Moon 23-25: More kittens, plus Enokiscratch being a new mother and Bi-disaster, we stay winning (minus icicles death, I was actually pretty upset with that)
Being the youngest of her litter, Sandpaw loved lingering around the nursery. The kits—especially Pantherkit—looked at her like she was already a warrior, not the baby of her family. She loved her sisters and her clan, but she hated being coddled. Kit-sitting gave her a chance to flip the roles. At first she volunteered. Soon enough, she was just assigned it by default.
And she liked it that way. Nothing felt better than teaching someone smaller than her.
“So historians learn which clouds mean a storm, and which mean fog or rain,” she explained, lifting her paw to the horizon.
The group sat at the southernmost edge of camp, where the waves pushed up to the sand. Shadowdive lounged nearby on the log that formed Wolfstar’s den entrance, keeping half an eye on them in case a rogue wave reached too far.
“This is boring,” Pantherkit muttered, chin on his paws, though his sharp eyes followed every word. “Teach us something cool.”
Leopardkit sat up, grinning. “Yeah! Show us fighting moves!”
Briarkit grimaced, glancing away.
Sandpaw hesitated. Normally she’d indulge the pair, show them crouches or sparring stances. But she knew Briarkit hated that. “How about a story instead?”
Leopardkit perked up. “The carer and the adder!”
Pantherkit scoffed. “No. The clay dog.”
Sandpaw wrinkled her nose. Those were violent tales, the sort that wound the kits up—exactly what Snowspeckle had asked her to avoid. She sifted through her memory for something gentler.
“How about the dragonfly and the honeybee?” she offered.
Briarkit’s ears pricked. “I haven’t heard that one before.”
“Me neither,” Leopardkit added suspiciously. “Is it real, or did you make it up?”
Sandpaw laughed, brushing her tail across Leopardkit’s back. “It’s as real as any tale. I heard it at the last gathering.”
That sealed it. All three kits settled in a half-circle, the waves murmuring in the background.
“There once was a pair of odd friends. A dragonfly and a honeybee who lived in the same flower field.” She began. “The honeybee was humble and diligent, she spent all spring and summer working hard to gather food for her hive alongside her many many hive mates.
The dragonfly however was lazy and carefree, he’d often call out to the honeybee as she flew by on busy days.
‘Oh Honey! Oh Honey!’ He’d call. ‘What’s the rush, Honey. We’ve got plenty of flowers and food.’
The honeybee would sometimes pause her work, if only for a moment.
‘You may think so,’ She’d say. ‘But after the green leaf comes the leaf bare. And then what’ll you do, little layabout?’
The dragonfly would laugh and laugh, reclining on a flower petal as he watched her work.
Each day he’d call out to her, trying to tempt her into his lackadaisical activities.
‘Come dance on the petals with me, Honey.’
‘Come drink from the dewdrops with me, Honey’
‘Come walk in the shade with me, Honey’
And each time, all season, she’d tell him no. She’d insist if the sun was up then she must work, and when the sun is down she must rest.
Slowly the days began to cool, yet even as leaf fall took hold and the leaves turned brown, the dragonfly still insisted on relaxing.
The honeybee stopped more and more as the cold took over, to warn her shiftless friend.
‘Oh, Honey! Oh, Honey!’ He’d cry out in victory, as if he’d convinced her. ‘Have you finally a moment to spare? Have you finally come to dance in the falling leaves with me?’
‘No, my little layabout,’ She’d say. ‘I’m here to urge you, for your own sake, to gather your food for the upcoming leaf bare.’
‘You worry too much, Honey.’ He’d laugh, even as his breath fogged in the morning chill. ‘I will be as I always am.’
The honeybee would insist every day for the dragonfly to prepare, but he never listened.
Then one day, the dragonfly woke to a cold and freezing morning. Snow had fallen over night and the dry leaf the once shaded him was now shriveled up and gone. The dragonfly shivered and shook, teeth chattering as he climbed out of the snow.
