Discover Top Posts Tagged with #moon 24

Jan 3

Moon 24 pt 3

Leaf-Bare

Wolfstar waited for the first clear day in a while to send the patrol out. Morning light filtered weakly through shifting gray clouds, and a salt-sweet breeze rolled off the ocean as Snowspeckle’s group headed toward the twoleg place.

It was Kelppaw’s first time traveling outside of the territory- sans Capri’s place. Her mother had given her a big bundle of herbs for traveling to chew through before her breakfast. The sorrel and burnet were bitter, though the daisy and chamomile had been a pleasantly sweet surprise.

Snowspeckle didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm, her voice stern as she walked.

“When we get there, Thistle takes the lead.” She instructed as they picked their way across the snow-stripped rocks. “We’re looking for a kittypet named Luna.”

Thistle snorted hard enough to fog the air. “There’s about a dozen cats named Luna.”

“Well, we’re looking for a blue-furred molly with a pink collar who lives near the creek that runs into DuskClan territory,” Snowspeckle said, tail flicking. “Nightleap said it’s north of their border.”

Kelppaw’s thick fur puffed in the wind, making her look twice her size. “We could always ask Capri or Jade! They know every cat within a day’s walk.”

Snowspeckle made a face and shook her head.

Kelppaw giggled immediately.

“You just don’t wanna see Archer again.” She teased, bumping her mentor’s hip.

“Once a moon is enough…” Snowspeckle muttered.

Kelppaw laughed again, leaning into the breeze. The wind tousled her fur so dramatically it looked like she was trying to impress someone.

“They probably don’t know any more than us,” Thistle said with a shrug. “Or they would’ve told us earlier.”

Snowspeckle nodded. “Yes. They’re good allies. They wouldn’t hide something this important.”

“Which makes me think this is a load of foxdung.” Thistle growled, pointedly not looking at Snowspeckle. “Nightleap must’ve misheard or—or let her hopes get the better of her.”

Kelppaw saw Snowspeckle’s tail-tip twitch sharply.

“This is the only lead we’ve had on Rippleclaw.” Kelppaw said quickly, stepping between them subtly. “Wolfstar’s right to follow it. We never know—this trip might turn up something.”

Neither molly replied as the pine-tinged wind shifted. The looming dark trees of DuskClan rose ahead, shadowy and severe.

“Stop here.” Snowspeckle said, guiding them beneath a tangle of snow-laden branches for cover. “We’ll wait for a patrol.”

Kelppaw blinked. “Why don’t we just go around?”

“Faster to follow the creek,” Snowspeckle said, sweeping snow aside and settling on the exposed ground. “Going around just puts us back here anyway.”

Snow crunched sharply as five DuskClan cats emerged through the pines, pelts bristling with caution but not hostility. Kelppaw caught Greyclaw’s smokey pelt immediately, and beside him, the wirier Shadeheart. The others were strangers.

“SaltClan.” Called a broad brown tom—Stagtrail—standing tall like he owned the entire forest. “You must have a very good reason to be planted at our border.”

“Stagtrail.” Snowspeckle greeted warmly, rising. “We’re on an investigation for our leader. We’ll need to cross your territory.”

“Oh?” Greyclaw stepped forward smoothly, brushing past Stagtrail. “Has DuskClan committed some wrong we should be aware of?”

“Not at all,” Snowspeckle assured with a polite smile. “We’re tracking a clue that leads to the twoleg place near your northern creek.”

Greyclaw hummed, clearly wanting more, but Snowspeckle’s expression remained pleasantly unreadable.

“Shadeheart, Sablefang—finish the border check,” Greyclaw ordered. “Stagtrail, Burdockpaw, with me.”

The younger cats peeled away, pelts brushing past Kelppaw with the sharp scent of pine sap. When they disappeared, Greyclaw flicked his tail.

“We’ll escort you,” he said. “And when you return, you may cross again—without escort—as long as you stay on the creek banks.”

Stagtrail shot him a venomous look but held his tongue.

