt against Wildclaw. "You can barely look away."
"You'll take them?" Terracottafoot held their breath.
"That's what their mother wanted," Wildclaw hummed, inching close to the kits. The red kit squinted at Wildclaw, his tiny paws twitching toward her. The golden kit in the back mewled for his brother and sister, outraged at the separation.
"Thank you," Terracottafoot purred, waving the other AshClan cats closer. "Thank you both. There's just one thing we need to do. It's only right that the kits take part in one last AshClan tradition. Just sit together, right here." Terracottafoot patted the snow. Wildclaw and Rattlepelt hesitantly obeyed, sitting right at the edge of the border. Terracottafoot flicked their tail, and the two AshClan cats carrying the kits placed them at Wildclaw and Rattlepelt's paws.
"We can't let them sit in the snow," Rattlepelt snapped, shuffling her fox pelt off. "Here, here, put them on this." Rattlepelt shivered violently as a soft breeze rolled over her exposed silver skin. She rubbed into Wildclaw as the gray deputy tugged the fox pelt underneath the squirming kits. The golden kit did his best to stand, but flopped onto his jaw with a silly mew of protest. The red tom and the calico molly nibbled at the fox fur, hoping to nurse. Terracottafoot sat in front of the newly formed family, clearing their throat.
"We ask our warrior ancestors to look upon these kits and offer your blessings," Terracottafoot recited, eyes to the gray morning sky. "We do not wish to strip them of their heritage, of the parents who brought them into this world. We only ask that their family grow to take on new guardians, cats to share in the responsibilities of those who came before. Warriors of StarClan, bless Wildclaw and Rattlepelt as they accept the children of Dayhaze into their family, joining her in forever guarding the hearts of the kits before them." Wildclaw nosed each kit, taking in their soft scent. She gave the calico kitten a special lick on the head; it would be nice to have a daughter for once.
"We'll keep them safe," Rattlepelt promised, heart and voice warm.
"Just one thing before you take them to RippleClan," Terracottafoot stammered. The spell of their ritual faded, replaced with their usual nervous demeanor. "Dayhaze named them, and I know it was important to her that they keep their names."
"Of course," Wildclaw huffed. "Who's who?"
"She named the red tom Berrykit," Terracottafoot explained, "after holly berries. The calico is Skykit. Dayhaze thought she looked like the sun breaking through thick clouds with those ginger patches. And this squirmy golden kit is Sunkit."
"They're wonderful," Rapidleaf purred.
"I'm sorry though, Terracottafoot," Leathermask sighed, bowing slightly to the AshClan cleric. "You seem to care for Dayhaze."
"She was a good molly, even if she wasn't faithful," Terracottafoot said, nodding as though they had to confirm their own beliefs. "I know her kits will fare well with you, Deputy Wildclaw." Wildclaw studied her new kits. Berrykit had become bored with the fox fur and now nibbled at Skykit. Skykit squealed and clumsily kicked at her brother. Sunkit continued his determined efforts to stand, despite tumbling once more onto the fox pelt.
"We'll protect them," Wildclaw promised. "They'll always be loved."
She couldn't say they'd be safe; memories of Valleypaw running out of camp, her last glimpse of her son, glimmered in her mind's eye. But to say they would be loved… that was a promise Wildclaw could keep.
(Wildclaw: 95, female, deputy, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)
(Leathermask: 51, male, warrior, confident, good fighter, eloquent speaker)
(Berrykit: 0, male, kit, bullying)
(Skykit: 0, female, kit, know-it-all)
(Sunkit: 0, male, kit, fearless)
Mitespark safely delivers her litter of six kits, although two of them pass within the first two days. She and Wolverineheart thank the spirits of StarClan who accompanied their four beautiful kits to RippleClan.
[Image ID: Mitespark and Wolverineheart watch over a litter of four. Beside Mitespark, it reads - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. The first kit is a brown, ginger, and white tortoiseshell molly. Under her, it reads NEW PLAYER: LIGHTKIT, 0, FEMALE, DAYDREAMER. The next kit, a black tom, has the caption NEW PLAYER: FUZZYKIT, 0, MALE, UNRULY. Under the next kit, a golden tom with a white patch on his back, it says NEW PLAYER: GOLDENKIT, 0, MALE, BULLYING. The last kit is black and pale ginger with the caption NEW PLAYER: SNAKEKIT, 0, FEMALE, POLITE.]
(Mitespark: 45, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)
(Wolverineheart: 35, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)
(Lightkit: 0, female, kit, daydreamer)
(Fuzzykit: 0, male, kit, unruly)
(Goldenkit: 0, male, kit, bullying)
(Snakekit: 0, female, kit, polite)
Icepaw finally becomes Icepounce and promises his sister that she too will graduate some day.
[Image ID: Icepaw, now Icepounce, tells Quickpaw, "It won't be long!" Under him, it reads LEVEL UP! ICEPAW → ICEPOUNCE, FIERCE → ADVENTUROUS, NEVER SITS STILL → FAST AS THE WIND, ODDLY OBSERVANT → NATURAL INTUITION.]
(Icepounce: 13, male, teacher, adventurous, fast as the wind, natural intuition)
(Quickpaw: 13, female, historian apprentice, ambitious, good swimmer)
Beepaw, Patchpaw, and Morningpaw are apprenticed to Puddlewhisper, Shrewflame, and Icepounce.
[Image ID: Beepaw, Patchpaw, and Morningpaw all have apprentice sprites. Under Beepaw, it says LEVEL UP! BEEKIT → BEEPAW, NOISY → BOLD, + NEW SKILL: PICKY NEST BUILDER. Under Patchpaw, it reads LEVEL UP! PATCHKIT → PATCHPAW, CHARMING → ADVENTUROUS. Under Morningpaw, it reads LEVEL UP! MORNINGKIT → MORNINGPAW, BOSSY → CONFIDENT.]
Pearpaw is honored for her role in the Ocean’s Assault, and gets her historian name early; Pearbranch.
[Image ID: Pearpaw is now Pearbranch! Under her, it reads LEVEL UP! PEARPAW → PEARBRANCH, MOSS-BALL HUNTER → GOOD HUNTER, LOVER OF STORIES → GOOD STORYTELLER.]
(Pearbranch: 10, female, historian, righteous, good hunter, good storyteller)
Honeybuzz fiercely grieves his mate. Mitespark has to stop him from attacking Yarrowclaw.
[Image ID: Honeybuzz tries to attack Yarrowclaw, but Mitespark stands between them. Honeybuzz yowls, "You should have saved them first!" Under him, it reads + CONDITION: GRIEVING.]
(Honeybuzz: 48, male, cleric, daring, sklled toolsmith, good teacher)
(Mitespark: 42, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)
(Yarrowclaw: 35, female, warrior, cold, fire master)
As the Clan rebuilds, Oilstar decides to bless Yarrowclaw’s heroism by giving her an honor title; Floodsplash!
[Image ID: Oilstar and Tallowheart approach Yarrowclaw, now Floodsplash. Oilstar says, " You trusted StarClan's vision and saved your Clanmates. If that isn't worthy of an honor title, what is?" Under Floodsplash, it says LEVEL UP! YARROWCLAW → FLOODSPLASH.]
---
It took two days before the five Clans could converge on RippleClan's camp and clear out the last of the floodwaters. And yes, it was five Clans working on the camp, not one. Despite the conflicts of the past year, the other four leaders stood with Oilstar, sending their warriors to restore RippleClan's ruined medicine stores and broken dens. AshClan artisans helped RippleClan carve their first leader and deputy once more into fresh sculptures, with shiny and bright paint from LynxClan. RippleClan caretakers each led a team to clean out their assigned dens, moving broken planks and seaweed and scavenging the old leather floors.
Somehow the human long pelt in the elder's den survived the storm, clumped into a corner. It now laid in the heart of camp with a dozen cats resting on it, trying to find some sense of normalcy, their salt-crusted paws kneading into the sun-warmed material. Most of those cats were RippleClan. Their legs shook from the cleaning efforts. Their muscles burned. They couldn't help anymore, no matter how much they insisted they should. That was what Yarrowclaw kept telling herself as she laid with her belly up, staring at the cascading layers of clouds above.
Yarrowclaw wanted to sleep. She wanted to rest. She knew her mind and heart needed it, perhaps more than the majority of her Clanmates. But the liar in her head kept saying she didn't need rest. She felt fine. If she wasn't tired, she should help. She shouldn't let the other Clans do everything. She was the one who saved the day. Yarrowclaw groaned and flipped onto her stomach, throwing her paws over her head. Could her thoughts please be quiet?
Even those with able bodies could not work. Rattlepelt, Wildclaw, Shrewflame, Whiteflower, and Midnightpaw (once again wearing a tight, dry bandage) sat around Troutpool as the senior cleric softly explained that while Valleypaw's body may never be found, his spirit was sitting with them right now, and he would protect his brothers and mothers no matter where he was. Paleseed worked with a WheatClan mediator in front of the repaired nursery, coaxing Honeybuzz and Stormjump's sons back inside, promising the den couldn't hurt them. Honeybuzz was nowhere to be found. Spikecrash spoke softly with Venturedapple, sharing the horror of Stormjump's body floating in the nursery.
Yes, Stormjump. At least the Clan had her body for the vigil. Only StarClan knew where Valleypaw was washed to. Stormjump now rested beside Littlekit. Yet Yarrowclaw was the hero who saved her mate and escorted everyone out of the medicine. She helped save Stormjump's kits.
It was the best day of Yarrowclaw's life.
It was the worst day of Yarrowclaw's life.
Yarrowclaw stood, shuffling the human long pelt as she moved. Currentsmoke and Yellowburst stumbled up to the crowd of resting cats, relieved of duty for the moment. Yarrowclaw scuttled off the long pelt and gave the pair a place to fall. As the caretakers closed their eyes, Yarrowclaw remembered to breath. Maybe she could take up whatever task Currentsmoke and Yellowburst broke away from? Or she could help prepare a meal for all the hardworking cats who came to RippleClan's aid? The possibilites buzzed in Yarrowclaw's head.
"Yarrowclaw." Oilstar slipped out of the leader's den with Tallowheart at her side. Despite the storm making his ribs worse, the injured historian didn't seem in much pain. Yarrowclaw allowed herself to hold the sudden pride in her chest close. She made sure Oilstar did not lose her son. No matter the circumstances, Yarrowclaw could take pride in that… right?
"Anything you need from me, Oilstar?" Yarrowclaw asked, sitting at attention.
"I was talking with my son here," Oilstar purred, gently touching her nose to Tallowheart's cheek as she spoke, "and Tallowheart had an excellent idea. I thought I would get your opinion first before I called a Clan meeting, though." Yarrowclaw tilted her head. "It's your idea, Tallow. Go ahead."
"If you hadn't come to the medicine den," Tallowheart explained, dipping his head in humility, "the waves might have taken me. You saved my life, Midnightpaw's life, and probably all the clerics too."
"I was just following the vision Estherfern gave me," Yarrowclaw muttered. "If StarClan knew I wouldn't die, I had to keep others alive."
"It was incredible," Tallowheart purred. He flinched as his purr shifted his broken ribs, but he dug through the pain. "We're calling it the Ocean's Assault, and you're the hero of that story. Because of that, I suggested to my mom that she give you an honor title." What?
"What," Yarrowclaw said.
"I don't want to change your name if you don't want this," Oilstar added. "Still, I think you deserve it. You trusted StarClan's vision and saved your Clanmates. If that isn't worthy of an honor title, what is?"
"What would you call me?" Yarrowclaw said. Her words came before her thoughts.
"Floodsplash," Oilstar purred. Fire burned behind Yarrowclaw's eyes. It was a fire that torched her fur and melted her bones, yet she couldn't step out of it. She didn't have to think about it. She couldn't think about it. She couldn't imagine regret or caution, even though she knew, deep down, something screamed at her to just stay normal.
"I love it," Floodsplash said.
(Floodsplash: 35, female, warrior, cold, fire master)
(Tallowheart: 36, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)
Floodsplash takes her brothers on patrol, hoping one of them would understand, only for them to start fighting.
[Image ID: Floodsplash listens as Anchovystrike, Currentsmoke, and Billowhaze argue, not paying attention to her. Speech bubbles with a mass of tangled swirls surround the trio of toms.]
Author's Note: this passage features discussion of mental illness and self-harm not typically seen in RippleClan's Promise. Reader's discretion is advised.
---
Sandhollow said it was good. Sandhollow said no matter how much Floodsplash's mind fluttered from maddening highs to strange, slugging lows, she could still deserve praise. She could still be honored as a hero and not fly away, never to land. After all, she did do something grand, she didn't imagine the vision, she was special on that grim day.
Floodsplash was a fly drowning in honey, its final moments consumed in unimaginable sweetness and bliss.
RippleClan had to harvest more of their herbs from the garden than the caretakers wanted if they hoped to restock the medicine den and prepare for winter. Floodsplash formed a patrol with her brothers, each burdened with large baskets, to harvest whatever they could. Brilliant red leaves fertilized the garden, hiding the medicine-rich roots and stems RippleClan needed. Paws crinkled and shoved the leaves aside in a soothing, quiet song. The littermates set their baskets at the garden's edge.
"Don't worry too much about seeds and replanting," Currentsmoke advised his littermates as they searched the garden rows for fully grown plants. "Me and the rest of the caretakers can get what we need out of what we harvest."
"We have fennel, burdock, chicory, mallow…" Floodsplash muttered, trotting from row to row. "We just use burdock roots, don't we? Let's leave the leaves, I know you said we don't need to worry about replanting, but why take what we don't need? Chicory, that's largely the roots too, right? We can probably do the same." Stars damn it, she was rambling again.
"Weevil taught me the best way to harvest the fennel," Anchovystrike chirped. "I'll handle that!" Anchovystrike ran a paw down a tall fennel stalk.
"Be careful of the year-old plants!" Currentsmoke warned as he dug at the burdock roots. Anchovystrike simply nodded and sliced his claw through the fronds and leaves. Billowhaze cupped his paw under a mallow flower, peering into the soft petals.
The littermates worked in silence, save for Floodsplash's gentle muttering. She couldn't stop the onslaught of words that tumbled out as she danced through the garden. The more she spoke, even at a whisper, the more her thoughts grew fuzzy.
She shouldn't have been working.
"Valleypaw was so excited to work in the garden," Billowhaze muttered, snapping Floodsplash back to reality before she dug through a chicory root. Currentsmoke and Anchovystrike paused in their work.
Valleypaw. Maybe it wasn't too late. Floodsplash would survive the flood, she would survive anything involving the flood, right? That's how the vision worked. There could be a ritual. If she found Valleypaw's body, maybe she could put his soul back. Wasn't that possible? She would swim out to sea and drag it back. She would—Floodsplash's heart spasmed. No. No no no no no. Not again. That wasn't true, that wouldn't work. But with StarClan—NO! Floodsplash's claws pierced the chicory root.