The world was quiet and dreary all around him, not another soul to be seen as far as the field stretched. With panic the dragonfly flew to the honeybee’s hive, shaking the whole way.
At the hive he called and called until finally the honeybee came out, her family watching from afar.
‘Oh, Honey! OH, Honey!’ The dragonfly cried, falling to the ground. ‘What’s happened to the world, it’s cold and dark and there not a drop of food to be found!’
‘I told you,’ The honeybee said. ‘I told you leaf bare was coming and you’d ought to be ready. But you wanted to frolick and play.’
‘Oh, Honey please!’ He cried. ‘Please help me, Honey! I’m so cold and hungry! Can I have some food please?’
‘I can’t give you any, my family and I worked hard to prepare for leaf bare,’ She said. ‘To give you food would mean taking it away from them.’
‘But please, Honey.’ He wailed. ‘You can’t just leave me to die, won’t you help your friend?’
But the honeybee’s resolve was strong.
‘I tried to help you,’ She said firmly. ‘I warned you to prepare and told you what would happen if you didn’t. Now you must live with those choices.’
The honeybee had had enough, she left him, crouched in the snow, to return to her hive.
‘You would do this to your friend?’ The dragonfly called out cruelly as she left.
‘I’m sorry my little layabout!’ She called from the entrance. ‘Perhaps your dancing will keep you warm these cold nights.’
The end.”
Briarkit purred as the story finished, blinking fondly at the apprentice.
“That’s a very good story, Sandpaw.”
Snowspeckle’s voice made Sandpaw jump. The deputy stepped from around the corner, eyes warm.
Sandpaw ducked her head, tail flicking. “Thank you, Yaow.”
Turning to the kits—lounging calmer now, though still buzzing with questions—Snowspeckle said, “It’s nearly sunhigh. Time for a nap.”
Leopardkit bounded up with a cheer, Pantherkit right on her heels.
“Who wants to tell me what they think the story means?” Snowspeckle asked as she herded them toward camp, amused whiskers twitching as each gave an answer.
Sandpaw slowed to nudge Briarkit, who lagged behind. “Come on, kit.”
The little dark-furred kit brushed sand from her belly, then looked up shyly. “Thanks for telling that story. I liked it… even if Pantherkit and Leopardkit like the fighting ones better.”
Sandpaw purred, tucking her nose against Briarkit’s shoulder. “Anytime. I know you don’t like all the blood and guts.”
Briarkit grimaced again, even at the phrase. Sandpaw gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”
The kit only shrugged. For a while they walked in silence, steps slow and dragging as if neither wanted to reach camp too soon.
“Can I tell you something?” Briarkit asked finally, her voice so low the waves nearly swallowed it.
“Of course,” Sandpaw said quickly, keeping her eyes forward so Briarkit wouldn’t feel pinned by her gaze.
“…Is it bad I don’t want to be a warrior?”
Sandpaw curled her tail across the kit’s back. “Why would that be bad? Not every cat is.”
“I just don’t know what else to be,” Briarkit admitted, paws scuffing the sand. “I’ve shadowed everyone—even Coralpaw and the HoneyClan mediators. Nothing feels right.”
Sandpaw’s stomach sank. She darted a look toward camp, wishing a senior warrior would swoop in to save her.
Briarkit went on, “I wish I could feel excited about apprenticeship. Pantherkit and Leopardkit can’t wait. But I just… don’t.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” Sandpaw said carefully. “Dropletpaw wasn’t excited either, and she doesn’t want to fight at all. Mallowstripe doesn’t fight much, or even hunt. There’s lots you can do.”
But Briarkit drooped at the answer, and Sandpaw’s chest tightened.
“Sometimes I think I don’t even want to be in a clan,” Briarkit whispered. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
Sandpaw’s breath caught. She was wildly unqualified for this conversation.
“I won’t tell. But… please don’t leave. So many cats would miss you.” Her voice broke. “I would miss you.. I wish I could help more, but please don’t leave”
Briarkit’s eyes watered. “You do help. You help a lot. I couldn’t have told anyone else.”