“Thank you, Greyclaw.” Snowspeckle purred lightly, warmth softening her posture. “We appreciate it.”

The merged patrol set off. DuskClan’s cats hovered behind the SaltClan group, except Greyclaw, who guided them through the clutter of roots and stones. The forest felt heavy, every sound dampened and swallowed by thick pine needles.

Kelppaw stole glances at the unfamiliar apprentice—Burdockpaw.

He was big.

Big in the way boulders were huge: broad, slow-moving, impossible to ignore. His pelt was dark, almost bloody, and thick tabby stripes curled down to massive paws. When his eyes met hers, she startled and looked away so fast her whiskers stung.

Snowspeckle flicked Kelppaw’s muzzle with her tail-tip, a silent bid to focus.

Kelppaw tried. She did. But between the twisting trail, the looming trees, and the sure-footed DuskClan cats tracking their every move, she stumbled more than once.

“It might be easier to take the twoleg's footpath on the way back.” Thistle muttered behind her, leaping over a rock pile. “These trails are a nightmare for small cats.”

Stagtrail snorted. “Good thing you didn’t join DuskClan, then.”

Kelppaw glanced back defensively—just as Burdockpaw looked away, ears hot.

“Maybe we could meet them at the border when they return?” Burdockpaw suggested, voice tentative. “We could guide them back.”

Stagtrail snapped into a grin, sharp and smug. “Great idea! Better than letting outsiders wander our territory alone.”

Greyclaw didn’t rise to it, but Snowspeckle cast a brief, knowing look his way.

“If time permits,” Greyclaw said at last as the terrain leveled, “We’ll send someone.”

Burdockpaw slowed until he could walk beside Kelppaw, now that the path widened. His pelt brushed hers once in the narrow turns, and she nearly tripped.

“So are you a warrior apprentice?” Kelppaw asked shyly, voice barely above the creek’s gurgling.

“Codekeeper, actually.” He meowed, glancing at Greyclaw. “Stagtrail mentors me.”

She tried—really tried—not to grimace. His soft laugh told her she hadn’t succeeded.

“I’m an artisan apprentice,” She blurted to cover it. “Snowspeckle mentors me.”

He nodded, but said nothing else. Stagtrail’s stare was burning holes in Kelppaw’s back, so she faced forward again, fur puffing despite herself.

They traveled in a thick, uneasy quiet. Snow fell from branches overhead whenever a breeze shook them, dusting the group with cold glitter.

Finally, the heavy scent of the DuskClan border hit Kelppaw’s nose.

Thistle sneezed explosively. Stagtrail scoffed but kept comments to himself.

“Here’s where our territory ends.” Greyclaw said, sweeping his tail over the snowbank and the dark line of the thunderpath. “Cross there, then follow the water north.”

“Thank you for your help.” Snowspeckle said, dipping her head.

Kelppaw mirrored her, nudging Thistle until the black molly stiffly followed suit.

“I’ll send a patrol at sunset to guide you back.” Greyclaw added. “If they’re not there—do not cross alone.”

Stagtrail puffed up with self-satisfaction, planting himself between his apprentice and the SaltClan cats.

The patrols split. Kelppaw looked back one last time.

Burdockpaw had stopped at the tree line, his dark pelt melting into the shadows like he’d grown there.

He dipped his head once, shy and quick.

Kelppaw felt heat gather beneath her fur, warm enough to fight the winter wind.

“You can say it.” Leopardkit hummed, catching Briarpaw’s wide-eyed glance as it snagged on the torn edge of her ear. “It’s kind of cool, huh?”

Briarpaw startled and quickly turned back to the stew, stirring with a little too much focus. “Um… I don’t know about cool.”

Leopardkit didn’t seem bothered. Tail high, she strutted a lazy circle around the kitchen, paws crunching faintly in the sand. “C’mon. How many cats get battle scars before they’re even apprenticed?”

She laughed, sharp and bright, lifting her chin like she expected praise.