"Asterblaze should never have sent him out of camp," Anchovystrike sighed. He placed a pawful of fennel into the basket sitting next to him.brought a mouthful of fennel to his basket near Currentsmoke.
"None of us knew that wave was coming, Anchovystrike," Currentsmoke whined softly, pushing aside a burdock root. "It would have been Asterblaze if it hadn't been Valleypaw."
"He was Valleypaw's mentor," Anchovystrike snapped. He spat out a clingy frond of fennel. "He had a responsibility to keep him safe. He's barely mourned him!"
"That's not fair," Currentsmoke huffed, facing his brother. "Asterblaze has been wearing himself down to rebuild the camp. Of course he's mourning Valleypaw."
"Since when have you been so against Asterblaze?" Billowhaze added, stepping away from his work.
"I'm just saying, he should have taken the more dangerous job," Anchovystrike grumbled with a thrash of his tail. "It's… we don't even have his body to mourn! Can you imagine how Midnightpaw feels right now? All I did was make a comment and suddenly everyone feels the need to defend Asterblaze. Let's go back to work." No, let's not. Floodsplash needed to stop. The crumbled remains of the chicory root rested in front of her.
"Anchovystrike…" Currentsmoke groaned, whiskers twitching awkwardly. "Are you sure you're talking about Asterblaze here? Maybe you're…. talking about yourself, too?" Anchovystrike's tail fluffed up, high and shivering.
"Yes, and I don't even know why we're arguing about this," Anchovystrike groaned. "It's all so dumb! I just made a stupid comment, and now you're saying that taking my apprentice hunting is as bad as sending him out in a flood!"
"It was an accident!" Billowhaze and Currentsmoke yowled at once.
"I need help," Floodsplash said. Her mouth was dry. Maybe she could stop their arguing by climbing up a tree and jumping into them, that would shut them up. How selfish were they? Was Floodsplash the only one still doing her work? For StarClan's sake, could one of them listen to her?
"Everything's an accident, everything's on purpose," Anchovystrike hissed, bobbing side to side with emphasis. "I've been fixing the dens non-stop since we got back into camp, maybe I, I want someone to blame! Who else am I going to blame, Yar—I mean Floodsplash? She actually saved lives, Aster—"
"I'm going to kill myself!" Floodsplash shrieked. There. That got her brothers' attention. Their eyes snapped on her like hunters upon a foaming rabbit. Floodsplash panted like she ran across all five Clans. He skin burned and the buzzing in her head clawed at her good eye. She let her mouth go. "I don't trust myself, and I don't want to do anything to myself, so I need you to shut up and help me get home."
Floodsplash sat. Or perhaps she fell. She couldn't tell.
"Alright," Billowhaze choked out, voice as dry as Floodsplash's mouth. "Alright, we… we have plans for this." He glanced at Anchovystrike and Currentsmoke. All three toms had deep shadows over their faces. "Uh… do you…"
"I don't know what's true right now," Floodsplash warned. She sank slowly. A familiar feral panic gripped her chest. "I need to use my powers and help the Clan. I don't have powers, I can't have powers, I can't be special. I'm going to get myself killed. Why did Estherfern tell me about that star-damned vision?" Currentsmoke nuzzled Floodsplash, whimpering deeply.
"I don't know what to tell you," Anchovystrike muttered. Billowhaze gently nudged Floodsplash back to her paws. Her feet burned.
"I know your mind takes things too far," Currentsmoke whined, "but you can still be important."
"I don't want to die," Floodsplash cried. She should have died in the flood. It didn't make sense that she didn't. Why did it have to be her?
But Floodsplash wasn't going to die. For once, that wasn't mania whispering tempting tales of invulnerability. Billowhaze and Currentsmoke pressed against either side of her, baskets abandoned. Anchovystrike led them back toward camp. Floodsplash let herself stumble into her brothers.
It was tempting to call her own mind a battlefield, her condition a war. It certainly felt as deadly at times. Yet her brothers were not warriors at her side, and, as Sandhollow would soon tell Floodsplash while setting up a nest in the medicine den, she couldn't fight herself.
With her brothers' aid, all Floodsplash had to do was weather the floodwaters.
(Floodsplash: 35, female, warrior, cold, fire master)
(Currentsmoke: 35, male, caretaker, loving, good climber, inventor and innovator)
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.]
(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)
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.]
Icepaw and Pearbranch learn that Nimblestep has died. They are unsure how to feel.
[Image ID: Troutpool speaks with Icepaw and Pearbranch. Under her, it says + NEW SKILL: GOOD CLIMBER.]
"Caretakers and warriors can be called upon to sit guard over cats who could prove a danger to themselves or others," Icepaw explained, digging into his memories. "If someone is in the medicine den because of a condition of the mind, it's better to keep them around others than isolate them because… they heal better knowing they aren't alone."
"That sounds right to me!" Pearbranch chirped, resting her head on Midnightpaw's empty nest. "You'll be able to help a lot of mediator apprentices in the future!"
"I'm glad I don't have to do the work, though," Icepaw groaned. He rubbed his paws over his muzzle, chin resting on the exposed sandy floor of the apprentice's den. The Clan didn't have enough leather flooring after the Ocean's Assault to line the apprentice's den yet. Most of the camp was back to normal, with fresh materials forming the once wrecked roofs and debris cleaned out. Still, with Pearbranch enjoying her new nest by Puddlewhisper, Midnightpaw sleeping in the medicine den, and Valleypaw… well, the apprentice's den was pretty lonely.
At least Pearbranch was willing to keep him company so late in the night. The pair whispered in the quiet of the apprentice's den while the rest of RippleClan enjoyed the restored warrior's den. They could hear Rattlepelt working on crafts in the light of the central bonfire, tended by Asterblaze. Icepaw wondered if the pair were helping each other. He hoped so.
"Do you have another headache?" Pearbranch asked.
"Just tired," Icepaw muttered, moving his paws.
"You can practice in the morning if you want to sleep," Pearbranch hummed. She slowly got to her paws, but Icepaw smacked her down.
"Come on, we haven't been able to sit together since your ceremony," Icepaw huffed. "We haven't even…" Icepaw glanced out of the den, just in case Rattlepelt and Asterblaze were close enough to hear.
"We haven't seen Quickpaw since before the flood," Pearbranch finished Icepaw's thought.
"I should be practicing these lessons with her," Icepaw said.
"We—" Pearbranch said, but the sound of soft paws pushing against the sand choked out the conversation. Icepaw and Pearbranch's ears perked. Icepaw forgot it was the half-moon; the clerics were back from their meeting at StarClan's Shrine.
"If Burdockcreek thinks I should visit the human settlement," Estherfern sighed, entering camp with Gingerspring on her tail, "then I'll go to the human settlement."
"Let me come with you," Gingerspring chirped. "I can help you avoid the humans!"
"We'll see," Estherfern muttered, making her way to the medicine den. Weevilsight and Honeybuzz entered next, both quiet and lost in thought. Their gazes caught onto Icepaw and Pearbranch as they passed. Icepaw's neck prickled. When Troutpool entered camp, rather than following her fellow clerics to sleep, she drifted to the apprentice's den.
"I'm glad you two are awake," Troutpool sighed. "I was hoping to see you." Pearbranch sat at Icepaw's side, quiet and attentive, just like they were kits in the nursery, focused on their mother's gentle explanation of their past. Troutpool had the same strained look on her face as Puddlewhisper all those moons ago.
"What's wrong," Icepaw huffed. Troutpool's eyes searched for the best place to begin.
"SlugClan has been facing a yellowcough outbreak," Troutpool explained slowly. "I spoke with their cleric, Mushroomstripe, and she had some news you need to hear." Troutpool squirmed as she gathered her courage. "There's no easy way to say this, but Nimblestep caught yellowcough after the last Gathering. She passed away last night."
Huh. She was dead. Icepaw blinked. Should he… mourn? How should he react to something like that? Was Troutpool expecting something specific from him? She stared intently at Icepaw and Pearbranch, waiting. Waiting for what? Pearbranch's ears dipped. Should Icepaw act sad? He didn't really feel sad. He only saw Nimblestep at the few Gatherings he'd ever attended and… sat through what conversation he felt required to sit through. What was Icepaw feeling? What should he feel?
"Was it peaceful?" Pearbranch asked quietly.
"I'm not sure," Troutpool sighed, dipping her head. "I'm sorry. I can tell Paleseed about this in the morning, if you want to talk through this with someone."
"No thanks," Icepaw said. He realized that wasn't the appropriate thing to say when Troutpool blinked hard, unable to mask her surprise.
"If you're sure," Troutpool gulped. "I'm sorry you found out this way. Mushroomstripe also had a message from Quickpaw for you."
"How is she?" Pearbranch gulped, standing.
"Mushroomstripe just said that Quickpaw wants to see you," Troutpool sighed. "I'll make sure Oilstar takes you both to the next Gathering. Again, I'm so sorry I'm the one to tell you." Troutpool floundered for a moment, unsure what else she could say to the brother-sister pair. Eventually, she slunk after her fellow clerics, leaving Icepaw and Pearbranch softly illuminated by the bonfire a few fox-lengths away. Dread creeped into Icepaw's chest.
"You know what Quickpaw means by that," Icepaw muttered, catching Pearbranch's eyes. "Pearbranch, she's waiting for us."
"You know," Pearbranch gulped, "we don't have to crawl over the dirtplace wall anymore. I'm a historian now. I can leave whenever I want."
"And take an apprentice with you?" Icepaw chuckled, paws itching.
Nothing more had to be said. The pair hurried to the camp exit. Elmsprout sat guard outside and eyed Icepaw sharply when he appeared. Yet Pearbranch held her tail high and refused to hestitate. She escorted her brother around the night guard. As soon as their paws touched the crunchy autumn grass, their restless energy erupted.
Their blue eyes were wide and honed in on the glimmers of the half-moon through the shrouded sky. They did not watch their paws for twigs or leaves that had yet to fade to dust from the pressure of rain and life. There was nothing to hunt that night, and nothing to be hunted by. Only a destination and a pair of brown eyes waiting there.
"I hope she hasn't gone back to camp," Pearbranch gulped as the pungent smell of the WheatClan/AshClan border hit Icepaw's nose.
"She'll be there," Icepaw promised. After all, wouldn't Icepaw and Pearbranch wait until dawn if Puddlewhisper had passed? Icepaw slowed as they crossed the border. The scent of the RippleClan clerics still floated along the scent markers, a path of safe travel to the rest of the Clans. Icepaw took the lead and trailed along that scent path. Pearbranch's nose brushed his tail at times, a reminder that the night had not claimed her.
The conifers thickened and the grass grew greener, a sign of moisture perpetually clinging to the mud underneath. Icepaw forced himself not to cringe; it was worse than chunky sand sinking between his pads. How could Quickpaw stand it? Icepaw shoved the disgusting sensation deep into his thoughts, dragging up the most important questions of the night; was Quickpaw okay? Icepaw got his answer as he and Pearbranch arrived at their secret meeting place.
[Image ID: Icepaw and Peabranch sit next to Quickpaw. Quickpaw says, "I… could think about it."]
Now, it wasn't really "secret" by any means. It was just past the boundary of WheatClan, AshClan, and SlugClan; an old wolverine den, protected by roots as thick as Icepaw's legs. Although the wolverine had been gone for moons upon moons, its scent still clung to the mud, masking RippleClan scent from any who didn't expect to find it there. It was the perfect place for littermates to meet outside of Gatherings and pre-arranged meetings along the border. As Icepaw and Pearbranch pierced SlugClan territory, soft yet strained breathing tickled their ears.
"Quickpaw," Icepaw whispered as the wolverine den came into view. A brown muzzle shifted in the dim moon-light. The figure's breath hitched in a sob. Pearbranch dove into the wolverine den. She threw herself over Quickpaw as her SlugClan sister cried. Icepaw crawled in next to the pair.
"She died, Pear," Quickpaw whined. "She's gone."
"We heard, we heard," Pearbranch whispered. She licked Quickpaw's ears. "We're so sorry."
Icepaw was trained to teach others how to handle such displays of grief and empathy. He knew what a mediator was meant to do in such a situation; focus on the grieving cat, work through their emotions together. But Icepaw couldn't truly use the skills he was meant to teach. A wall formed around his words.
"I told her about our meetings," Quickpaw gulped. "She was so happy we were close. She didn't get to see that." A feeling Icepaw couldn't name squirmed into his head. In the end, Nimblestep left all three of them behind.
"Come with us," Icepaw huffed as Quickpaw cried. Quickpaw choked on her grief, staring wide-eyed at her brother.
"Icepaw, let her grieve," Pearbranch grumbled, grooming Quickpaw's neck.
"No, I mean it!" Icepaw scooted closer to Quickpaw. "You don't have any family left in SlugClan. You could see us all the time. RippleClan would love to have you. Slushtrail can help you finish training!" Quickpaw squirmed into herself.
"I don't like being a mediator," she whispered.
"You don't?" Pearbranch echoed. "But you're so good at it! You're so social."
"I don't like how cats need me," Quickpaw whined. "I don't… something bad will happen if I say the wrong thing. I hate it. I just wanted to see you two."
"So come home with us tonight!" Icepaw snapped. "Oilstar will take you in. You can be whatever you want!"
"She can't leave tonight," Pearbranch groaned. "SlugClan will think we kidnapped her!"
"I…" Quickpaw gulped, swallowing a sob, "could think about it." Icepaw and Pearbranch's tails perked up.
"I think you should think about it," Pearbranch said, rubbing against Quickpaw. "If you're lonely in SlugClan, though… we'll tell Oilstar to let you in."
"Can I just cry tonight, though?" Quickpaw whimpered. "Mom's gone. She's gone." Quickpaw pushed her head into Icepaw's shoulder. Icepaw rested his cheek against her. Pearbranch copied the gesture.
The orphans sat in the quiet of the wolverine den for as long as they could, soaking in grief over a mother they barely knew.
(Pearbranch: 11, female, historian, righteous, good hunter, good storyteller)
(Estherfern: 135, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)
(Gingerspring: 17, male, cleric, charismatic, human expert, good hunter)
(Troutpool: 62, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sight, good climber)
Mitespark announces she is expecting kits. She and Wolverineheart work on crafts together to celebrate their upcoming family.
[Image ID: Mitespark and Wolverineheart sit around a vole. Under Mitespark, it says + CONDITION: PREGNANT. Boughfur jokes with them, saying, "Be honest… you picked that handsome WheatClan mediator as your sire, didn't you?"]
(Mitespark: 43, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)
(Wolverineheart: 33, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)
(Boughfur: 33, female, historian, righteous, great climber)
Estherfern visits the human settlement with Brightreed.
[Image ID: Estherfern walks with Brightreed as tbhe latter says, "I don't know what to say to her." A black and white molly with yellow eyes follows them. Under her, it reads NEW PLAYER: VASCO, 12, FEMALE, LONESOME, GREAT KITSITTER, + CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH.]