Sandpaw drew her in tight, tucking Briarkit under her chin like her mother and sisters did for her. It felt strange and wonderful—someone small enough to shelter.
“My sister told me the same thing once,” she murmured. “After Wolfstar lost a life, Coralpaw said she couldn’t do this anymore—that she couldn’t fight like that, and if that’s what it meant to be a warrior, she’d leave.”
Briarkit gasped, burrowing closer. “What did you say? You convinced her to stay, right?”
Sandpaw’s throat thickened. Briarkit saw her as someone brave and wise. But she wasn’t.
“I didn’t say anything. I thought she was a coward at first. It was Momma and Coralpaw who helped me understand.” She pressed a lick to Briarkit’s forehead. “If everyone was a warrior—who would cook our food? Who would heal us? Who would protect kits, or make our tools, or-or play music? The clan needs all of that.”
Briarkit sniffled, pulling away with her tail high and eyes a little red.
“Let’s nap,” Sandpaw said gently. “We can talk more later. Maybe Shadowdive will let you go on patrol with us.”
“Thanks, Sandpaw.” Briarkit’s voice was a whisper.
They found their mothers waiting near the cleric’s den. Briarkit ran to Thistle’s side, pressing close.
Sandpaw caught her own mother’s eye. Lynxdawn gave a knowing nod, as if she already understood. Together, daughters curled into their mothers’ warmth, safe for now.
Wolfstar had been distant lately.
Mallowstripe noticed the faraway look in her eyes — how they no longer lingered on him or Shadowdive for long. He approached her gently, his steps and voice soft, testing to see what had unsettled her.
Of course, she brushed him off. And of course, he let her.
He eased back, but his gaze never left her. He watched her move through the camp, every motion pulling his worry tighter. The ordeal with Mothsong — and the loss of Rippleclaw — had weighed heavily on both his mates’ hearts and shoulders. Only recently had Shadowdive stopped mourning, stopped slinking about like a cat expecting exile. He’d even returned to sleeping in their nest instead of at the entrance like some kind of self-appointed guard.
But now, with Wolfstar so distant, Mallowstripe feared that fragile peace would splinter again.
He didn’t push — pushing never worked with her. Instead, he watched. And he waited.
He even stopped taking his sleepy-time teas, slipping them aside without telling anyone. It felt dishonest, but he allowed himself that small secrecy if it might help him understand her. If Lynxdawn noticed the missing herbs, she never said a word.
It felt strange, watching his mate so closely when she was utterly unaware. Sometimes it felt like a trap — that he’d follow her gaze only to find her already watching him. But that moment never came. She remained oblivious.
Her dreams swung wildly: stark, frozen voids one night and golden warmth the next. No matter how hard he focused, no matter how deeply he slipped into her sleeping thoughts, he couldn’t make sense of them. It was as if a wall had risen around her innermost self.
One night, tucked behind the oven’s warmth, he confessed his transgressions to Shadowdive. The larger tom said nothing, as usual, but held him close until the guilt eased from Mallowstripe’s chest. When they finally pulled apart, Shadowdive wordlessly retrieved the hidden herbs and prepared the tea for him himself.
The next morning, Wolfstar asked to speak with him.
At first, he thought Shadowdive had told her. But his dark-furred mate looked just as confused when she led them both up the windswept coast.
The cold sliced through Mallowstripe’s short fur like claws, and he huddled close to their sides for warmth. The roar of the waves drowned out Wolfstar’s words until she finally spoke clearly enough for him to hear:
“I’m pregnant.”
The world stopped. Even the ocean seemed to fall silent.
Then, as her expression cracked and her eyes misted with worry, Mallowstripe snapped back into himself.
“That’s wonderful!” he cried, his own eyes brimming. He turned to Shadowdive, just as breathless with joy as him. “We’re gonna have kits!”