Briarpaw wondered—briefly, guiltily—if she could switch her duties for the day. Maybe help with nests. Anything that would put distance between her and a bored kit with too much energy and no one to spend it on. She shook the thought away just as Leopardkit flopped down beside her, pressing close and stealing as much warmth from the oven as she could.

“Well,” Briarpaw said after a moment, voice softer, “I’m glad you’re not upset anymore.”

Leopardkit scoffed immediately. “I was never upset.”

Briarpaw bit back a laugh, whiskers twitching as the big kit puffed herself up, posture stiff with the effort of seeming unaffected.

“That’s good,” she said, weak but kind, lifting the ladle from the pot and giving it a careful stir. She lingered there, hoping—politely—that Leopardkit would take the hint.

She didn’t.

“Do you think I’ll be apprenticed early too?” Leopardkit asked. She didn’t wait long enough for an answer. “I mean, it makes sense, right? I’m ready. I’m almost bigger than you.”

Briarpaw hummed, finally glancing her over.

Despite being two moons younger, Leopardkit nearly dwarfed her. She’d already slipped into that long-limbed, awkward stretch most cats didn’t hit until much later—legs too tall, paws too big, balance just barely caught up with growth. Even her claws didn’t look like kit-claws anymore.

“Yeah.” Briarpaw admitted. “You are. Pantherkit too—he’s even bigger.”

She realized too late that Leopardkit was waiting for her answer.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you both got apprenticed early.” She added.

Leopardkit’s nose twitched—quick, almost invisible. Briarpaw noticed anyway, but didn't comment.

“Yeah,” Leopardkit said after a beat, shrugging. “We’re basically old enough. It doesn't make sense to waste time.”

The quiet that followed stretched thin between them, heavy in a way that had nothing to do with discomfort and everything to do with distance. They weren’t friends. They weren’t enemies either. Just two cats close in age, orbiting the same space without quite touching.

Briarpaw filled the silence by humming, a low, wandering tune Snowspeckle had sung the night before, as she carefully shifted the pot away from the oven.

Leopardkit stayed where she was, soaking in the warmth, eyes fixed on nothing in particular—close enough to another cat to feel less alone, even if she didn’t know how to say it.

Finding Luna was easier than any of them expected.

By sunhigh, the patrol had passed fence after fence—thin metal bars humming faintly beneath the wind, each dividing creekside brush from clipped grass and strange-smelling nests. The air here was warmer, carrying traces of cooked meat and sweet smoke that made Kelppaw’s stomach tighten.

The blue-furred molly lounged along the top rail of a fence as if it were made for her comfort. Her coat gleamed unnaturally in the sunlight—sleek, dense, not a single hair out of place. When she spotted them, her eyes sparkled.

“Oh. Em. Gee!” She squealed, springing upright so fast the patrol startled as one. “Are you wild cats?”

Snowspeckle lifted her tail, halting the group as Luna scrambled down the fence. She landed delicately on the snow-bitten ground, shaking her paws with practiced care.

“That Night cat said he’d be back with friends!” Luna chirped. “I didn’t think it’d be this soon!”

“You mean Nightleap,” Snowspeckle said flatly. “She’s a molly.”

Luna paused, brow furrowing. “Huh. She seemed like a boy.” She shrugged. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

Kelppaw stared openly at the pink collar snug around Luna’s neck—clean, bright, unfrayed. It smelled faintly of flowers.

“Are you Luna?” She asked.

“I am!” Luna purred, chest puffing proudly.

“You mentioned a rumor,” Snowspeckle said, jaw tight. “About a cat who fought a lot.”

“Oh yeah!” Luna bounced on her paws. “The battle cat! Daisy told me—she heard it from Razzle and Queenie. The new house cats down the street.”

Kelppaw flicked an ear. House cats.

“They said there was this tom from where they used to live.” Luna went on. “Total menace. Fought everyone. He said he was a warrior!”

Snowspeckle’s breath hitched. “What did he look like?”

Luna shrugged, unbothered. “No clue. But you can ask Razzle. He lives a block over.”

Kelppaw glanced at Thistle.

She sighed. “Twoleg term. Cluster of nests.”