---
Estherfern and Brightreed knew better than to spend much time in the human settlement. As StarClan directed, Estherfern brought the Witch Hunters a share of RippleClan's mullein. The smell in the streets made it apparent that Indigo was not the only cat hailing from the settlement to contract yellowcough. Even the few Witch Hunters that greeted the RippleClan cats seemed to choke down coughing fits and snatch the mullein like hungry dogs. Mother and son were quick to retreat to the forest.
"She's your mate, son," Estherfern sighed as the pair journeyed back to the Great Northern River. "If you're having these issues, why won't you talk to her about them?"
"It's just…" Brightreed groaned, staring at the bone-gray branches overhead. "Well, Ravenweaver always wants to work. She doesn't want to relax with our friends. And she's not even that good at her work! What am I supposed to tell her? I love you, but you shouldn't be an artisan?"
"Maybe leave that part out," Estherfern sighed, rolling her eyes. "It's an exaggeration. Ravenweaver is merely sloppy in her initial work. She cleans out the mistakes in time. If she feels as anxious socializing as you do, then perhaps you can start there."
"I fight through that, though," Brightreed huffed.
"I don't know what else you expect me to say about it," Estherfern tutted softly. "How's she supposed to know you're lonely if you don't tell her? Do you need me to arrange a talk with Slushtrail?"
"You know I don't want you interfering with that." Brightreed couldn't stop himself from curling his lip as he spoke. He swallowed hard when his words hit his mother, though. He coughed and turned his harsh eyes back to the dying path at his paws.
"You're right, you're right," Estherfern cooed, literally swallowing her pride with a deep breath. "I'll leave you to your woes, then."
"Estherfern!" The sound of the Great Northern River covered what awkwardness remained between mother and son. The cool mist flowing off the rapids soothed Estherfern's lungs, irritated in sympathy for the sick. On the other side, Anchovystrike and Halibutdusk waited beside a basket of tiny fish, each barely big enough to hold in one's mouth. Sandhollow collected fresh water in a bottle hanging around his neck. Late autumn wind pummeled the cats' ears.
"Did Wildclaw send a patrol for us?" Estherfern hummed as she stepped onto the drowned stepping stones.
"We were just fishing," Anchovystrike explained, nudging the basket. "We can dry out these fish to last through the winter!"
"I don't think I can eat fish for a while," Brightreed groaned, hesitating on the unclaimed side of the river. "My fur still reeks of stormwater." Estherfern bit back to the urge to point out that everything smelled like stormwater; they lived next to the ocean, for God's sake.
"Did you bring a Witch Hunter with you?" Halibutdusk muttered, whiskers rapidly twitching as they took in a shadowed scent. Estherfern opened her nose. The mist and fish hid whatever Halibutdusk smelled. Yet a moment later, Estherfern didn't need her nose. A loud cough from behind Brightreed shocked the golden warrior into the river. He scrambled to RippleClan's side as a black and white figure emerged from the same path Estherfern took home.
The molly was lanky, with silvery swirls over a black pelt. Tangles covered her white chest. Her bony legs shook as she approached the river. Her jaw quivered, fighting off another cough. Sandhollow let go of his bottle, watching the loner. Water splashed out of the unsealed bottle, wetting his chest. Yet before he could call out to the coughing molly, Anchovystrike dragged Sandhollow away from the river, dumping out what remained in the bottle.
"Anchovystrike!" Estherfern snapped as the silver-striped molly reached the riverbed. "She can barely stand. What threat does she pose?"
"What color are her eyes?" Anchovystrike hissed. He stood in front of Sandhollow and Estherfern, pupils blown wide.
"What?" Sandhollow gulped, blinking wildly. Panic shot up Estherfern's throat, invisible to her Clanmates. Memories of a black, vicious mass overwhelmed her vision.
"They're yellow," Estherfern muttered. Anchovystrike's stiff hackles lowered slightly, but he still guarded Estherfern and Sandhollow, gaze locked on the loner.
"What are you doing?" the silver-striped molly coughed. "I need help!"
"And we will," Anchovystrike called across the river. "Just not in the way you think. Stay right there, we'll be over in a moment." Anchovystrike turned to his Clanmates, face pulled tight, and whispered, "She's not possessed, but there is ichor on her paws. There's some sort of Dark Forest influence on her."
"Can you tell what it is?" Halibutdusk asked, sparing a glance at the infected molly.
"I haven't really encountered enough ichor to tell what the problem is," Anchovystrike scoffed with an awkward chuckle. "I'm going to have to pull it off and deal with whatever comes out."
"We'll help," Halibutdusk huffed, nudging Brightreed out of his stunned expression. The golden tom nodded along with the senior warrior.
"I overheard you!" the sick molly called. "When you saw my friends, you mentioned a cat named Indigo. They're my friend. Are they alive?"
"Indigo is alive," Estherfern called back, moving around Anchovystrike. "He's almost recovered from his yellowcough."
"I'm not important enough to earn any of the mullein you gave the Witch Hunters," the sick molly coughed. "I just need some for myself, and I'll go. I won't get you sick."
"We might be able to help more," Anchovystrike said. He approached the river's edge. "Just don't call me a witch while I do this, alright?" Anchovystrike followed the stepping stones to the coughing cat, Halibutdusk and Brightreed behind him.
"What's your name?" Sandhollow called as his Clanmates got closer to the newcomer.
"Vasco," the sick molly said. She eyed Anchovystrike as he approached. She tightened her jaw to suppress a cough, but nearly threw up with the intensity of it.
"We can bring you to our camp and help you, if you're willing," Anchovystrike explained, couching by Vasco's paw. "Before we can do that, I have to do something. Again, please don't fight me."
Anchovystrike snapped his fangs together just above Vasco's paw, his whiskers brushing her fur. Estherfern blinked, and the black ichor all of RippleClan so deeply feared could at last be seen. Ichor smeared each of Vasco's paws. A force like gravity pulled the ichor toward Anchovystrike's jaws. Black slime dripped onto the grass like spit. Anchovystrike's fangs pierced deep into the ichor like the scruff of an enemy warrior.
Vasco shrieked. She flailed back, her front paw smacking hard into Anchovystrike's chin. As she spun and whirled away, the ichor whipped off her body, sudden tension snapping back at Anchovystrike. The ichor smacked into his face like a soaked moss-ball. Anchovystrike hissed and peeled the big blob off. Slime smeared his lilac fur.
The ichor blob squirmed like dying prey. It writhed and bubbled, sending unwanted memories through Estherfern's mind. Sharp squeaks gurgled out of it. Features took form and color before a terrified audience. Pale pink ears. Black, soulless eyes. Matted gray fur. Slimy, worm-like tails, tied together, twisting into endless knots, leaving their owners trapped in perpetual panic.
The ichor had become a mass of snarling rats, conjoined together by their tails.
"Rat Leader!" Estherfern cried. Halibutdusk shoved Anchovystrike aside as the quivering swarm of rats scrambled toward the younger warrior like a spider. Halibutdusk grabbed the knot of tails, gagging at the touch. They reared their head back and slammed the Rat Leader into the stepping stones of the Great Northern River. The spirit's stomach-curling screech was soon overtaken by the gurgle of the river. Halibutdusk tossed the stunned horde along the river's current. The Rat Leader splashed into the deeper waters beyond. Its writhing form clawed at the water, but the weight of its own horror soon brought it below the surface. The Spirit of Shadow was gone as quickly as it appeared.
"What was that?" Vasco yowled, cowering at the base of a tree while Estherfern and Sandhollow joined their Clanmates. Halibutdusk lapped up the fresh river water like their life depended on it—because truthfully, it did.
"A Rat Leader," Estherfern growled. "A vicious spirit that infects whoever it comes across. One of many spirits to haunt the dead cursed to the Dark Forest."
"What sort of horrors does your faith contain?" Vasco gasped, hackles rising.
"I'm so sorry," Sandhollow gulped, softening his voice. "I don't know how a monster of Clan life could have attached itself to you. Spirits of Shadow aren't supposed to target those outside the Clans. I have good news, though." Vasco stopped shaking. Her ears remained stiff and her hackles raised, but she stayed where she was, yellow eyes locked into Sandhollow's blue gaze. "We owe you. If you're sick because of a Clan-made monster, the Clans owe it to you to help you recover." Vasco said nothing, thoughts swirling behind her unblinking stare.
"Am I going to get yellowcough?" Halibutdusk asked, gagging on their own tongue.
"Clean your mouth with salt water to be safe," Estherfern ordered. "Go, go! We'll take care of Vasco." Halibutdusk scrambled back to the safety of RippleClan territory. They followed the river toward the ocean, holding their tongue out the whole way.
"Thank you!" Anchovystrike called after them. He shuddered, rubbing his stained face in the grass. "That thing almost bit me."
"You're going to give me the herbs I need?" Vasco finally gulped.
"Better," Sandhollow promised. "We can take you to our camp and help you recover. Oilstar won't turn you away."
"Your friend Indigo is there, too," Brightreed awkwardly chirped, standing behind Sandhollow and peering over the cream-tinted tom's head. "You can check on him!" Vasco stood, slowly, hesitantly. She eyed the RippleClan cats, one by one.
"If you say you owe me," she finally gulped, "then show me. Take me to camp."
"Lean on me if you feel weak," Sandhollow said, sliding up to Vasco. "I'll help you over the river."
As the three RippleClan toms helped the young silver-striped molly across the river, Estherfern's gaze drifted through the trees, back toward the settlement hidden beyond. StarClan itself had requested Estherfern's presence there, and now she understood why. Vasco was certainly not the only Witch Hunter smeared in black ichor, coughing up yellow pleghm and choking on air.
The Dark Forest had gotten its claws into the Witch Hunters.
(Estherfern: 135, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)
(Brightreed: 33, male, warrior, righteous, student of art)
Now that Indigo has recovered from yellowcough, he asks to take on a proper name as a teacher of RippleClan and abandon his kittypet name. Oilstar decides to name him Chicorycough. They love the joke in their name.
[Image ID: Indigo, now named Chicorycough, stands tall and healthy. Under them, it says LEVEL UP! INDIGO → CHICORYCOUGH, - CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH.]
(Chicorycough: 41, half tom (he/they), teacher, playful, incredible runner, great teacher)
The Clan collectively celebrates Weedfoot as everyone finds a way to move on. Potterypool, Wolfgaze, Currentsmoke, and Yarrowclaw join their littermates in the warrior’s den.
[Image ID: Potterypool, Wolfgaze, Currentsmoke, and Yarrowclaw are adults and graduates. Under Potterypool, it says LEVEL UP! POTTERYPAW → POTTERYPOOL, INSECURE → SNEAKY, LOVES TO SING → GREAT SINGER. Under Wolfgaze, it says LEVEL UP! WOLFPAW → WOLFGAZE, CURIOUS ABOUT STARCLAN → CONNECTION WITH STARCLAN, CONFIDENT WITH WORDS → GOOD SPEAKER. Under Currentsmoke, it says LEVEL UP! CURRENTPAW → CURRENTSMOKE, CONSTANTLY CLIMBING → GOOD CLIMBER, HAS LOTS OF IDEAS → SKILLED TOOLSMITH. Under Yarrowclaw, it says LEVEL UP! YARROWPAW → YARROWCLAW, THOUGHTFUL → COLD, STARES AT FIRE → TALENTED FIRE-STARTER.]
"I'm still awake, I promise," Wolfgaze yelped, blinking wildly and shaking the exhaustion from her thick fur. Thank StarClan she didn't fall over. She'd claimed a spot on the Resting Place immediately after her ceremony, providing a great vantage over the camp. Yet the lulling waves behind her and the empty, clouded sky above were the perfect recipe for a long nap. Weevilpaw stood with her front paws on the log, her entire body standing straight with excitement.
"Downstar said I could fetch you," Weevilpaw chirped. "You made it! Your codekeeper's vigil! How did it feel?"
"Long," Wolfgaze yawned. She stumbled off the Resting Place, licking her lips. "Where are the others?" Potterypool, Currentsmoke, and Yarrowclaw had been sitting outside the camp the last time Wolfgaze looked. Now the entrance was barren, all thorns, brambles, and stones.
"They already fell back into camp," Weevilpaw chuckled. "Currentsmoke was so tired, I thought he would fall on his face!"
"I'm ready to see my graduation gift," Wolfgaze sighed as Weevilpaw rubbed against her. The tortoiseshell cleric helped her sister into camp, laughing as Wolfgaze's eyes drifted shut. With the sun peeking over the sea, Wolfgaze expected the Clan to set out for the day's patrols, but to her surprise, she found most of RippleClan gathered in the center of camp. Downstar sat on the Shiprock, gazing down at the activities below her. Potterypool, Currentsmoke, and Yarrowclaw stood at the edge of the crowd, trying to see what caught their kin's attention.
"What's going on?" Wolfgaze asked, morning clarity clearing her thoughts. She and Weevilpaw joined the newly graduated cats, who were all largely ignored by the rest of the Clan.
"The artisans are doing something," Yarrowclaw explained.
"I think it has something to do with that big chunk of wood they brought in last night," Currentsmoke pointed out. "Remember? Elmsprout and the artisans pulled the sled out and came back to camp with a huge piece!"
"It was a slow night, Currentsmoke," Potterypool hummed, gently nudging her friend. "I think she remembers." Wolfgaze did not, in fact, remember, but she pretended she did.
Wolfgaze braced herself and squeezed between Splashtuft and Wildclaw. She weaved around her Clanmates until she broke into the center of the circle. Mitespark, Elmsprout, Rabbitjoy, and Rattlepelt stood around a wooden sculpture. Ravenpaw sat near them, listening carefully as Rattlepelt explained what they were doing. They picked at the wood with their claws, their teeth, and a few specialized tools; sharp stone picks that could be wrapped around the paw with leather straps, perfect for detailed work on pottery and woodwork. Elmsprout was the first to notice Wolfgaze.
"Wolfgaze!" she called, gently stepping back from the sculpture. "You finished your vigil! Congratulations! Your sisters made your nest in the warrior's den. I'm certain you'll like their gift."
"What are you doing, though?" Wolfgaze asked.
"Oh, that's right, no one told you," Elmsprout gasped softly. "Mitespark, let her see!" Mitespark carefully pulled her carving pick from the wood's surface and moved to the side. It was a bust, a cat's face from the tip of their ears to their collarbone. They were a smooth-faced cat with round features, shaped almost like a triangle sitting on its tip.
"We debated whether to carve in her stripes or paint them," Rabbitjoy explained, "but I think we're going to paint them."
"Is this someone I'm supposed to recognize?" Wolfgaze asked.
"We carved it from memory," Mitespark admitted, "but imagine gray fur and deep blue eyes…"
"James and Scaleripple are making paint for her," Rattlepelt explained. "We told James he could rest and enjoy the finished product, but I guess he wanted to lend a paw for once."