Wolfstar gave them a watery smile, as if she still wasn’t sure they’d be happy. “I’ve been feeling off this past moon, so I went to Lynxdawn. She confirmed it.”
Shadowdive stepped forward and dragged his chin over her head and down her back, his deep purr vibrating in the cold air.
“How long until they’re here?” Mallowstripe asked, pressing into her open side.
“Two moons. Maybe less.” She sighed, melting under their affection.
Mallowstripe licked her shoulder. “Just in time for newleaf. That’s perfect — we’ve plenty of stores for leaf-bare, and soon a new warrior to help with hunting.”
She laughed, her voice light as a songbird’s, and he pressed closer.
“You’re so funny.”
He flushed — planning and preparing was just how he showed love.
“How do you feel?” Shadowdive asked at last, his voice deep and grounding.
“Odd,” she admitted with a huff of laughter. “My stomach’s been in knots, and I’m tired all the time. But I also feel… good?”
She shook her head and looked at them both.
“I’m not sure how excited I am,” she confessed quietly. They pressed closer on either side. “I’ll be nest-bound for moons when I should be protecting and providing for the Clan.”
“You’re so dedicated,” Mallowstripe purred, brushing his cheek against hers. “But we’re dedicated to you. The Clan will be fine while you rest and care for your kits.”
“Everyone will step up,” Shadowdive added. “I can stay with them once they’re weaned — until they’re apprenticed. Then you can return to your duties.”
She sighed and pressed her head to his shoulder. “You’d do that for me? You hate being stuck in camp.”
“Of course I would. I’d be honored to care for our kits.” His eyes caught Mallowstripe’s, measuring his reaction. “You both have important roles. If I can help either of you, I will.”
Mallowstripe felt himself melt. Shadowdive didn’t speak often, but when he did, it always made his heart race.
“We can take turns,” Mallowstripe offered, twining his tail with Wolfstar’s. “There’s three of us. We’ll manage.”
Wolfstar snorted. “If we’re lucky, it’ll be just one kit.”
“You want a small litter?” Shadowdive asked. “I want a big one — five or six.”
“You’re crazy!” Mallowstripe laughed as Wolfstar choked on her own breath. “Two or three is perfect.”
“The perfect number,” Shadowdive rumbled, leaning over him playfully, “is however many we’re blessed with.”
“I hope they yank on your fur until you’re bald,” Mallowstripe teased, batting at his flank. “And pluck out your whiskers too.”
The three of them dissolved into a playful tangle of paws and tails, stumbling over one another with light swipes and mock blows. The sand was cold beneath Mallowstripe’s paws, clinging like frost — and he still hadn’t told Wolfstar about his attempts to slip into her dreams.
But for the first time all leaf-bare, life felt warm.
Briarkit had a short list of cats she liked. Not that she didn’t love her clanmates—she did, mostly—but only a few made her feel at ease.
Her mother was of course her closest companion. They shared the same stillness, the same comfort in quiet. Briarkit could spend days simply resting in her mother’s shadow. But once Thistle resumed her warrior duties, things had grown harder. Suddenly she was left with kit-sitters, exposed to more personalities than she cared to meet. Very quickly, she’d learned who she favored.
Lynxdawn was an easy friend: social but calm, willing to be silly but never overwhelming. Briarkit often clung to her when her thoughts grew too tangled. Snowspeckle was another—despite being deputy, she had a patient, motherly way about her. Briarkit loved the days she was allowed to splash in the waves with the white molly’s watchful eyes steadying her.
Sandpaw was a surprise. Briarkit usually disliked loud, energetic cats, yet she liked the apprentice’s blunt honesty. With Sandpaw, there was no guesswork—no masks or hidden meanings. She cheered her on without coddling.
Her sisters, meanwhile, were… fine. Dropletpaw fussed over everything. Kelppaw was kind but only interested in her crafts. Coralpaw seemed half-absorbed in other cats. None of it hurt—Briarkit knew she was odd, preferring solitude more than most.