“Oh.” Luna giggled. “You guys talk funny. I can show you the way if you teach me some battle moves!”

Snowspeckle bristled, teeth flashing—but Thistle nudged her gently.

“She doesn’t mean it as an insult,” She murmured. “Kittypets treat fighting like a game.”

“I—I can show you some moves later,” Kelppaw said quickly. “Lead the way.”

Luna cheered and trotted ahead, tail high, paws never once sinking into the snow.

The walk was short, but every step made Snowspeckle’s chest feel heavier. They crossed narrow strips of black stone that burned faintly beneath the pads, then reached another nest—identical to the rest, despite Luna’s insistence otherwise.

“Razzle!” She called brightly. “Razzle!”

Wood creaked. A massive russet head pushed through a hidden opening.

“Wha?” The old tom rasped. “Who’s hollerin’?”

“Hi!” Luna chirped, touching noses with him as he eased himself out. His fur was thick but dulled with age, yet still glossy, eyes filmed with cloudy blue. “It’s Luna!”

“Ohhh. Story-seekers.” He squinted at the patrol. “C’mon in, then.”

The patrol didn't move, glancing towards their deputy.

Snowspeckle blurted. “We—we don’t really go inside.”

He huffed. “Suit yourself.” Slowly, he settled along the smooth stone lining the entrance. “Sit then.”

Kelppaw’s hackles prickled as she approached. The stone was warm—unnaturally so. Inside, she glimpsed towering wooden shapes piled with plush fabrics.

“Chairs.” Thistle whispered, leaping onto one with ease.

Kelppaw followed stiffly, paws sinking into softness that made her uneasy.

“What was it ya wanted?” Razzle asked, curling into a loaf.

“The warrior tom.” Thistle said. Louder. “From your old home.”

Snowspeckle shot Luna a glance. “Is there another cat we could ask? You mentioned Queenie?”

"Trust me, you want Razzle." Luna covered her mouth, eyes darting. “She’s older than him. And twice as mean.”

“Ahh. The warrior,” Razzle nodded. “Met him over by the parks. Near bowled me over, demanded why I crossed his border.”

Snowspeckle exhaled shakily. “What color was he?”

Razzle twitched an ear as he tried to remember. “White.”

Snowspeckle surged forward. “His eyes? Did he have any spots? Or scars?”

Razzle laughed, startled. “Easy, easy!”

Luna glanced around the group awkwardly, suddenly unsure with the shift.

Kelppaw grabbed Snowspeckle’s shoulder. “Snowspeckle—”

“What’s he to you?” Razzle asked suspiciously.

“My son.” Her voice broke. “I thought he was gone.”

Razzle purred, slow and deep, touching noses with her. “I’m sorry, sweet thing. Only saw him the once.”

“Where?” Thistle asked. “Which park?”

Razzle thought. “Big one. Play structures. Huge fountain. Lady holdin’ a vase.”

Thistle’s eyes lit. “I know it.”

Snowspeckle was already on her paws. “Can we go now?”

“We’d reach it by sunset.” Thistle said.

Kelppaw hesitated. “We’re meant to return by moonrise—”

“I won’t wait.” Snowspeckle said fiercely.

A sharp voice cut through the air. “Razzle! Get back inside before your joints freeze!”

A large, round molly emerged—her long fur shaved close, wrapped in bright cloths. One eye sharp as a thorn.

“Coming, my love.” Razzle purred, he gave Snowspeckle a glance. "I hope you find your son."

The pair disappeared into the nest.

Kelppaw lingered beside Luna.

“I’m sorry we can’t show you any moves today.” She shifted in place, realizing the kittypet wasn’t much older than her. “We have to go now.”

"It's alright," She tried not to seem disappointed. "It seems like you guys have a lot of stuff going on."

Snowspeckle paused. “We’ll come back,” she said firmly. “SaltClan keeps its promises.”

Luna smiled, bright again as she waved at the group.