"But why carve Weedfoot?" Wolfgaze asked, glancing at the crowd. "Why is everyone so excited?"
"A Clan's leader and deputy carry all of us on their backs," Rabbitjoy said, brushing against the newly named codekeeper. "They affect all of us, and we all grieve them when they pass. It's a part of our history fading away. The whole camp was up last night sharing memories of Weedfoot, and Paleseed came up with this idea. We're thinking of doing the same for future leaders and deputies after they pass."
"We'll find a place to store them where the paint won't decay," Rattlepelt promised.
"It will be lovely," Wolfgaze purred. A yawn slipped through her words, despite her efforts to hold it back.
"It will still be here when you wake up," Mitespark laughed. "Go to sleep!" Wolfgaze bowed her head, her exhaustion flooding back with Mitespark's simple order. She moved back through the crowd, who passed along a few more congratulations.
"Wolfgaze!" Billowhaze stepped out of the swarm just as Wolfgaze breached the horde. His whiskers twitched in casual mirth. "Anchovy and I are planning abig battle-training session with Estherfern's litter this evening. You should join us! With all the Spirits of Shadow out there, those five could practice against that stare of yours."
"I'm not sure," Wolfgaze gulped, her ears suddenly growing hot under Billowhaze's charming stare. "It might be too dangerous to leave camp just for a training session. With what happened to Silverpaw…" Silverpaw should have been sitting vigil with Wolfgaze that night. Wolfgaze shouldn't have had to spend those long moments wondering what happened to her sister, what Spirit of Shadow pulled her under, never to be seen again.
"That's why training will be good for them," Billowhaze insisted. "We can even bring Weevilpaw along if that makes you feel better. The Spirits of Shadow wouldn't match claws with our three star-blessed warriors, would they?" Billowhaze winked and turned back to Weedfoot's bust, trying to gaze upon the former deputy's face. Even through the chaos of recent moons and the overpowering desire to sleep, Wolfgaze still felt her heart flutter at Billowhaze's stare.
It seemed her life as a codekeeper was off to a good start.
(Weevilpaw: 13, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)
(Wolfgaze: 13, female, codekeeper, thoughtful, connection to StarClan, good speaker)
(Billowhaze: 13, male, historian, loyal, good kitsitter)
Boughpaw found a forget-me-not flower growing in the frost and decided to keep it.
[Image ID: Boughpaw now wears a forget-me-not flower. Under her, it reads + ACCESSORY: FORGET-ME-NOTS.]
(Boughpaw: 10, female, historian apprentice, righteous, constantly climbing)
While collecting samples of ichor for a banishing ritual with Estherfern, Anchovystrike, and Mosspounce, Foampaw swears she hears Shrewkit crying in the distance. When she and Mosspounce go to investigate, only Mosspounce returns alive with horrified tales of a manykit and a new spirit composed of frost-covered leaves.
Slushtrail knew, as soon as Downstar ordered everyone to stay in camp unless absolutely necessary, Longest Night would truly be a long, long night.
Three torches sat before the main bonfire, separate from the other memorials. A withered dandelion sat in front of the tallest. A silver stone necklace hung from the second. Salt crusted the base of the third, dipped in sea foam. It was a lot like the Longest Night Slushtrail remembered from her kithood. The artisans danced and sang, the historians told stories, the caretakers prepared a late night meal. The fire still roared against the never-ending night, a refusal to bow to the cold and decay. Slushtrail could tell, however, that it hurt some of her Clanmates to keep up the fight. Estherfern ranted to her remaining kits, relaying all she had learned in those last few moons about the Spirits of Shadow and their dangers. Mosspounce laughed a bit too loud at one of Lemmy's comments. Lavendertwist sang just loud enough to hurt Slushtrail's ears. Rattlepelt fought to keep Ravenpaw's attention, trying to demonstrate a special dance. RippleClan was clawing at the edge of a cliff, trying to pull themselves back up, unable to think anything but "it will be okay" when their hearts spoke the opposite.
Honeybuzz brushed his tail against Estherfern's shoulder mid-rant. She paused, and Slushtrail could see Estherfern's breath catch and fog around her. She touched her nose to each of her kits and followed Honeybuzz to the side, where Troutpool and Weevilpaw waited. Slushtrail couldn't hear them, but they sat close and carried torches in their eyes. Best to leave them be for now.
The rest of Slushtrail's family sat in front of the nursery. Tallowheart worked with Oilstripe on an old story; a great war between WheatClan and SlugClan and a friendship that healed their wounds. Carnationspeckle listened closely with Rattlepelt and Wildclaw while Shrewkit hid under Rattlepelt's fox pelt, shivering. With one more look over the rest of the Clan, Slushtrail joined her mothers and siblings.
"How do you like Longest Night, Shrewkit?" Slushtrail asked.
"I don't like the cold," he huffed, pulling his face under the fox pelt. "My mom's probably freezing her flank off tonight."
"I'm sure wherever your birth mother is," Carnationspeckle sighed, lifting the kit's cover away, "she's just happy you're growing up somewhere safe and warm. Can I warm you up?" Shrewkit nodded and crawled closer to his grandmother. Carnationspeckle licked Shrewkit's fur the wrong way, warming his blood.
"So can leaders really give cats whole new names?" Shrewkit asked, turning to Tallowheart and Oilstripe. "Like the warrior in your story?"
"I'm a living example of that!" Wildclaw chirped, gently bunting her son. "Have we told you I used to called Graythroat? Downstar gave me a new name because of how fiercely I defend RippleClan."
"More like because you have a death wish," Oilstripe chuckled. Tallowheart hid a snicker.
"I've outgrown it!" Wildclaw insisted with a laugh.
"Mostly," Rattlepelt hummed, rolling her eyes. Wildclaw batted her mate's muzzle, and Shrewkit laughed.
"Well I never want to lose my name," Shrewkit declared. "My mom named me Shrew, and that's who I'll be, forever. The kit part is extra." When he sat taller, he nearly head-butted Carnationspeckle's jaw into her skull.
(Tallowheart: 14, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)
Troutpool hopes Trumpetspore notices her.
[Image ID: Troutpool stares at Trumpetspore.]
---
Troutpool stared at Trumpetspore from the medicine den as Trumpetspore and Brightpaw showed Shrewkit how to perform a hunter's crouch. There wasn't a lot of room to practice, since almost everyone was in camp, safe under the divine protection Troutpool and her peers summoned. It was the same protective ritual they performed during Harvest Moon. The clerics could only pray it would guard the Clan long enough for them to strike back against the Spirits of Shadow. Yet despite her chronic fear of them, Trumpetspore proved more confident in Troutpool's rituals than the cream cleric was.
"Keep your flank a little lower," Trumpetspore said, nudging Shrewkit's high flank down. "You're doing well." Troutpool didn't care if others laughed at Trumpetspore's nervousness or groaned at her panic. There was a keen-eyed warrior under that blanket of anxiety; a warrior Troutpool wanted to know more. Troutpool's eyes softened as she watched the black warrior move with such ease between Shrewkit and Brightpaw, eager to train despite the danger.
"You're staring." Troutpool startled a bit. Scaleripple stood outside the den, expressionless. He held a paw to his chest. A large thorn jutted out from his pads.
"I was just marveling at how well Shrewkit's adapted to Clan life," Troutpool stammered with a lick of her chest. "Here, that thorn looks awful, I'll help you get it out." That was obviously why Scaleripple was there, why did Troutpool have to say it like that?
Troutpool led Scaleripple into the shadow of the den. She grabbed a few cobwebs from the shelves (no need to waste a bandage on a simple thorn). She held Scaleripple's paw out and gripped the thorn between her teeth.
"You were staring at Trumpetspore," Scaleripple said right as Troutpool ripped the thorn out of his paw. Scaleripple hissed and licked the fresh flowing blood. Troutpool moved his paw back down and placed cobwebs on the small wound.
"Stay here for a while, and keep your paw off the sand," Troutpool said. "I'll take the cobwebs off soon. A wound that size will close quickly." Troutpool licked a strand of cobweb off her paws. Scaleripple stared at her, barely blinking. Did he want to talk about Trumpetspore? Well, if he did, he could just ask. Troutpool had no reason to be embarrassed by it. "You know Trumpetspore well. If I were to ask her on a date—"
"No," Scaleripple said so suddenly that Troutpool once again startled. They both stared at each other, one confused, the other certain in an unknowable, detached way. No? What did Scaleripple mean by 'no'? He wasn't Trumpetspore's mentor. Troutpool didn't need his permission! She must not have been able to hide her thoughts as well as Scaleripple did, for the gold and white warrior continued. "You told Trumpetspore her littermate was an omen. Why would she be your mate?"
"Scaleripple," Troutpool huffed, finding what little confidence she possessed and hardening her voice. "I only reported StarClan's sign. I didn't want to make Tempestshade's life hard. I revealed it at their trial because I didn't want them to be found guilty of murder."
"Instead you made everyone avoid them," Scaleripple said. He glanced at his bandaged paw with a soft huff. He tore off the red-stained cobweb and spat the wad onto the middle of the floor. "So, no. You don't get to ask Trumpetspore on a date. You don't deserve that." Scaleripple licked his paw once more and walked out of the den. It didn't seem to matter that he left Troutpool spinning, a dormant pressure rising in her chest. No, Scaleripple sauntered back into the packed clearing like nothing had happened.
RippleClan prepares a ritual to fight back against the Spirit hordes.
[Image ID: Troutpool, Honeybuzz, and Weevilpaw stand in a circle around Estherfern. Anchovystrike, Wolfgaze, Oilstripe, and Scaleripple watch from the sides.]
---
In Estherfern's faith, there was her God, who did His best to watch over her home, but there were also the Six Predators. The Wolf, The Fox, The Owl, The Hawk, The Rat, The Cougar. These vengeful, vindictive deities loved to toy with catkind, so Estherfern's home developed a dozen ways to combat their influence. Somewhere in the back of her heart, Estherfern wondered if they were the ones who tormented the souls of the Dark Forest, who gave birth to the Spirits of Shadow. Maybe they were the ones to kill Foampaw. Maybe they were laughing somewhere, saying "Look at Esther. Stepping above her station, making friends with the damned. Shouldn't she have known better? It's so fun to watch her destroy her family."
That night, Estherfern would spit in the faces of the Six Predators, of the Spirits of Shadow, of everything supernatural that roamed her new home, because no one got away with hurting her kits. Not even her.
"Estherfern, we don't have to tell anyone," Honeybuzz whispered as the procession trailed toward the beach. Honeybuzz and Estherfern kept to the back of the group, carrying baskets of supplies. Troutpool walked inside a circle composed of Weevilpaw, Anchovystrike, and Wolfgaze. Oilstripe and Scaleripple kept a sharp eye for strange shadows, ready to fight and protect the untrained clerics.
"What sort of justice would that be?" Estherfern huffed.
"The sort that keeps the peace," Honeybuzz said.
"Peace built on lies is no peace at all," Estherfern sighed. "When this is done… we're telling the Clan. May your ancestors and my God forgive me." Estherfern stared at the clouded sky. If StarClan was as strong as her Clanmates claimed, their presence would not be dulled by simple clouds hiding Silverpelt from view.
As the patrol approached the beach, it began to snow. Flakes danced on Estherfern's nose. Wolfgaze rubbed her fluffy pelt against her sister's thin fur as Weevilpaw shivered. Honeybuzz ran into the thicker circle of cats, quietly begging for extra warmth. Estherfern soaked in the cold. The cold meant she was alive. She was free. It was this freedom she sought to protect ever since she escaped the cat-minded human. Yet in seeing her kits as imprisoned in their bodies, had she not denied them freedom? Whenever she spoke with Wolverinepaw, the long-furred duplicate of Estherfern still stared a bit too hard. Thunderpaw still didn't ask Estherfern to repeat herself if she didn't catch what she said. Brightpaw squirmed in Estherfern's company, and Boughpaw stayed silent, forgotten in her normalcy. The truth would be the only thing that could fix their bonds, even if it destroyed them in the process.
"This is the place," Troutpool finally said. The patrol stood where the river met the ocean, dissolving into branches. Sand melted into mud and clay. A salt pool sat in the sand, the artisan's precious system to separate out the water and harvest the pure white crystals. The sea was nothing more than churning shadow. Estherfern and Honeybuzz set their baskets down.
"StarClan is watching," Oilstripe whispered, head spinning. "There are so many cats. I see Mousesong, and Weedfoot, Silverpaw… Estherfern, Foampaw is here." Estherfern steadied herself. She swallowed the rock in her throat.
"This is for you, Silverpaw!" Wolfgaze called into the dark, still pressed against Weevilpaw.
"They aren't saying anything," Oilstripe said. "I think they're just bearing witness."
"Foampaw, forgive me," Estherfern whispered.
"Oilstripe, Anchovystrike, Wolfgaze, Scaleripple," Honeybuzz said, taking dry mushrooms out of his basket, "you'll patrol around us while we work. Anchovystrike, how do we look?"
"There's ichor everywhere," Anchovystrike groaned, sneering at the sand. "The spirits roam the entire territory."
"It shouldn't be hard to draw them in," Weevilpaw huffed, standing taller. "I'll call out if I predict any of them attacking."
"This will take some time, so stay alert," Honeybuzz said. "Weevilpaw, help me build this side of the circle. Troutpool, Estherfern, take the other half." Estherfern gently grabbed a mouthful of mushrooms, which grew damp in the snow, and started on her side of the circle.
The circle would be far bigger than the one in Estherfern's cursed den. Yes, it was similar to that original circle, composed of the same mushrooms that connected the living world to the Dark Forest. Yet here, the design was not based on those damned traditions, but Estherfern's faith. While the mushrooms formed the curves of the circle, rather than filling the interior with an herbal sludge, Estherfern's basket held a purer replacement; the spirit-rebelling charms from Harvest Moon. In Estherfern's home, the charms would have had the gentle face of God, with tufts of fur representing each of the Six Predators replacing the mushrooms.
"Is this safe?" Scaleripple asked. He sat in the branches of a chokecherry, carefully watching the shore.
"We're summoning Spirits of Shadow and sending them back to the Dark Forest," Weevilpaw scoffed as she set down a few more charms. "There's a lot of risk involved here. But it's what we have to do if we have any hope to get rid of them all."
"I don't mean the spirits," Scaleripple said softly. "These gods that Estherfern fears… are they real?"
"Of course they are," Estherfern snapped, almost knocking a mushroom out of its place. "They may not dwell over your lands, but they dwell over mine."
"What if we summon both the spirits…" Scaleripple said, "and your Predators?" Estherfern's paw clenched over a charm. Was the white-speckled warrior right? Estherfern knew so many tales of the Six Predators and the way they destroyed lives. They did not need to feed, they did not have that excuse for their mayhem. It was fun for them. They spread their domains with no care for each other or any living creature. Was Estherfern repeating her earlier mistakes? Was she, in her effort to fix one problem, inviting something far worse?