Other clanmates were harder. Ottersplash was like a ghost. Shadowdive’s presence unsettled her—she knew he cared, but his intensity, like most toms, made her uneasy. Nightleap she barely knew and didn’t care to. Nighthowl jittered and twitched, her energy exhausting, and her kits were even worse: twins in chaos, always wrestling, often pouncing on Briarkit until Pantherkit had to be peeled off her.
And then there was Wolfstar. The leader radiated an aura Briarkit could hardly bear—nine lives, scars, StarClan’s touch. Wolfstar’s fond gaze was kind, but still Briarkit treaded lightly, feeling small in her shadow.
But one cat had slowly earned her affection: Mallowstripe. He was steady, soft-spoken, and her earliest memories of him were always warm—associated with food and hearth. For moons she barely noticed him, tucked away in the kitchen like part of the scenery. But as she grew, she began to watch him closely: how he moved, how he cared through his work.
She remembered one morning in particular. The cold of leaf-bare had set in and she woke to an empty nest. She sulked all day, snapping even at Dropletpaw. That evening, at the oven line, Mallowstripe set a bowl in front of her—fish broth over mash, her favorite, with chunks of fish and no mushrooms. Everyone else had hare stew. Before she could ask, he murmured that he’d noticed her mood and made it to cheer her. She had never told him it was her favorite. He’d just known.
From then on, she spent most of her time near the ovens, not begging scraps like other kits, but simply keeping him company.
“You’re like a little camp keeper,” Sandpaw teased one afternoon, catching her loitering there. “Has he let you cook anything yet?”
The words lit something inside her. She almost didn’t reply, embarrassed she hadn’t thought of it sooner.
“No… I’ve never asked.”
Sandpaw only nudged her shoulder and wandered off. But Briarkit’s mind was already spinning.
That very day, with most of the clan napping through sun-high, she marched to the cleric’s den where her mother lingered with Lynxdawn.
“Momma.” she called, tail high and eyes bright.
Thistle turned, watching her daughter’s purposeful stride out of camp. Of course she followed.
Briarkit led her straight to Wolfstar’s den. She hesitated before the curtain of leather and lichen, glancing at her mother.
“You brought me here,” she said firmly. “You can bring me in.”
With a breath, she nosed through the curtain. The den was dim, Wolfstar resting on her nest, startled but curious.
“Briarkit? What do I owe the honor?”
“I… I wanted to speak with you, Yaow.” Briarkit said, voice shaking but steadying as she dug her claws into the leather floor.
“Is everything alright?” Wolfstar asked, though her eyes flicked to Thistle.
“Don’t know,” Thistle replied flatly. “I’m as lost as you.”
“Come in, then.” Wolfstar said, settling upright.
Briarkit drew herself up. “Wolfstar… I’ve decided I want to be a camp keeper.”
The leader’s face brightened immediately. “Oh? I’m glad you’ve chosen a path.”
But Briarkit puffed her chest, not done. “I also want to be apprenticed early. To Mallowstripe.”
A pause. Wolfstar’s expression leveled, considering. “That’s a bold request. Why early?”
“I’ve outgrown the nursery. My days are spent relearning lessons with kits moons younger than me,” Briarkit said carefully. “And I see how much work Mallowstripe carries. Leaf-bare may be mild now, but an extra set of paws could mean everything.”
Wolfstar studied her, then glanced at Thistle.
“She’s clever enough,” Thistle said at once, like it was obvious. “What’s another half-moon?”
Wolfstar hummed, eyes returning to Briarkit. “You know I was apprenticed at your age, too. It’s a heavy weight on a cat’s shoulders.”
“Being the only camp keeper is a heavy weight on Mallowstripe’s shoulders.” Briarkit replied quietly.
That made both Wolfstar and Thistle laugh.
“You’re right,” Wolfstar said warmly, rising to stretch. “Let me speak with my advisors. I’ll give you my decision soon.”
Briarkit deflated slightly—she had hoped for an answer here and now. But she met Wolfstar’s gaze steadily, then dipped her head and padded out.