Wolfstar shifted again, her belly throwing her off-balance as she tried to settle into the curve of her nest. The fresh moss compressed beneath her weight, but no matter how she wriggled, the itch along her lower back stayed stubbornly out of reach.

She huffed.

“Want me to get that?” Shadowdive murmured, eyes still closed from his nap.

She grinned, sheepish. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He gave a sleepy rumble and cracked one eye. “Wasn’t sleepin’. Figured you’d need me.”

She snorted softly as he rose and eased himself into the nest beside her, spilling half onto the leather-lined floor. His tongue found the itch with practiced ease, slow and careful. Wolfstar melted immediately, a purr slipping from her chest before she could stop it.

The den curtains shifted.

Mallowstripe’s head appeared, movements cautious the moment he saw them tangled together. He stepped lightly inside, settling himself with deliberate neatness, tail tucked close.

“Hello love.” Wolfstar purred, blinking warmly at him. “Here to nap?”

He smiled despite the tension in his shoulders, tail-tip flicking. “No. I just—Briarpaw told me something today. I thought you should know.”

That sharpened her focus. She shifted to sit upright, Shadowdive pausing mid-groom.

“Oh?”

Mallowstripe nodded, swallowing. “Apparently Leopardkit is very set on being apprenticed early.”

Wolfstar exhaled slowly. Shadowdive’s tongue stilled.

“I’m not surprised,” Wolfstar said after a moment. “Nighthowl came in earlier. Asked if I’d mentor her. personally”

Mallowstripe’s ear flicked. “Nighthowl was here?”

She nodded, stretching one foreleg as she thought. Mallowstripe sniffed once—almost a sneeze—clearly realizing he hadn’t scented the molly when he arrived.

“Relax,” Shadowdive chuckled. “I kept my eye on her.”

Wolfstar cut a look at him. “As if I’d do anything.”

“You don’t stop her from hoping.” Mallowstripe muttered—then winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Wolfstar hesitated, then sighed, gaze dropping to her paws. “I know. I don’t mean to let it happen. I just… don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

She scowled faintly. “And that’s not even the whole of it. I’ve never really had to reject anyone like this before. I don’t want to be harsh, or make things awkward, or—” She trailed off with a frustrated flick of her tail.

Shadowdive let out a deep, grounding purr, resting his chin against her hip. “Don’t pretend you don’t know you’re beautiful,” he rumbled, rasping his tongue through her fur. “Bet you had all the apprentices tripping over their own paws.”

Both his mates snorted.

“Hardly,” Wolfstar chuckled, tension easing from her shoulders.

Mallowstripe smiled faintly. “I was far too shy to ever say anything,” he admitted. “And Sparkclaw… well, she wasn't any good at courting.”

“Oh StarClan.” Wolfstar groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Mallowstripe hummed, then glanced at Shadowdive. “So Nighthowl’s crush doesn’t bother you?”

Shadowdive blinked, surprised by the question, then shrugged easily. “Not really. Maybe if it were someone else. Someone more… impressive.”

Mallowstripe rolled his eyes as Wolfstar reached out to bat Shadowdive’s head.

“Be nice,” she chided. “She’s still our clanmate.”

“I can be nice and honest.” Shadowdive said, smirking. “I’m not threatened.”

Wolfstar shook her head, then turned back to Mallowstripe, expression softening. “Next time she says something, I’ll shut it down properly. I don’t want you worrying about how I feel. I love you both.”

Something in Mallowstripe loosened at that. He leaned forward, nuzzling into her neck, draping his tail carefully over the curve of her belly.

“Can I be selfish?” He asked quietly.

“That’d be a first,” Shadowdive muttered, amused, eyes half-lidded but attentive.

Wolfstar just licked the top of Mallowstripe’s head. “Go on, dear.”

He hesitated, then said softly, “I don’t want you mentoring either of her kits.”

Wolfstar huffed a laugh and nudged him affectionately. “Ok, I wont. We've got quite a few capable mentors— I was thinking of giving Ottersplash an apprentice soon anyway.”

Mallowstripe tried not to smile. He still felt a little guilty—asking her to shape leader decisions around his feelings—but the relief won out.