"Esther," Honeybuzz said. He met Estherfern's eyes from the other side of the circle. He set the last mushroom in its place. "It's our best option. There are too many." Estherfern nodded. She settled the last of her charms in the circle and turned to Troutpool. The head cleric nodded in return.
"Everyone, stay back, and stay quiet," Troutpool called as Estherfern stepped into the circle. "Honeybuzz, Weevilpaw, are you ready?"
"I'm not a very good singer," Weevilpaw chuckled. She rubbed snow out of her eyes and settled at the edge of the circle.
"You don't have to be," Estherfern said. "Just say the names clearly."
"I've never heard names like these," Troutpool muttered, tucking her tail over her paws.
"You wouldn't have," Estherfern said with a flick of an ear.
Weevilpaw, Honeybuzz, and Troutpool sat equal distance from one another, poised outside the circle. Scaleripple jumped out of the tree and joined Oilstripe. Wolfgaze and Anchovystrike lingered near Weevilpaw. Snow dusted the mushrooms and charms.
"The ichor isn't happy, I can already tell," Anchovystrike muttered. Wolfgaze put her tail to his muzzle.
"Predators of the Great Glowing Lands," Estherfern yowled into the snowy night. "We bind you to this place with your true names!" The four clerics closed their eyes. The song came naturally to Estherfern, embedded into her very being. It wasn't hard to teach it to her compatriots.
Luponthoth
Vulpo Thun
Strigart
But-oro
Rapendazera
Punai'kema
The gentle voices of the clerics rose through the snow in a soft, yet tense melody, like bird song. Estherfern dropped out of the song and opened her eyes. Oilstripe and Anchovystrike's hackles rose, their heads bouncing to sights only they could see.
As Honeybuzz, Troutpool, and Weevilpaw carried on the song, Estherfern yowled, "We know of your appetites! We know of your boredom! This land is filled with wicked spirits! We have formed their path to safety, and they'll think they can escape. Have fun!"
The cleric's song cut off as a violent gush of wind battered their voices, flinging snow into their eyes. Wolfgaze yowled, bracing herself against Anchovystrike. The leaves that decorated Oilstripe's pelt flew off. Estherfern's heart raced as the snow bit her nose. Yet a few moments later, the wind receded. Estherfern breathed deep. Scaleripple shook out his pelt while Honeybuzz shivered. The humming ocean made Estherfern's ears ring.
"Stay where you are," Estherfern warned her companions. Her fur spiked when a sudden realization washed over her. "Anchovystrike, close your eyes."
"Why?" Anchovystrike asked.
"Foxdung!" Weevilpaw suddenly cried, jumping with her back arched. "They're… from the forest! Watch out!"
"Anchovystrike," Estherfern yowled as something tumbled through the trees, "you see the unseen influence of the supernatural. If you see the Predators as they really are, you will go mad! Now close your eyes!" Anchovystrike obeyed just in time.
Terrified howls echoed through the forest. Black sludge dripped from the grass onto the sand. It tumbled faster and faster like a newly formed river, racing toward the circle. Oilstripe and Scaleripple scrambled back as the ichor slammed into the circle. It launched at Estherfern with a steaming, bubbling sound. Estherfern held her ground. The ichor plunged into the sand around her like a fox leaping into snow. It stained the sand black and burrowed deep, deep, deep.
Then the monsters came. They howled and shrieked and cauterwauled, running through the trees as fast as they could. There were darkhounds, thundering along with massive paws and bloody jaws, yipping like pups. There was forsaken prey, decayed and rotten yet moving and squealing just as they did in their final moments. Leatherwaste flopped and flew about, and something new, something without a proper name, some storm-spun bundle of dull brown leaves and glistening frost, slithered toward the circle.
"Stay down!" Weevilpaw yowled, belly dropping to the sand. All except Estherfern mimicked the cleric apprentice. The Spirits of Shadow raced alongside the trail of ichor and into the circle. They dug and clawed at the sand, following their lifeblood back into the depths. But they were the lucky ones.
Estherfern could not see them, but she could see their power unfold. Unseen talons snatched spirits by their backs and flung them into the sky. Eager, invisible jaws snapped and bit into the sticky flesh of the spirits. Something dragged unlucky spirits into the shadows, screaming. They sank into the earth before they reached the circle. They dissolved into steaming piles of ichor with torturous wails.
The world went white. The loudest, strongest clap of thunder Estherfern had ever heard reverberated through her skeleton and stayed singing in her ears. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear. Her skin buzzed. In a moment of clarity tucked within the chaos, Estherfern wondered if this is what her kits felt. A path without sight, without sound, heart pushing out of your chest, is a blessing compared to the fate that awaits the rot.
It took some time for Estherfern's vision to clear. She and her Clanmates were still standing, unharmed. The ichor and spirits were gone. There was no sign they had been there at all, save for a few mushrooms missing from the circle. The other cats groaned, rubbing their ears and eyes. They were alive. The spirits had left RippleClan.
Something drew Estherfern's gaze up. Clear shapes formed within the clouds, backed by a pale glow. Each cloud looked perfectly like its subject; a wolf, a fox, an owl, a hawk, a rat, and a cougar. Where their eyes would have been were balls of lightning, sparking and dancing, glaring down at the Clans in hunger.
The creatures of the glowing sky do not rule this land, but visitors cannot be denied. The stars shall extend their power, and the beasts shall fill their bellies. So it has been for you, so it shall be for all.
"Foampaw?" Estherfern gulped, barely capable of hearing herself.
"Can I open my eyes now?" Anchovystrike gulped. He still had his paws over his face.
"They're gone!" Weevilpaw cried. She ran into the circle and plowed into Estherfern. The old molly looked back to the clouds, but they were now a simple sheet of gray against black. Honeybuzz and Troutpool joined them, pressing against Estherfern.
"Is StarClan still watching over us?" Wolfgaze asked, hopping into the circle.
"They left when the ritual began," Oilstripe stammered, staring across the river, "but they've returned. They're watching from afar. I can't tell what they're thinking."
"They're on our side," Honeybuzz promised, waving the others into the circle. "I petitioned them myself at the last half-moon. We wouldn't have done this if StarClan disapproved."
"They may not have disapproved," Estherfern muttered, "but that does not mean they are proud."
"I think they are!" Troutpool chirped. "It was scary, but we've banished the spirits. We can walk our lands freely again. We wouldn't have saved the Clan without you, Estherfern." Troutpool nuzzled Estherfern, but the old molly still stared at the clouds.
"I don't understand you, StarClan," she whispered, not caring whether the cats pressed into her overheard. "You ask my God to send me here, you stand by while I summon your enemies, you allow me to draw the gaze of something far worse on your descendants. Why?" The stars shall extend their power… the voice in Estherfern's head had been as clear as when Foampaw last stood by Estherfern's side. Was it somehow better for the Clans to attract the attention of the Six Predators? Was it an earnest decision, made for the betterment of the five Clans? Did StarClan desire more power, more control, more souls?
Estherfern sighed. She would find no answers that night. She would be the one providing answers soon enough.
(Estherfern: 112, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)
(Honeybuzz: 26, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)
As Wildclaw moves on from grieving Clammask, she and Rattlepelt go for a walk together.
[Image ID: Rattlepelt and Wildclaw approach two black newborns. Under the leftmost kit, it reads NEW PLAYER: VALLEYKIT, 0, MALE, QUIET. Under the rightmost, smoky kit, it reads NEW PLAYER: MIDNIGHTKIT, 0, MALE, POLITE. Under Wildclaw, it reads - CONDITION: GRIEVING.]
Rattlepelt typically despised winter. The snow was beautiful, Longest Night was lovely, and she always purred when kits played in the snow. But her Clanmates had fur. They could handle the cold. The winter wind didn't sting their bodies and quickly numb their limbs. They could safely leave camp! Meanwhile, Rattlepelt stayed huddled in the artisan's den, tucked under extra leather pelts while she, Rabbitjoy, and Frostpaw fixed baskets.
The artisan's den was packed with supplies and tools; leather wraps for managing hot stoves, drums, dry ferns and grass for basket weaving, and more. All those supplies trapped heat within the rocks and brambles. There was just enough work for the three artisans to sit and do their work.
"Trust your claws," Rabbitjoy said as Frostpaw pulled twine through the stakes of her basket, weaving it back and forth. "Your claws are made to snag material like this. Let them hook the twine and treat it as an extension of your paw."
"My wrist keeps getting stuck," Frostpaw muttered. She tried to hook her paw around the next stake, but since she was repairing a hole in the side of the basket, her paw had little room to move. The twine kept slipping off Frostpaw's claws in her effort to pull it through without breaking the basket further.
"Repairing a basket is harder than weaving it from scratch," Rabbitjoy assured her. "Don't worry if you can't make it tight. Try your best."
"How do humans do this?" Frostpaw groaned as she finally pulled her thread back around.
"Malformed paws," Rattlepelt explained with a chuckle, tying off the broken base of her basket. She waved her paw, flexing her pads. "Their paws are flexible and good at crafts, but they barely feel a thing."
"They also don't have claws!" Gingerpaw suddenly stuck his big fluffy head into the aritsan's den, his maple seed necklace bouncing on his chest. Estherfern lingered behind him with a bundle of bark, but her apprentice was ignorant to his mentor's shoving. "They just have hard rocks on top of their paws!"
"Gingerpaw, go away!" Frostpaw whined. "We're working! Don't eavesdrop!" Estherfern finally knocked Gingerpaw away from the artisan's den and back to his chores. As Gingerpaw walked off, laughing, Frostpaw groaned and threw her paws over her ears. "I hate him sometimes!"
"He's just being silly," Rabbitjoy said, patting Frostpaw's back. Rattlepelt placed her repaired basket against the den wall. As she stretched her front legs, Wildclaw peeked into the den. Her amber eyes seemed brighter than they had in a few moons.
"Rattlepelt, come outside!" Wildclaw chirped. "It's finally a bit warm. I want to go on a walk."
"I should really help Rabbitjoy finish the basket repairs," Rattlepelt chuckled, snatching loose twine in her claws.
"You've been trapped in camp for ages," Rabbitjoy scoffed. "If it's warm, go outside! We only have one other basket to repair. Frostpaw and I can fix it." Rabbitjoy rolled the remnants of a broken basket toward her. Wildclaw kneaded the sand, eyes glowing. Rattlepelt purred. It was hard to resist that face.
"Let's go, then," Rattlepelt sighed, fixing her lavender-lined fox pelt onto her back. Frostpaw grumbled under her breath as she searched for fresh twine and Rattlepelt joined Wildclaw outside of the artisan's den.
Wildclaw was right; it was so unseasonably warm that the Clan didn't need a bonfire in the center of camp. Snow clung in piles along the dark and cool corners of the rocks and wood, but RippleClan could once again relax against the cool sand of their home. The land beyond camp was no longer white and brown, but a strange, gray-tinted mixture of tan and green. Though Rattlepelt's skin still danced under the soft chill, it was a pleasurable chill. It was a fool's spring, the sort that RippleClan would usually take full advantage of.
But RippleClan was not, in fact, taking advantage of the good weather. Instead, Wolfgaze, Weevilsight, Ravenweaver, and Trumpetspore hovered around the medicine den. They quietly shared tongues and muttered soft encouragement. Some of their friends and mates (Billowhaze, Anchovystrike, Brightreed, Scaleripple) comforted them, glancing into the shadows of the medicine den and quickly looking away.
"It's Mosspounce," Wildclaw sighed when she noticed her mate's confused look. "Honeybuzz just told his daughters. The infection is getting bad. They aren't sure how much longer he has."
"Should we visit?" Rattlepelt gulped.
"Later," Wildclaw quietly promised, heading for the camp exit. "The walk might give me time to think of what to say." Rattlepelt watched as Honeybuzz trailed out of the medicine den, merging into the small crowd. Trumpetspore scrambled into the medicine den as Honeybuzz spoke softly to Wolfgaze, Weevilsight, and Ravenweaver. Rattlepelt dipped her head, allowing her fox pelt to cover her eyes. She ignored the rest of the Clan and pressed into the false spring.
The birds hesistantly tested the warm weather, chirping their questions to one another, as though their fellow feathered friends could provide an answer. The mid-morning light offered the land a chance to stretch and feed itself before the explosion of frost and snow that would mark the remainder of the year. Twigs and branches, reminders of summer's rich foliage, rubbed against Rattlepelt's fox pelt. Her paws sank into the wet earth. Wildclaw strolled beside her, quiet, her ever-present guardian.
The silence stretched on for longer than Rattlepelt expected. The pair journeyed deeper into the forest, simply basking in the light. At one point, they spotted Tallowheart and Splashtuft, going over a few tales. Wildclaw raised her tail in greeting and passed them by. The two mates wandered over boulders and roots. All the while, Rattlepelt thought and thought and thought.
A twig snapped deep within the trees. Rattlepelt froze, eyes locking on the sound. A great buck stared at Rattlepelt and Wildclaw. Its magnificent crown of antlers snagged leaves that refused to fall from their trees despite the pressure of snow and time. Its brown coat blended into the forest. It flicked a round ear at Rattlepelt, blinking thoughtlessly.
"Wonder if it thinks you're a cat or a fox," Wildclaw hummed. The buck slowly lost interest in the two cats. It bent back down and chewed on a twig just beginning to bud, tricked by the heatwave. Rattlepelt took a deep breath. Her chest still hurt from the shock.
"We should go home," Rattlepelt suddenly said.
"What?" Wildclaw scoffed. "We're barely past mid-morning. Why turn back now?" Rattlepelt couldn't answer her mate. Did she even have an answer?
"Do you ever have a feeling that something bad is about to happen?" Rattlepelt asked. She jumped onto a large, mossy rock and spun in circles, trying to get comfortable among the limp leaves.
"Define 'something bad' for me," Wildclaw said. She joined Rattlepelt on top of the rock.
"We've had a lot of good in our lives lately," Rattlepelt groaned. "You've been a great mother to the toms."
"Now that I don't have a death wish anymore?" Wildclaw chuckled.
"You still get into some good scraps," Rattlepelt hummed, gently bunting her mate. "No, I just mean that even with… what happened with Lemmy, the two of us, we've been alright."
"Don't tell the rest of the Clan this," Wildclaw muttered, batting at the wet leaves under her, "but I get where Lemmy came from with killing Achilles and everything. It all spun out of control for her. I feel bad for her, even if she killed our Clanmates."
"It just makes me think," Rattlepelt groaned, "is it our turn next? When am I going to suffer some major loss again?"
"What do you mean?"
"When will tragedy strike the ones I love? Will one of my moms die? Will something happen to Shrewflame, or Whitepaw?" Rattlepelt pulled her fox pelt off. She was almost panting under its heat. "I feel like something's standing right behind me. Like I'm going to ruin everything."