“You’re a brave little kit.” Thistle whispered as they stepped into the daylight.
And for once, Briarkit believed it. Her paws felt light, her steps confident as she led her mother back to the nursery, her heart full of hope.
“Let all cats old enough to swim gather for a Clan meeting!” Wolfstar’s voice rang out across the camp as she leapt atop the broad driftwood log that shadowed her den.
Below her, cats began to gather, shaking sleep from their fur as they padded into the clearing. The morning was bright and cold, their breath fogging in the crisp seaside air. Breakfast had been uneventful but comforting — a hearty meal of sausage and tea to ward off the chill.
“SaltClan has many blessings this moon,” Wolfstar began once the murmurs quieted, “and I’d like to share all our good news.”
Her gaze lingered on Briarkit and Thistle as they crept closer to the front.
“As you all know, Sunny officially joined our Clan earlier this moon.”
A few cheers broke out — most of them from Sunny herself — and Wolfstar’s whiskers twitched with amusement.
“She has since asked to receive a warrior name, to further cement her place among us.” She gestured for the pale she-cat to step forward. “Sunny, do you promise to uphold the warrior code, and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”
Sunny was already on her paws before Wolfstar finished speaking. “I do!”
“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Sunny, from this moment on, you will be known as Sunfrost, for your spirit and warmth. We welcome you as a full warrior of SaltClan.”
The clearing erupted in cheers. “Sunfrost! Sunfrost!” the Clan chanted, their voices rising like waves against the shore.
When the noise died down, Wolfstar lifted her tail again. “The next announcement may surprise some of you,” she said, “but we are ready to welcome a new apprentice to our ranks.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd, and several cats leapt to their paws in anticipation.
“Briarkit, please step forward.”
The camp fell silent again.
“You have not yet reached the age of six moons,” Wolfstar continued, “but you have asked to begin your training early, and I accept. From this day until you earn your warrior name, you will be known as Briarpaw. You have chosen the path of a camp keeper. Your mentor will be Mallowstripe, and I trust he will pass down all his knowledge to you.”
Mallowstripe stepped forward just as Briarpaw did. They touched noses briefly — a symbol of new beginnings — before returning to sit together among the crowd.
“Briarpaw! Briarpaw!” voices chorused again, pride swelling in the air.
Wolfstar let the chants roll for a few heartbeats before lifting her tail once more. Confusion flickered among the gathered cats — what else could she have to say?
“The final announcement,” she purred, “is another blessing for the Clan.” Her voice softened, but it carried across the clearing. “I’m pregnant.”
The camp exploded. Cheers, yowls, and delighted cries filled the air, echoing against the cliff walls. Even when Wolfstar gestured for quiet, the sound only slowly faded, a tide of joy too strong to hold back.
“I don’t plan to give up my duties as a warrior or leader yet,” she explained once the noise dulled to a buzz. “But I do expect to move into the nursery within the next moon or two. Thank you all for your support. This meeting is dismissed.”
Normally, the crowd would splinter into small groups after a gathering, murmuring over the news as they drifted back to their duties. But this time, they moved as one — surging forward to surround her before she’d even stepped down from the log.
“How far along are you?”
“Do you think you’ll have a big litter?”
“Oh, I’m so happy! We might even be in the nursery together.”
“Have you thought of names yet?”
“Are you getting any weird cravings?”
Wolfstar purred and tried to answer each question, but the flood of curiosity and excitement quickly overwhelmed her. In the end, she simply let herself melt into the press of warm pelts, the gentle licks at her ears, and the soft, heartfelt words of congratulations.
Silver water lapped at Wolfstar’s paws, the rock beneath her cold and unyielding. The air was heavy here — heavier than she remembered.
And behind her… there was someone.
Last time, she had been alone.
She turned blearily, her movements slow and dreamlike. Stormrunner stood there, her pelt glowing with starlight, muzzle pressing gently against Wolfstar’s.
She was in StarClan.