“Thank you.” He murmured.

The three settled into a quiet tangle of warmth and shared purring. Mallowstripe knew he’d need to return to the kitchen soon—he’d left Briarpaw tending the fires—but for now, he let himself stay just a little longer.

Thistle led the group across the twoleg place, ducking and weaving through monsters and twolegs with practiced ease. The air was thick with exhaust and damp stone, the ground stained with old spills and trampled leaves ground into black paste. Her companions were jumpy, skittering wide of every rumbling monster and looming twoleg, but her steady pace eventually bled into them. By the time she paused outside a large nest, their tails had lowered, their breaths evened.

“We’ll need help to figure out where specifically to look.” She murmured, glancing back at the patrol. “I know someone who lives here. Don’t make this a big deal.”

Snowspeckle nodded, curiosity flickering beneath the tightness in her jaw.

“Someone we know?” Kelppaw asked, eyes fixed on the nest’s many sharp smells.

Thistle didn’t answer. She slipped through a small entrance and vanished inside.

“I guess we’ll find out.” Snowspeckle muttered.

Thistle reemerged moments later, followed by a black cat wearing an orange collar. One ear was nicked, the edges smooth with age, and they smelled faint—washed out, like prey left too long in running water.

“Why do they smell so… weird?” Kelppaw whispered.

“They're seedless,” Snowspeckle murmured back. “Twolegs take cats to a cutter and cut them so they can’t have kits. Changes their scent. Makes it thin.”

Thistle shot them a warning look as the cat sat quietly at her side.

“This is Ollie,” she said flatly. “He’s lived here several moons.” A pause. “He’s my son.”

“You have a son?” Kelppaw blurted, darting forward to touch noses. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because it’s no one’s business.” Thistle snapped—then softened, just barely, as Ollie smiled.

“Thistle says you’re clan cats,” Ollie said, voice gentle, almost too careful. “Looking for one of your own?”

Snowspeckle nodded. Up close, she could see how young he must have been when he’d been cut. His scent never fully settled into tom or molly, just… blank.

“Do you know a white tom?” she asked. “One who fights a lot.”

Ollie’s ears twitched. “Yeah. He showed up a few moons ago. Fights anyone who challenges him.”

Snowspeckle moved at once, falling into step beside him. The thunderpath roared nearby, a constant snarl beneath their paws.

“Ollie!” A brown and cream molly called from across it. “You heading out again?”

“Going to the park,” he called back. “Toms are fighting.”

Kelppaw glanced at Thistle. The older molly had turned her head away.

The park opened up around them—unnaturally green despite leafbare, grass worn thin in wide circles. The stone fountain rose at its center, water churning endlessly, the sound hollow and cold. Scattered cats lounged along the edge of the field, glossy pelts stretched out in the weak sun.

“There,” Someone laughed. “They’re at it again.”

Beyond the lounging bodies, white fur flashed. Claws. Teeth.

“Rippleclaw!” Snowspeckle gasped, vaulting forward.

Kelppaw and Thistle were right behind her.

“Watch it!” A voice snapped.

The fighters were a blur—then a pause, a breath, just long enough.

And the world lurched.

The white tom was wrong.

Curled ears. Too small. Built wrong in every way Snowspeckle knew her son. His movements were sharp but unfamiliar, his stance cocky, not calm.

“It’s not him.” Kelppaw whispered.

The words landed like ice in water.

Snowspeckle’s chest hollowed. Her legs nearly buckled beneath her.

The fight ended seconds later. The white tom stood panting, victorious, while the other limped away amid jeers.

“Who’s next?” He crowed. "Is there no one else?"

“No,” Snowspeckle said when Ollie asked. Her voice shook. “It’s not him.”

Something dimmed in Ollie’s eyes.

Around them, the park didn’t care. Laughter rolled on. Mollies stretched and groomed, barely glancing at the bloodied grass.

“Pretty impressive, huh?” The white tom said suddenly, sidling up to Snowspeckle. His scent hit her then—molly, unmistakably. “Did you like my fight?”