"Is this about the Shardling? We keep telling you that wasn't your fault. It's not like you wanted to be possessed."
"It still happened, Wildclaw. It nearly broke me. Something's telling me that it will happen again. I know I sound crazy—"
"You don't sound crazy." Wildclaw leaned against Rattlepelt. "It's been a hard few moons. You've been stuck in camp. You're stressed. Why do you think I wanted to go on a walk with you?" Rattlepelt sighed. She forced the ripping, anxious itch in her chest out with her breath.
"You're right, you're right," Rattlepelt groaned.
"I always am," Wildclaw chirped.
"Don't gloat," Rattlepelt chuckled, shoving Wildclaw's muzzle down. Rattlepelt dragged her fox pelt back over her sensitive skin as a breeze made the bare branches dance. Rattlepelt could still smell the deer on the wind, but she smelled something else too, something pungent and stranger than any deer.
"Humans?" Wildclaw muttered, tasting the air. "Oh, those are definetely humans. Yuck." Wildclaw sneered at the smell.
"I hope they aren't setting more traps," Rattlepelt gulped. "Frostpaw almost stepped in one last moon!"
"Let's see if they are," Wildclaw suggested, hopping off the rock. "Keep low, alright?" Rattlepelt nodded. She and Wildclaw crept through the twigs and leaves, letting their noses lead them closer to where the WheatClan and AshClan borders met. As they pushed deeper into the forest, the humans soon became audible. There were two of them, with gangly meows that wavered in pitch. Rattlepelt kept low, the tail of her fox pelt dragging on the undergrowth. Wildclaw, nimble as ever, slipped silently closer to the noisy humans.
The two humans stomped around the corner of the three Clans. They were young from their size, with the tight-fitting leathers that typically marked males. Rattlepelt marveled at the leather's bright colors and strange patterns, unlike anything artisans could achieve. The smaller of the two held his front limbs close to his chest, keeping two small forms steady while his taller friend followed and yowled.
"I've never seen humans fight each other," Wildclaw muttered as the smaller human hissed at his companion. The black masses resting in the human's embrace shifted. Tiny mews broke through the human screeching. Rattlepelt held her breath when two sets of baby blue eyes peeled over the leather. The small human had two black kits!
The storyteller in Rattlepelt imagined what the humans could be doing. Were they yowling about the kits? Who were the kits? Did the humans take them from their mother? Did they even know their mother? Rattlepelt's anxieties slipped away, overshadowed by overwhelming curiosity focused on the strange unknowable creatures called humans.
The small human suddenly made a quick, snappy hiss at his companion. His strange eyes focused on the undergrowth… the undergrowth where Rattlepelt and Wildclaw lurked. The pair stayed utterly still, eyes locked on the smaller human. The small human slowly crouched, still staring at the two mollies. He made a soft, mouse-like chirp that drew all of Rattlepelt's attention. It made her stomach growl, as though she spotted a mouse shuffling through the leaves. Her ears turned straight on to the human. Rattlepelt caught herself before she slipped a paw out of her hiding spot. Whatever strange magic the human was wielding, Rattlepelt could not give in!
The human continued making that alluring sound as he carefully placed the two kittens on the ground. They couldn't have been more than half a moon old. The kits crawled on top of each other, stunned by the sudden lack of warmth. The human crept back like a hunter. He crouched at the side of a tree fox-lengths away from the kits.
"Is this some type of trap?" Rattlepelt asked.
"What kind of trap uses kits?" Wildclaw muttered. "I think… they want us to take the kits."
"I thought humans loved kittens."
"Maybe they don't want to take care of them."
"So they leave them in the forest? How cruel."
"But they aren't, they see us. I think they're looking for Clan cats." Did the humans know about the Clans? Did they know about RippleClan?
The tall human snapped at his smaller friend and grabbed his shoulder. The human spun and shoved him off, sneering. They yipped and growled at each other, with their mangled paws waving wildly at the kits. Rattlepelt steadied her jaw. She crept out of the undergrowth. The nose of her fox pelt touched the light first. Wildclaw snuck alongside her. The humans no longer noticed them.
Rattlepelt snatched the scruff of the bulkier kit, a tom with a slight smoky pattern across his pelt. Wildclaw grabbed his brother, who looked nearly identical. As soon as they had a good hold of the kits, Wildclaw and Rattlepelt ran. The two humans startled, finally aware of what the cats were up to, but they had no chance of catching them.
Rattlepelt and Wildclaw only slowed down when the ocean peeked between the trees. They skidded up to a sandy beach and dropped the kits. Both toms were shockingly quiet, merely huffing at the sudden stop and trying to get their bearings. Rattlepelt panted hard. Wildclaw groaned, stretching her hind legs.
"Well," Wildclaw huffed, "I think we found your bad feeling." She waved a paw at the kits.
"You know this isn't what I meant," Rattlepelt muttered. She sat beside the two black kits. Her fox pelt slipped off from all that running. The tail floated on top of the kittens' heads. The bulky tom's permanently unsheathed claws snagged one of the dried lavender petals woven into the fur. So much like Shrewflame.
"I don't know about you," Wildclaw hummed, slipping next to her mate, "but this feels like one of those moments StarClan designs just for us." Wildclaw dipped her paw in front of the smaller black tom, who instinctively crawled to it. He latched his tiny muzzle onto Wildclaw's toe. "The next step seems pretty clear to me. Ready to be a mom again, Rattle?"
(Wildclaw: 83, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)
(Midnightkit: 0, male, kit, polite)
(Valleykit: 0, male, kit, quiet)
Mosspounce died of an infected wound.
[Image ID: Ravenweaver, Trumpetspore, Washington, Wolfgaze, and Weevilsiht crowd around Mosspounce.]
---
"Lemmy better get here soon," Mosspounce muttered. His bandaged, sightless eyes gazed out of the medicine den. "She'll be… very upset if she misses this."
Mosspounce laid in the back of the medicine den, surrounded by his daughters and Trumpetspore. The other clerics all left the den, giving the family their privacy. Washington was still there, though; Mosspounce had insisted the old tom not leave. The glow of a yellow sunset dripped between the thin gaps in the wood, dappling Mosspounce's pelt. Trumpetspore practically laid in the nest with Mosspounce, curling around him. She whimpered as though he had already died. Whenever her voice rose to a cry, Weevilsight had to close her eyes and push back her sudden rage. She couldn't even think about her father. All she wanted was for her aunt to shut up.
When Mosspounce made his comment, Ravenweaver looked ready to join Trumpetspore in her pre-mature vigil. Wolfgaze's hazel eyes tightened. Weevilsight stuck her nose into Mosspounce's ear. For a moment, she was just a cleric again, checking on her sick patient. Mosspounce's ear burned.
"If she wanted to be here she wouldn't have…" Wolfgaze growled.
Wolfgaze bit her tongue, however, when Ravenweaver quietly snapped "She's still our mom, Wolf." Wolfgaze paced around the empty nests of the medicine den, keeping her supernatural gaze off her father. Ravenweaver crawled to the edge of Mosspounce's nest and rested her head by his sickly-smelling wounds. Her lavender crown fell onto Mosspounce's head. Mosspounce shifted just enough to nose Ravenweaver's forehead.
"Your old molly's just off hunting, Mossy," Washington suddenly coughed from his nest. "She's on her way." Mosspounce purred softly and groomed his daughter's head, unable to lift his own and properly share tongues. All the mollies in the den stared at the old gray tom.
"I don't know if we should lie to him, Washington," Wolfgaze muttered, squirming under Washington's wizened eye.
"He can't understand what's happening anymore," Weevilsight quietly explained. "He's too far gone."
"Don't say that, stop saying that," Trumpetspore whimpered. She buried her face in Mosspounce's back.
"It's happening, Trumpetspore!" Weevilsight suddenly hissed, the petals in her fur fluttering out as she turned to her grieving aunt. "And… and there's nothing else we can do for him." Weevilsight stepped back, forcing her sneer off her face as Trumpetspore wailed again. Trumpetspore clawed at the edge of Mosspounce's nest and shook so hard that Mosspounce moved as well. A painful buzz filled Weevilsight's chest and made her limbs ache. Her head burned with too many thoughts. There was nothing she could do. Not for Mosspounce, not for Lemmy. She was losing both of them in less than a moon.
"I'm not trying to intrude," Washington croaked, shaky paws pushing out from his nest, "but could you help me close to him?" Weevilsight took a while to move, even as Washington groaned under the simple yet mountainous effort of standing. Washington's groaning mixed with Trumpetspore's moans in a painful chorus that threatened to undo Weevilsight's remaining sanity. The tortoiseshell cleric slipped beside Washington and supported his large weight. With Weevilsight under him and his broken leg stiff and splinted at his side, Washington limped to Mosspounce's nest.
"You're a funny old flea-feast," Mosspounce whimpered as Washington fell next to him.
"I'm glad I could make you laugh," Washington purred, "even if we haven't known one another long." Washington set his paw against Mosspounce's shoulder. "I'm sorry to see you go. But this is a good death, in my eyes."
"A good death?" Wolfgaze huffed, marching in front of Washington. "What would be 'good' is if my father wasn't dying at all!"
"But he's dying with his family around him," Washington groaned, waving at the mollies crowded around Mosspounce. "That's more than many get."
"Hi again, Tempest," Mosspounce muttered, lifting his head slightly. "Have you met my mollies? They're good kits." Weevilsight's paws inched toward the exit. She needed to stay, she had to stay, yet her body pushed her outside. Still, she stayed long enough to catch her father's last words.
(Trumpetspore: 52, female, warrior, nervous, makes the best pottery, good storyteller)
(Weevilsight: 26, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)
(Wolfgaze: 26, female, codekeeper, thoughtful, connection to StarClan, great speaker)
(Ravenweaver: 26, female, artisan, den builder, very clever)
(Washington: 219, male, elder, nervous, good mediator)
Mitespark and Wolverineheart have grown closer over time, relying on one another through the recent chaos. They decide to become mates. Wolverineheart’s littermates celebrate with the pair.
[Image ID: Mitespark speaks with Wolverineheart while Boughfur, Thundergale, and Brightreed stand behind their sister in support. Under Mitespark, it says + MATE: WOLVERINEHEART. Under Wolverineheart, it says + MATE: MITESPARK.]
(Mitespark: 33, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)
(Wolverineheart: 23, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)
(Boughfur: 23, female, historian, righteous, great climber)
(Thundergale: 23, female, teacher, adventurous, great hunter, good speaker)
(Brightreed: 23, female, warrior, righteous, student of art)
Moontide and Cobaltchaser don't move in time to avoid a large fir tree falling right on top of them. A patrol doesn't find them until they've both moved on to StarClan.
[Image ID: Moontide and Cobaltchaser are both StarClan spirits. Moontide says, "We need to see our sisters."]
The third time’s the charm when Anchovystrike goes to see Weevilsight in the medicine den.
[Image ID: Anchovystrike approaches Weevilsight and Elmsprout from the back, calling "Weevil? Are you busy?" Under Anchovystrike, it says + MATE: WEEVILSIGHT. Under Weevilsight, it says + MATE: ANCHOVYSTRIKE.]
Anchovystrike placed the freshly caught mouse on the fresh-kill pile, loaded with prey for the caretakers to soon turn into the sunhigh meal. The back of his jaw twinged as he let go. He hissed softly and kept his mouth shut tight. Pain rippled from his jaw in beat with his heart. He glanced toward the medicine den, where Currentsmoke helped Yarrowclaw groom the deep wound on the back of her leg; the LynxClan thieves from the moon before landed a lucky blow on Yarrowclaw's ankle, leaving a wound so deep that Anchovystrike at first feared the clerics would have to take his sister's foot off. But Yarrowclaw was not the reason Anchovystrike hesitated by the fresh-kill pile, unable to stop looking into the medicine den.
Anchovystrike gasped as his tongue glanced over his aching tooth. Sharp pain clawed at his face. He certainly couldn't help Ravenweaver and Frostpaw with their self-defense training that afternoon if his jaw was acting like this. He just had to stop acting like a kit and go in.
Anchovystrike slipped through the crowded camp, where Mitespark entertained the younger cats with a story and Lavendertwist's little group of musicians (including Splashtuft, Brightreed, and Drumtooth) practiced a song. He prayed to the Celestial of Avoiding Awkward Encounters that the molly he dreaded to talk to wasn't inside the medicine den (and that there was, in fact, a Celestial of Avoiding Awkward Encounters). Still, Anchovystrike knew as he passed his littermates that he wouldn't be so lucky.
Elmsprout and Weevilsight were cleaning out Downstar's nest. No one felt comfortable touching it until a few days after the vigil, when Oilstar pointed out that Downstar wouldn't appreciate the smell of her own death polluting the medicine den. As such, Elmsprout and Weevilsight deconstructed the moss, leather, and feathers that formed Downstar's death-nest. They placed the moss and feathers into one basket, likely to be thrown away, and threw the leather into another for the caretakers to wash. Neither noticed Anchovystrike step inside. Oh StarClan, was he going to have to call himself out?
"Weevil?" Anchovystrike gulped. "Are you busy?" Elmsprout looked up first as Weevilsight moved another piece of leather.
"Hello, Anchovystrike," Elmsprout hummed. "If you give us a few moments, I can get out of your fur."
"It's nothing serious!" Anchovystrike insisted as Weevilsight turned to him. In his eyes, Weevilsight's pelt glistened like Silverpelt itself. Where it made Wolfgaze seem powerful and far more confident than she actually was, it just made Weevilsight all the more beautiful. Anchovystrike almost forgot why he came into the den until another ripple of pain erupted from his tooth. He flinched, hissing, "I think I have a toothache."
"Did it just start?" Weevilsight asked, abandoning her task.
"It started to hurt yesterday," Anchovystrike explained through gritted teeth. "I thought it would go away overnight, but it didn't. It's on the bottom left, far in the back." Anchovystrike opened his mouth wide. Weevilsight peered into his glistening jaws.
"Have you been using chew sticks?" Weevilsight asked.
"When I remember," Anchovystrike chuckled awkwardly as Weevilsight's nose nearly entered his mouth.
"Well they haven't been getting to the back of your mouth," Weevilsight huffed. "This time of year, I would give you speckled alder bark, but we haven't been able to get any from SlugClan with the recent tension. The best way to fix this is salt water. You're going to want to head to the coast and get a lot of water in your mouth, but don't drink it. Just let it sit there for a while and then spit it out. If you do that for a while, it can get all the gunk I see back there."
"Thanks," Anchovystrike purred, "but do you have anything for the pain?"
"I have some cow parsnip root," Weevilsight explained, moving to the medicine stores. "What we can do for initial treatment is hold the root on the tooth until the current bout of pain goes away. It's a better option than white cedar gum, but you'll need to sit with the root for a bit. Do you have the time?"