“Wh—” Her jaw felt heavy, her tongue sluggish. “What happened?”
“I’m sorry.” Stormrunner’s voice trembled, her eyes glistening like dew. “I’m so sorry.”
Fear stabbed through Wolfstar’s chest. She stumbled to her paws, nearly pitching into the shimmering water.
“What happened? Why am I here?” she yowled, spinning toward her guide. “Are my kits okay?”
Stormrunner’s face twisted, her mouth opening — then closing again. “I can’t say.”
“What do you mean you can’t?” Wolfstar’s voice cracked into a hiss. She knew there were things StarClan cats were forbidden to reveal, threads in the spider web they could not pull without unraveling everything.
But she didn’t care.
Not now.
“Am I dead?” she demanded. “All my lives — are they gone?”
Stormrunner shook her head. “No. You’ve only lost one, but…”
Wolfstar’s claws scraped against the stone. “But what?”
“But I’m not sure how long you’ll be here.”
The words hit harder than any blow.
“What does that mean?” she choked, her breath coming too fast, too shallow. “What do you mean?”
“It will become clear soon.” Stormrunner’s tone shifted — no longer soft, but heavy with finality. Her starry tail brushed across Wolfstar’s shoulders, an anchor against the rising panic. “But you must have patience.”
A growl tore from Wolfstar’s throat. Her legs buckled, and she sank to the cold stone, staring into the rippling water below as she fought to steady herself.
The pool pulsed — once, twice — and then the silver light bled into color.
Scenes formed beneath the surface.
SaltClan’s territory appeared, wind-swept and cold, where the fields met the ragged treeline of the Twolegplace. A pale figure stood there — herself — a single white coat against the dull-colored earth.
And north of her, two shadows moved.
They split apart, flanking her with practiced ease. Partners.
Her ear twitched in the vision. A heartbeat too late.
Hawthornpaw opens up a little and talks to Sootpaw about life in ScrubClan.
Without warning, Tawnyfrost suddenly goes missing. Many search parties are sent out the moment the clan becomes aware, but they find nothing…
FIRST
CLIMB DOWN|CLIMB UP
TallClan stop losing your cats challenge (IMPOSSIBLE)
Hey, at least he’s not dead like Bonebracken, Scrubpelt, Marigoldflip, and Icepaw, so there’s a chance he’ll come back, but still 😭this clan is STRUGGLING to keep afloat with their numbers.
Gold stars to anyone who can recognize the stranger’s silhouette! This isn’t the first time they’ve appeared in a moon update 😳! NOTE: Their design has been given a very, very minor update, but everything else is still exactly the same.
Lots happened this moon!! Let’s start with the Breeze children becoming apprentices! :D
As her mentor is about to be chosen, Locustpaw interrupts and announces she wants her mentor to be Sunsap. She strides forward with confidence to touch noses with Sunsap when it's allowed.
Even though she is excited to finally be made an apprentice, it takes a bit of coaxing by Breeze for Branchkit to step forward for her ceremony. Breeze swells with pride as she’s named Branchpaw and touches noses with her.
Echopaw sits excitedly beside Quietstar as the meeting ends, and hopes that he’ll be doing something exciting like battle training first. His claws are itching to tear at something.
Bluesky’s yellowcough is gone. He feels relieved that he no longer will be a burden to the clan.
Ospreykit woke up with a mild headache, but got up to play anyways, trying to ignore the nagging pain.
Locustpaw growls as another wave of head pain hits her. It's on-and-off, and herbs have been helping, but Starclan help her, having so many headaches gets annoying.
Sleepily, Echopaw thanks Blisseyes for the pain relief. It feels like moons since he’s been able to have a good rest without the awful pain that’s been so intense lately.
While on patrol, Locustpaw finds a wounded cat near the thunderpath. The patrol approaches the injured cat and sees signs of life. Alarmed, they gently pick up the cat and take them back to camp to be treated by the medicine cat. The grateful cat decides to join the clan.