She stared at him, exhausted. “I only saw the end.”

He preened anyway.

A yowl split the air.

Another tom barreled in, spitting. “You don’t belong here, you mixed up molly!”

The blotchy tom launched himself forward without hesitation.

“Should we stop them?” Kelppaw asked.

Snowspeckle held her back. “No, it's not our business.”

They watched as the pair exchanged blows.

Nearby, a group of mollies lounged together, glossy and bored.

“You gonna help him?” Kelppaw asked one.

She laughed, stretching to show off her glossy coat. “Toms fight. Mollies don’t.”

"But he's your friend?" Her nose crinkled at the crude apathy.

"You're not from around here are you?" Marceline asked, head tilted.

Kelppaw shook her head. "No, we're clan cats."

The brown and cream molly giggled, brightening considerably. "Ohhhh that'd do cool!"

"Well around here toms fight while mollies look pretty." The red molly said smugly, like Kelppaw was jealous.

"Why do they fight, but you don't?" She asked, brow raised.

“It's just how it is. They fight over us,” Another said lightly. “Top tom gets his pick.”

“Don’t know why Curly bothers,” A third added. “Can’t even give us kits.”

Behind them, the fight ended just as abruptly as it began, with Curly trotting around boisterously.

"Yeah that's what you get for stepping to me, Gizmo!" He laughed, kicking up bits of dry grass.

The loser-Gizmo- slunk off, sporting more scraps and wounds than the smaller tom.

“She’s a weird cat,” The lead molly said with a lazy flick of her tail, voice pitched just loud enough to carry. “Always pretending she’s a tom. Like saying it makes it true.”

A couple of the others snickered, not even bothering to lower their voices.

Curly stiffened. “I am a tom,” he shot back, the words tumbling out too fast, too flustered — like a kit who’d had to say them a hundred times before. “You just— you don’t get it.”

“Uh-huh.” The lead molly rolled her eyes, gaze sliding over him dismissively. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep.”

She turned away from him entirely then, tail lashing as she jerked her chin toward the strangers. “Say hi to the clan cats, Curly. Maybe they’ll believe your little act.”

Curly’s ears flicked, and he turned toward them anyway. “You’re from the clan colonies?” He gasped, eyes lighting up with the same unguarded wonder they’d seen a dozen times today.

Kelppaw glanced nervously at her mentor and their companion. “Uh—yeah. We’re from SaltClan.”

“That’s so cool.” Curly purred, tail twitching with excitement.

Snowspeckle offered a polite smile, too tired to be irritated by the familiar awe kittypets had for clan cats.

“We should be heading back soon.” She said to the patrol. “We’re expected by sunset.”

Thistle nodded, dipping her head to bump against Ollie’s. “Take care.”

He returned the gesture, touching noses with her. “You as well.”

“Thank you… for your help." Snowspeckle murmured, voice worn thin with fatigue.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you,” Ollie said softly, glancing away. “I hope you find him soon.”

The patrol shook out their pelts, paws turning instinctively toward the path home.

“Wait.”

Curly stepped in front of them, just enough to block the way. Snowspeckle stiffened.

“Could… could I ask you something?” He asked.

She exhaled, then nodded. “You can walk with us for a bit.”

The four of them set off together. Kelppaw flicked her tail in a brief wave to Marceline and Ollie, pointedly ignoring the cluster of mollies still whispering and sharing tongues behind them.

For a time, none of them spoke. The crunch of frozen ground filled the space between their steps, until Thistle finally broke the silence.

“So.” She said, pointed. “What did you wanna ask?”

Curly shuffled his paws. “You… you guys probably noticed I’m technically a molly.” He muttered, suddenly small and uncertain.

Snowspeckle’s gaze softened. “We were looking for a white tom — my son — who went missing,” she said. “Several cats described you, and how often you fight. We thought you might be him.”

Curly’s face brightened instantly. “They said I was a tom?”

Kelppaw hesitated. “Yeah… do cats not usually know you’re a tom?”