"I'll take as much time as I need for this," Anchovystrike groaned. He found an empty nest near the front of the den's larger patient area and took a seat.
"I can take the baskets out, Weevilsight," Elmsprout said, slipping the basket of dirty moss over her neck. "I'm going to take these materials to the garden, and I'll come back for the leather."
"Thanks, Elmsprout," Weevilsight said politely as Elmsprout left the den. Anchovystrike might have noticed the coy look in Elmsprout's eyes were he not distracted by the pain in his mouth.
A few moments later, Weevilsight had a long, pale tan root in her mouth. She passed the root to Anchovystrike, who quickly adjusted it to sit on his stabbing tooth. The root prevented any chance of Anchovystrike saying something mouse-brained again. He settled down as Weevilsight collected a few more dirty leathers from around the den and put them in the basket.
"I saw you playing with Midnightkit during the vigil," Weevilsight said, startling Anchovystrike. "I heard he's interested in being a warrior. Do you think you might want to mentor him?" Anchovystrike nodded. The young black tom had an odd sort of constantly-unaware charm about him that seemed ripe with potential. Besides, someone needed to keep him from disturbing Wildclaw in her grief. "Good. I think you two will work well together. So long as you don't avoid him for a whole moon." Weevilsight glared at Anchovystrike. Oh StarClan, Anchovystrike was in for it now.
Weevilsight sat by Anchovystrike in a huff, saying, "Yes, I know you've been avoiding me. That's why your tooth is bad, you haven't been getting any chew sticks from us! I'm not a kit, Anchovy, I can tell you don't know what to say to me." Anchovystrike stared at the root protruding from his mouth. "Really, who do you take me for? You're my best friend. I'm not mad that you asked me to be your mate. A lot's happened lately." Anchovystrike wanted to melt through the ground. "Stars forbid I want something to stay the same while my whole life is collapsing."
"Sorry," Anchovystrike said through the root.
"Don't be sorry for asking," Weevilsight snapped. "Be sorry that you ignored me. Don't tell me I can't be your friend if I'm not your mate."
"No!" Anchovystrike gasped. He nearly choked on his cow parsnip root.
"Can you just…" Weevilsight sighed, sinking to Anchovystrike's level, "not ignore me anymore? This feel like a mouse-brained thing to argue about." Anchovystrike enthusiatically nodded. "Good. Now I need to go see Thundergale, I'll be back in a little bit and we can check your tooth." Weevilsight licked Anchovystrike's ear and stood with a big stretch. Just as Anchovystrike laid his head back down and Weevilsight neared the exit, she paused. The tortoiseshell cleric turned around and said, "When your tooth's better, we can go out of camp for a bit if you want. In a… mate-like way."
Anchovystrike held back his yowl of victory until Weevilsight left. The whole camp still heard him, though.
(Weevilsight: 30, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)
Gingerpaw enthusiastically declares that Stormjump is expecting Honeybuzz’s kits.
[Image ID: Honeybuzz, Sandhollow, and Yellowburst gather around Stormjump. Yellowburst says, "Yes! Thundergale owes me five patrols!" Under Stormjump, it says + CONDITION: PREGNANT. Under Yellowburst, it says - CONDITION: BITE WOUND. In the foreground, Gingerpaw says to Estherfern, "See, Estherfern? I'm more than ready to graduate."]
(Yellowburst: 26, female, caretaker, adventurous, great mediator)
Oilstar fights with Ospreystar at the Gathering. When she hears Ospreystar’s reasoning for raiding crabs, Oilstar begins to wonder if RippleClan needs to better leverage their access to the coast.
[Image ID: RippleClan socializes in the distance while Oilstar and Ospreystar argue on the Leader's Stone. Ospreystar says, "No Clan owned the ocean until RippleClan came along."]
When Thundergale wakes up, she cannot hear the late spring birdsong. Her hearing is completely gone.
[Image ID: Sandhollow, Wolverineheart, and Mitespark surround Thundergale. They speak, but all their text bubbles say is "??????" Under Thundergale, it says LEVEL UP! PARTIAL HEARING LOSS → DEAF.]
(Thundergale: 27, female, teacher, adventurous, great hunter, good speaker)
(Wolverineheart: 27, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)
(Mitespark: 37, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)
Whiteflower becomes the Clan’s newest historian, although he seems more like a caretaker as he looks after the kits.
[Image ID: Shrewflame stands proudly behind Whiteflower, now in a long-furred sprite, as he talks with Midnightkit, Valleykit, Icekit, Pearkit, and Dovekit. Whiteflower says, "Whoever told you you have to outgrow games lied. Most of you may be apprentices next moon, but you can always play some mossball." Under Whiteflower, it says LEVEL UP! WHITEPAW → WHITEFLOWER, NERVOUS → FAITHFUL, ACTIVE IMAGINATION → GREAT KITSITTER.]
(Shrewflame: 19, male, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)
(Whiteflower: 12, male, historian, faithful, great kitsitter)
(Dovekit: 5, male, kit, impulsive, active imagination)
It’s all Icekit can do to huddle in the darkness of the medicine den with yet another headache.
[Image ID: Icekit huddles to the side, with + PERMANENT CONDITION: PERSISTENT HEADACHES under him. Pearkit talks to Troutpool in the back. Troutpool says "Remember to be quiet for him, alright?"]
---
Icekit had a headache. Again. Pearkit didn't know a lot about the world, but she knew cats didn't have this many headaches. Puddlewhisper must have known that too, as she was deep in conversation with Troutpool while Pearkit waited outside the medicine den. Now Pearkit wasn't supposed to necessarily hear everything the pair were talking about, but it was her brother in there! She deserved to know what was wrong with him! Wherever Icekit went, Pearkit went too. And so she sat in the evening glow, ears turned to the medicine den, waiting to hear what her mother wouldn't tell her.
"I've been counting, Troutpool," Puddlewhisper huffed. "He's had to go to the medicine den almost twelve times in three moons! That isn't normal."
"Well, everyone gets headaches," Troutpool said. She hesitated as she spoke, however.
"Headaches don't make you throw up," Puddlewhisper hissed. "He gets sick every other time he has to go in here."
"I know," Troutpool sighed. "I'm not trying to dismiss you. We just don't have any answers for you. We don't know why he gets these headaches."
"I do. You remember what happened when we brought him home."
"But he was fine then. I checked him over myself."
"Maybe it's something that develops with age. I shouldn't have doubted my gut. She caused this, Troutpool." Who were they talking about?
"It's up to you if we tell them now or not. But they need to know soon if they're going to make their decision." Decision? Pearkit's fur prickled. They certainly weren't talking about apprenticeship decisions. Pearkit had the sickening suspicion she knew what they wanted her to choose.
"I just don't know what to do," Puddlewhisper sighed. "They're my kits now, Troutpool. Maybe even more-so than Nimblestep."
"I know, I know. We should let Icekit sleep, though. Sleep is the best medicine for a headache." Oh StarClan, they were coming out! Pearkit ran back to the nursery. She tumbled into a sloppy loaf in front of the den as Puddlewhisper and Troutpool stepped out. She pretended to only just notice them as they headed for her. She prayed she was convincing. She didn't need to get in trouble so close to her apprenticeship!
"Icekit is going to sleep in the medicine den tonight," Puddlewhisper explained, running her tail over Pearkit's back. "He'll be back with us tomorrow. Let's go to sleep, alright?"
"I actually want to check on Icekit," Pearkit stammered as Puddlewhisper entered the nursery. "Just for a little bit! He seemed really miserable."
"Your brother's sleeping," Troutpool explained. "You both need to rest."
"How can I rest if I don't see him?" Pearkit huffed. Puddlewhisper peeked back out of the den.
"You can go see him, Pearkit," Puddlewhisper sighed. "If his head hurts too much, though, leave."
"I will," Pearkit said politely, already on her paws.
"Remember to be quiet for him, alright?" Troutpool asked. She waved her tail toward the medicine den, giving Pearkit full permission to see her brother. Pearkit ran past Troutpool and into the dark den.
Yarrowclaw was inside, nibbling at the bandage around her leg, but she seemed preoccupied with her task. Icekit's nest was far in the back, in the darkest corner the clerics could manage. Icekit's head hid under the moss and leather of his nest, blocking out painful light. Pearkit crept around Yarrowclaw and toward her brother.
"Icekit?" Pearkit whispered. "Are you awake?" Icekit groaned and shuffled out of his hidey-hole. The fuzzy fur around his face, only just moving into an adult coat, was scuffled and messy.
"I never fell asleep," Icekit whined. "My head hurts too much."
"I'm sorry," Pearkit said. "Troutpool says you'll feel better soon." Icekit bristled. His blood-shot eyes glared at nothing.
"She was talking with Mom," Icekit growled. "They said things we weren't supposed to know."
"I heard a bit of it," Pearkit whispered. She joined Icekit in his nest. "What sort of decision are they talking about?"
"They want us to choose where we live," Icekit huffed. "We can stay here with Mom or go to SlugClan with… our real mom. And Quickkit." Pearkit felt cold. She remembered cowering just a few tail-lengths away as SlugClan stormed the camp, determined to steal the two kits into unknown territory with unknown kin. She and Icekit heard the mediators whisper to each other about "visitation" and "the rights of the mother", but Pearkit barely understood it.
"What do you think Quickkit is like?" Pearkit wondered softly.
"Sandhollow called her 'spunky', whatever that means," Icekit grumbled. "Nimblestep probably treats her well." Icekit groaned, squeezing his eyes tight. He stuck his face back into the nest.
"Slushtrail told me Nimblestep was at the Gathering," Pearkit whispered, curling around her brother. "She asks about us a lot. She's probably very nice."
"Mom didn't tell us everything about how she found us," Icekit growled, voice muffled in the moss.
"Yes she did," Pearkit huffed, only half-believing herself. "Mom brought us home when Nimblestep ran off with Quickkit.
"But she could have taken all three of us!" Icekit pulled his head back into the light, even as he grimaced and groaned. "I heard them talk about it. Nimblestep didn't even touch you! She grabbed me and Quickkit. And then she dropped me! I hit my head on a tree root! That's why I have these headaches! Nimblestep did this to me!" Pearkit's thoughts faltered. That could happen?
"She didn't mean it," Pearkit finally managed to say. "Everyone says she loves us."
"She wouldn't have tried to steal us if she actually loved us," Icekit whimpered as though even his own voice caused him pain.
"I don't know," Pearkit gulped, barely breathing. "Maybe that's what moms do for kits. I want to know who Nimblestep and Quickkit are some day. Maybe they can tell us why Nimblestep saved Quickkit and…"
And not them. Pearkit couldn't make herself say that. She could barely imagine it. Puddlewhisper would die for them, she showed that when SlugClan invaded. She taught them about the warrior code, and what it meant to care for family and Clan alike. Pearkit could see that love reflected in the other mothers of RippleClan; Wildclaw, Elmsprout, even Darkkick! So if Nimblestep dropped Icekit, didn't go back for him, didn't even touch Pearkit… could they really be her kits?
"We can talk to her all we want at Gatherings," Icekit huffed. "I'm staying in RippleClan. I'm not leaving Mom."
"Then I'm not leaving either," Pearkit huffed, throwing herself on top of Icekit. Icekit hid his face while Pearkit relaxed on top of her brother. "We're both RippleClan cats, and that's it."
The pair would fall asleep like that, only discovered when Puddlewhisper tried to call Pearkit back to the nursery. She let the littermates be.
Weedfoot and James happily welcome their next (and last) litter into RippleClan.
[Image ID: Weedfoot and James watch over a red newborn and black newborn, with Weedfoot saying “I love them so much… but I’m not doing this to my body again.” Under her, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. Under the red kit, it says NEW PLAYER: LIGHTNINGKIT, 0, FEMALE, SELF-CONSCIOUS. Under the black kit, it says NEW PLAYER: COBALTKIT, 0, FEMALE, QUIET.]
(James: 146, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)
Tallowpaw and Slushpaw are apprenticed to Lavendertwist and Paleseed. Mitespark earns her name.
[Image ID: Tallowpaw and Slushpaw have their apprentice sprites, while Mitespark has her adult sprite in the middle. Under Tallowpaw, it says LEVEL UP! TALLOWKIT -> TALLOWPAW, SKITTISH -> NERVOUS. Under Mitespark, it says LEVEL UP! MITEPAW -> MITESPARK, INSECURE -> CHARISMATIC, QUICK TO MAKE PEACE -> GOOD MEDIATOR. Under Slushpaw, it says LEVEL UP! SLUSHKIT -> SLUSHPAW, POLITE -> WISE, + NEW SKILL: BATS AT STRING.]
(Tallowpaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, nervous, splashes in puddles)
(Mitespark: 12, female, artisan, charismatic, good mediator)
Rattlepelt glares at Littlekit and his littermates from across camp.
[Image ID: Rattlepelt stares at Stormkit, Sandkit, Littlekit, and Yellowkit. Under Stormkit, it says + NEW SKILL: LOVES TO EAT. Under Sandkit, it says + NEW SKILL: INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY. Under Littlekit, it says + NEW SKILL: SPLASHES IN PUDDLES. Under Yellowkit, it says + NEW SKILL: QUICK TO MAKE PEACE.]
---
Were Weevilkit and her sisters as cute as Waspdawn’s sons and daughters when they were that little? Sure, Weevilkit was still technically a kit, but she was practically an apprentice in her eyes, and Waspdawn’s litter was so… little!
Weevilkit, Wolfkit, and Anchovykit watched as Stormkit, Sandkit, Littlekit, and Yellowkit made piles of sand. Stormkit’s fur had darkened exceptionally fast in the last moon, leaving her a dark ginger molly standing out against her white and golden littermates. She sniffed and batted at her sand pile while Sandkit buried his face as deep as he could. Weevilkit couldn’t tell if Sandkit was white or an impossibly pale cream tom, but he did, in fact, look like the sand around him. Littlekit and Yellowkit worked together to build as big a sand pile as they could manage. It was about their height, but whenever Littlekit tried to put more sand on, the pile crumbled. Weevilkit couldn’t help laughing when they squealed in dismay.
The older kits were in charge of watching Waspdawn and Estherfern’s litters run around camp while the caretakers expanded the apprentice’s den, arguing about how to best move the large boulder that made the back wall. There was no chance of keeping Estherfern’s kits in once place; they were scattered around camp, investigating as much as they could. Thunderkit and Foamkit demanded to help the caretakers, much to Mosspounce’s woe. Brightkit and Wolverinekit sniffed around the warrior’s den, daring the other to enter. Weevilkit had no idea where Boughkit had run off to, but since no one was panicking, she didn’t worry.
Weevilkit, Wolfkit, and Anchovykit were the only kits taking their kitsitting duties seriously. Potterykit, Moonkit, and Vervainkit were talking with Tallowpaw and Slushpaw about what it was like to be apprentices. The other six kits were either denying the morning’s arrival or basking in the newfound spring warmth. Weevilkit and her friends knew better, though. The kits needed protection only they could provide. They stood watch a short ways from Waspdawn’s litter, sitting like little warriors at vigil.