“No.” He grumbled. “Not unless I tell them. And even then, most don’t believe me.” His voice cracked with frustration. “They think I’m just a silly molly pretending. But I’m not.”

He stopped walking, chin jutting stubbornly as his eyes shimmered. “I’m the strongest tom in the park. They just don’t get it.”

“You’re a very good fighter.” Snowspeckle admitted, pausing beside him. “Is that what you wanted to ask?”

“No…” He deflated, gaze dropping to the cold ground. “I heard clan cats have a lot of cats like me. Toms that aren’t… actually toms.”

Snowspeckle felt a sharp pull in her chest, memories of Tansyheart — of her own sons — rising unbidden.

“Yes,” She said gently, suddenly understanding. “We sometimes say shifted toms or shifted mollies. But mostly, we just say tom, or molly, or gib. Most cats don’t care whether you’re shifting or not.”

“Really?” Curly whispered.

For once, Snowspeckle didn’t see the shallow fascination kittypets often had for the clans — the curiosity without comprehension. This was different. This was recognition.

She met his eyes. “Would you like to come with us?” she asked. Kelppaw let out a small, excited squeak beside her. “Even just for a few days. You could meet our clan, our leader. Try our food. See if you’d like to stay.”

Curly gasped. “Really? And… everyone would call me a tom?”

Kelppaw snorted. “My mom could give you herbs that’d help you smell and feel like a tom.”

“Really?!” Curly leapt to his paws, bounding forward like he hadn’t been the reason they’d stopped. “I didn’t know that was possible!”

Snowspeckle laughed softly. “My mate is a shifted molly. After enough seasons of herbs, you’d be surprised how many cats don't notice.”

The patrol chuckled at Curly’s wide-eyed stare as he blinked back tears.

“Can I join?” he blurted, laughing breathlessly. “I mean— even if I hated everything about clan life, I’d still wanna join.”

“We’ll speak with our leader, Wolfstar, and see what she decides,” Snowspeckle purred. “But I think you’ll enjoy the clan.”

Cat Allegiances:

Wolfstar- 30 moons. Leader. Responsible. Compassionate. Keen eye. Apprentice- Dropletpaw.

Lynxdawn- 25 moons. Lead Cleric. Thoughtful. Faithful. Good teacher.

Snowspeckle- 41 moons. Deputy. Artisan. Loving. Thoughtful. Great singer. Apprentice- Kelppaw

Nighthowl- 81 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Lonesome. Watches humans.

Nightleap- 45 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Sneaky. Incredible runner. Apprentice- Coralpaw.

Thistle-35 moons. Caretaker. Troublesome. Thoughtful. Keen eye.

Mallowstripe- 31 moons. Camp keeper. Nervous. Careful. Dream walker.

Shadowdive- 29 moons. Warrior. Blood thirsty. Loyal. Talented Swimmer. Apprentice- Sandpaw.

Ottersplash -17 moons. Warrior apprentice. Insecure. Childish. Good swimmer.

Sunfrost - 14 moons. Warrior. Oblivious. Playful. Good climber.

Dropletpaw- 12 moons. Historian apprentice. Nervous. Lonesome. Learner of lore. Mentor- Wolfstar

Kelppaw- 12 moons. Artisan apprentice. Charismatic. Responsible. Good potter. Mentor- Snowspeckle

Coralpaw- 12 moons. Mediator apprentice. Flamboyant. Confident. Fast runner. Mentor- Nightleap. +Condition: Frost Bite.

Sandpaw- 12 moons. Warrior apprentice. Fierce. Confident. Good hunter. Mentor- Shadowdive.

Briarpaw- 6 moons. Inquisitive→Thoughtful. Shy→Lonesome. Picky nest builder. Mentor- Mallowstripe.

Leopardkit- 4 moons. Inquisitive. Daring. Always wandering. +Condition: Torn Ear.

Pantherkit- 4 moons. Fearless. Unruly. Avid play fighter.

Moon 0

#clangen #warrior cats #wc #saltclan #saltclan moon update #moon 24

salt-clangen