“There she is,” Wolfkit whispered, nodding to the artisan’s storage den. Rattlepelt emerged from the darkness, the snout of her fox pelt the first thing to see the light. Weevilkit’s stomach flipped. Did no one else see the hate in Rattlepelt’s eyes? How had she not seen it before Anchovykit told her what he saw? How could she be the daughter of two of the Clan’s most beloved mollies?
“She’s just as creepy as usual,” Anchovykit muttered, sneering.
“What do you think she’s doing?” Weevilkit wondered.
“You’re the one who has premonitions,” Anchovykit huffed.
“I think she was testing some of the old baskets,” Wolfkit explained. “You have to take apart any that have faded too much.”
“Remember Tempestshade, though?” Anchovykit sighed. “They didn’t like being cursed either. Maybe Rattlepelt’s the same.”
“I don’t trust her,” Weevilkit huffed.
She was right not to. As Rattlepelt stood outside the storage den, her eyes settled on Littlekit, who tried balancing on his back paws. Stormkit jumped onto her little sand pile and howled like a wolf. Sandkit copied her, howling along.
“Yes, Littlestar!” Yellowkit cheered. Littlekit and Yellowkit charged at their brother and sister. They tackled the pair off their perches with dramatic battle cries.
All the while, Rattlepelt’s glare hardened. Her breath grew heavy. Her eyes were huge, unblinking, dilated so wide they seemed black rather than copper. Her snake-like tail curled behind her, wound tight and shaking.
The premonition began. A sparkling, transparent Rattlepelt launched out from where the real Rattlepelt stood. Her fox pelt tumbled to the sand. Rattlepelt’s sleek form charged into Stormkit, the red kitten’s future tumbling out of her real body. The ghostly Rattlepelt’s sharp fangs dug into Stormkit’s scruff. She lifted the kit, barely a moon old, high. She shook her head violently, like one might shake a rat to death. Future figures of the other three kits screamed in silence as Rattlepelt let go of Stormkit. Stormkit’s limp body flew into the stones and brambles that formed the camp wall. The premonitions had no voice, but Weevilkit could feel her denmate’s bones shatter at the impact. Her chunky body laid limp against the rocks.
Rattlepelt’s foggy form set against the other three kits as the adults, finally aware of the bloodshed, ran to the litter’s defense. A powerful blow there, a strong bite to the skull there, the kits were too small, too scared, they couldn’t get away, their ghostly blood splattered against the sand as all of RippleClan fought to pull Rattlepelt back, unheard caterwauls of bloodthirsty glee reverberating from her—
“No!” Weevilkit screeched before the premonition could end. She ran at Rattlepelt as fast as her untrained paws could carry her. Wolfkit and Anchovykit scrambled to catch up, the imprisoned energy of an entire moon of careful watch released. Rattlepelt took a step forward, claws out. Before the awful vision could unfold any further, Weevilkit launched into Rattlepelt and dug her teeth into the artisan’s bony shoulder.
Rattlepelt yowled as Anchovykit head-butted her side, making her stumble into Wolfkit. Wolfkit flung her paws wildly, reckless claws trying to cling to thin skin. Weevilkit dug deeper and deeper into Rattlepelt’s shoulder until she tasted blood. The sharp, salty taste suddenly reminded her of Rattlepelt and Carnationspeckle, showing Weevilkit and her sisters a pot of hard-to-produce salt, allowing them each a taste. Where did that Rattlepelt go? What sort of curse could bury her passion and fire under so much anger?
“You mangy, flea-bitten piles of bear-shit!” Rattlepelt screeched. She flailed wildly under the three young bodies. Her fox pelt fell over Wolfkit. Weevilkit slid off Rattlepelt’s sleek shoulder, but latched back onto her front paw, preventing her from swiping at Wolfkit. Anchovykit grabbed her other front leg. Something black pooled under his fangs.
Panicked and outraged yowls filled the camp as the adults finally realized their furless artisan friend was under attack. Downstar appeared from the nursery, where she had been meeting with Weedfoot as she rested from kitting. Downstar grabbed Anchovykit and pulled him off Rattlepelt. The black substance vanished as soon as Anchovykit’s jaws unclenched, leaving another bite-wound. Mosspounce dragged Wolfkit away, trapping her in the fox pelt. Someone grabbed Weevilkit by the scruff.
“No!” she cried as the figure wrenched her off Rattlepelt. “I won’t let you hurt them! They’re so small! Why would you do that? You’re a monster! You’re a monster! You can’t hurt them!” Weevilkit’s captor, Waspdawn, dropped her in the sand beside Anchovykit and Wolfkit. Half the Clan gathered around them, yowling and gasping at the blood on Rattlepelt’s gray skin. Waspdawn hissed at her like an enemy warrior. Weevilkit gagged at the blood in her mouth.
“Who attacked who?” Rattlepelt spat as Wildclaw shoved through the crowd. She sniffed her mate’s wounds.
“What were you thinking?” she growled, lips curled, glaring at the three kits. Wildclaw licked the deep bite on Rattlepelt’s shoulder.
“Just take me to Troutpool,” Rattlepelt snapped, pulling her shoulder away. She marched toward the medicine den, fox pelt abandoned. No one dared stand in her way. Wildclaw ran after her, shooting claws from her eyes toward Anchovykit, Weevilkit, and Wolfkit.
“You three,” Waspdawn hissed, short tail thrashing. “Walk. That way. Now.” He shoved Anchovykit toward the dirt-place path. Weevilkit and Wolfkit hurried alongside their friend, braving the shocked stares of the Clan as Waspdawn escorted them to their doom.
“I’m not doubting you acted for a good reason,” Wolfkit whispered, voice shaky, “but what did you see?” There were no words in Weevilkit’s mouth; only blood and the memory of cat flesh.
Waspdawn herded the three kits around the shipwreck and into the quarantine den. Anchovykit puffed himself up under Waspdawn’s furious gray glare, matching the codekeeper’s expression. Weevilkit could still hear the Clan yowling and debating what had unfolded, yet lacking answers. Downstar herself appeared around the corner, emotions hidden under a sharp and studious gaze.
“Explain yourselves, right now,” Waspdawn growled, unafraid to show his claws. The kits said nothing. Anchovykit and Wolfkit glanced at Weevilkit. “This isn’t a game! You just attacked a Clanmate, and I want to know why!”
Why? Why? What could Weevilkit say? Had she not acted, Waspdawn would be mourning at least one of his cute little kittens. He should be thanking Weevilkit for saving their lives!
“Weevilkit, what were you yowling about?” Downstar asked, her voice far more controlled than the golden codekeeper’s.
Flesh. Cat flesh, bleeding into her mouth. It was so wrong. Not in a supernatural sense, but… was that what warriors did? Bite into the flesh of other cats as easily as they would prey? Would Weevilkit have to do that again if she hoped to protect her friends, her family?
“Weevilkit, say something,” Wolfkit begged.
“Wait a moment!” Honeybuzz hurried into the den with something long dangling on his back. Weevilkit broke out of her stupor when she realized Honeybuzz was carrying a dead snake.
“Honeybuzz, shouldn’t you be helping Rattlepelt?” Downstar asked as Honeybuzz set down the snake.
“And what is that?” Waspdawn huffed. He nudged the snake.
“Carnationspeckle caught this rattlesnake before it could bite a member of her patrol yesterday,” Honeybuzz explained. “It’s the only venomous snake that lives near the Clans.” Weevilkit peered at the dead beast. Its gray scales were so much like Rattlepelt’s skin…. “I’ve been wondering if it was an omen related to Rattlepelt. I was going to speak to her this morning, but you three needed to see her more, it seems.”
“Weevilkit had a good reason!” Anchovykit yowled, standing in front of his friends.
“Then why won’t she tell us?” Waspdawn hissed. “And why did you two join her?” Wolfkit stared at her paws. Honeybuzz gently nudged Anchovykit aside. With Weevilkit being small for her age, and Honeybuzz being one of the lankiest cats she knew, the cleric loomed over her like a giant pine. Yet he crouched, lowering himself to Weevilkit’s level.
“Weevilkit,” Honeybuzz said softly, “you can tell me why you attacked Rattlepelt. Whatever the reason was, I’ll listen. I know you. You’re cocky, but not vicious. Anchovykit and Wolfkit listened to you for a reason. What was it?”
“She…” Weevilkit gulped. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth, bleeding and smooth like Rattlepelt’s flesh. She couldn’t stop tasting blood. “Rattlepelt’s cursed. She was going to hurt them. They’re so little, Honeybuzz! What have they done to hurt her? They’re innocent!” StarClan, Weevilkit’s voice couldn’t break now! She was the leader of this strange trio, she had to be strong! She couldn’t cry in front of Honeybuzz, in front of Downstar! “She was so cruel. I couldn’t let her kill them.” Honeybuzz nodded along while Waspdawn’s tail thrashed derisively.
“Who do you think she was going to hurt?” Waspdawn huffed.
“Your kits!” Weevilkit cried, gagging on her tongue. “She was going to kill Stormkit. It was awful, Honeybuzz! It was awful!” She couldn’t stop shaking, no matter how much she wanted to. Anchovykit growled, his warrior’s courage burning brighter at the reason for his first battle. Wolfkit stared at Weevilkit and Waspdawn, horrified. Waspdawn curled his puffed-up tail close to himself, holding tight to his confidence posturing, even as it cracked.
“How can you know that?” Downstar asked, creeping closer.
“Because she sees the future!” Anchovykit snapped, his whole body turning into one giant puffball, standing strong under the hard looks of the adults. “She saw it happen, and she stopped it! And she’s right! Rattlepelt is cursed! There’s ichor all over her and only I can see it! I swear it’s real! And Wolfkit, she’s special too! Show them, Wolfkit!” Wolfkit flinched at her name.
“I don’t want to get in more trouble,” she gulped.
“Wolfkit,” Downstar huffed, the caution in her tone vanishing. “Show us.”
“Like we practiced, Wolfie,” Weevilkit managed to say, swallowing hard through her fear. Wolfkit nodded, head barely moving. She stared at Waspdawn with as confident a stare as the scared fuzzy molly could muster. Waspdawn’s tense shoulders froze. He paused mid-breath. The sudden absence of his heavy breathing shocked everyone in the den. Downstar and Honeybuzz gawked at Waspdawn. Downstar waved her tail in front of Waspdawn’s face, but he did not react. Honeybuzz put his paw on Waspdawn’s side, and still he did not move.
“Wolfkit can freeze you in place!” Anchovykit explained. Wolfkit blinked hard. Waspdawn snapped back to life, jumping at Honeybuzz’s sudden touch. “We’re all special, and we’ve been making sure Rattlepelt’s curse doesn’t hurt anyone!”
“This sounds like something from an ancient story,” Downstar muttered as Waspdawn fought to collect himself.
“I believe you,” Honeybuzz said.
“What?” Weevilkit gasped. The horror gripping her throat slipped away. Her heart still burned, but she could breath.
“I believe you three,” Honeybuzz said, nodding and turning to Downstar. “Downstar, do you remember the prophecy I received a few moons ago, the one I brought up to Estherfern after her arrival? It was about blessings and curses. Estherfern theorized it was about StarClan and the Dark Forest, and I think she’s partially right. I think these kits are the blessings from that prophecy.”
“That can’t be true,” Waspdawn muttered, but he no longer sounded confident in himself.
“We have stories of strange abilities in our history,” Honeybuzz pointed out. “If the historians tell those tales, they have to have happened. The other clerics might know more about it, but I believe StarClan wanted to make sure I help these kits.” He believed them. He believed them!
“Say this is true,” Downstar huffed, closing her eyes and collecting herself. “We’ve been ignoring something else the kits have been saying. Anchovykit, how do you know Rattlepelt is cursed?”
“I see curses,” Anchovykit explained. “Well, I think. I also see blessings too, maybe. Oilstripe’s eyes glow, and Weevilkit and Wolfkit, there’s this little shine to their pelts. Other things glow too, like the medicine den and the clerics, but not always. I think it’s when you’re doing rituals or something.” Weevilkit didn’t know she glowed! The world must look so pretty from Anchovykit’s eyes. “Rattlepelt is different. She has this black mud all over her legs, and it never stops flowing! Her eyes look weird to me too. I know they’re supposed to be copper, but to me, they look bright yellow.” Downstar froze, but not because of Wolfkit’s gaze.
“Yellow eyes?” Downstar gulped.
“It was different from when I saw Tempestshade in my dream,” Anchovykit said. “Oh, uh, I saw them too. It’s how I learned what it is I see!”
“Honeybuzz,” Downstar gulped, ears and whiskers flattening. “The Shardling.” Honeybuzz cocked his head for a moment, confused. Then his expression mirrored Downstar’s, tail tucked and back arched. Waspdawn backed out of the den.
“What’s a Shardling?” Wolfkit hesitantly asked. Downstar took a shaky breath.
“Has anyone told you three about the Rippling Ashes?” she asked. “It happened shortly before you were born. Weedfoot, Darkkick, and Paleseed entered the Dark Forest to fight Autumnstar, who had cursed all of AshClan. Weedfoot destroyed his spirit in the battle. When a Dark Forest spirit dies, they break apart into monsters called Shardlings. They house small elements of emotion and memory leftover from the former spirit. One of Autumnstar’s Shardlings attacked Weedfoot and gave her that scar on her leg.”
“Rattlepelt was right next to her when that happened,” Waspdawn gulped, claws digging into the sand outside. “She was wrapping her wounds.”
“So the Shardling cursed her?” Weevilkit guessed.
“We don’t think Rattlepelt is cursed, Weevilkit,” Honeybuzz said, fighting his own fear to speak. “We think she’s possessed.”
“Like a ghost?” Wolfkit yelped, sticking close to Weevilkit.
“That’s why her mood has changed so much,” Downstar gasped, shaking her head. “StarClan, I… I would never have known. Autumnstar had yellow eyes. Anchovykit, you’re seeing the Shardling’s eyes when you look at Rattlepelt.”
“Cursed, possessed, I want to stop it,” Anchovykit snapped. “If you believe us, can you help us hold her down?”
“What would that do?” Waspdawn asked.
“I thought I said it already,” Anchovykit said, lifting his chin high. “I don’t just see curses. I can remove them, too.”
(Weevilkit: 5, female, kit, bullying, curious about StarClan)
(Wolfkit: 5, female, kit, polite, curious about StarClan, confident with words)
(Anchovykit: 5, male, kit, charming, curious about StarClan)
(Stormkit: 1, female, kit, noisy, loves to eat)
(Sandkit: 1, male, kit, self-conscious, interested in Clan history)
(Littlekit: 1, male, kit, skittish, splashes in puddles)
(Yellowkit: 1, female, kit, noisy, quick to make peace)
