May 21
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seen from Russia
seen from Poland
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Belgium
seen from Pakistan
seen from Israel
seen from China
seen from France
seen from Russia
seen from United States
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seen from Yemen
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Belgium
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Russia
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CW - Violence against animals and Gore
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)
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Enoki, you sly dog lol
Moon 25 pt. 1
Newleaf
Trigger warning a for this chapter: violence, death, gore, blood, descriptions of animal remains, labor/birth, kit death
When Snowspeckle called the morning meeting, Curly and Sunfrost were already seated at the front of the clearing, alert and ready for their tasks. After just a few days in the clan, receiving rosemary and stinging nettle roots his scent was already smelling less like a molly’s.
“Kelppaw, Dropletpaw—you’ll be working on your projects for your warrior assessments.” She said, nodding to the sisters. “I want you both on the sunhigh patrol, so come find me and Thistle then.”
“Yes!” Kelppaw chirped eagerly, while her quieter sister dipped her head in polite acknowledgment.
“Curly. Sunfrost.” Snowspeckle turned her gaze to them. “You’ll be joining Shadowdive on a hunting patrol along the shore.” She waited for them to nod and give their strange, earnest salute before continuing. “Head out soon. You’re also assigned to the evening border patrol.”
She moved on briskly, assigning the rest of the day’s duties—Nighthowl and Nightleap to gather firewood, Sandpaw to join Shadowdive and Ottersplash on a dusk patrol, Mallowstripe to meet with the other clans’ keepers to coordinate the festival meal.
“Alright,” Snowspeckle concluded, her voice firm but warm. “You all have your tasks for the day. Stay vigilant, and be careful where you step—the territory’s muddy, and Newleaf flooding is already setting in.”
With that, the meeting dispersed.
Shadowdive and Ottersplash lingered near her as Curly and Sunfrost waited by the camp entrance, playfully shoving and grappling while they passed the time. A fast friendship forming between the two newcomers.
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Ottersplash muttered, casting a sharp look toward his former mentor. “Sunfrost has been nothing but loyal to the clan.”
“I’m making sure these new cats are who they say they are.” Shadowdive replied, his eyes sweeping the camp rather than meeting Ottersplash’s. “With the recent conflict between loners and clan cats, and the new litter it’s not unwise to be cautious.”
“You sound paranoid,” Ottersplash shot back, hackles lifting. “Sunfrost is clearly not a threat.”
“No one’s in trouble.” Snowspeckle interjected calmly. “I know you’re her friend. This is mostly to assess Curly—Sunfrost is just a buffer.”
Ottersplash scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“You sound like Nightleap.” He said sharply, flicking his tail dismissively at Shadowdive. “She’s hated Sunfrost since day one, and now she’s hissy about Curly too.”
Shadowdive exhaled slowly. He didn’t care for the comparison.
“It’s an assessment.” He said evenly. “Not an exile. Calm your hackles.”
Ottersplash huffed, tail twitching as he turned away and stalked toward the warriors’ den.
Shadowdive watched him go, his gaze lingering until the black tom vanished inside.
Only then did he exhale.
“Sunfrost. Curly.” His voice cut cleanly through the damp morning air. “You’re with me.”
Snowspeckle dragged her tail along his flank in sympathy as he left.
“He’s protective, you know what that’s like.” She murmured, giving him a small smile. “Don’t take it to heart.”
He nodded, leading the patrol out of the smaller camp entrance.
The tide was low when they left camp, the shoreline slick with kelp and rocky stone. Newleaf warmth clung to the air, but the ground still sucked at their paws, cold and wet beneath the thin skin between their toes.
Shadowdive set the pace without looking back.
Curly kept up easily, even with his shorter stride, shoulders squared and tail high. He walked like a cat who expected to be mocked—chin lifted, eyes sharp, large curly ears on a swivel. Sunfrost bounded along beside him, splashing through shallow pools with cheerful disregard for stealth.
“So,” She chirped, hopping onto a rock and nearly slipping off it again, “are we hunting fish or birds or whatever decides to be unlucky today?”
Shadowdive flicked an ear. “We hunt what Starclan gives us. Quietly.”
Curly’s tail twitched and he snorted. “Fish don’t care how quiet you are.”
Shadowdive stopped.
He turned slowly, looming without trying to. He was built like a cliff—broad, scarred, immovable. Curly barely reached his shoulder, all wiry muscle and sharp angles, but he didn’t lower his gaze instead standing on his tip toes.
“You got something you want to say, kit?” Shadowdive asked flatly.
Curly bristled at the word. “Not a kit.”
Sunfrost slid between them with an amicable grin before they could snap. “He means you’re small,” She said unhelpfully. “Not young. Shadowdive gets grumpy when we annoy him. He called me a kit once.”
“I did not.” Shadowdive rolled his eyes, though his whiskers twitched. Curly stayed frozen, eyes locked on the motion.
“You did! You so did.” She insisted with a laugh, nodding. “Right before I fell in the tide pool.”
Curly huffed, tension bleeding just a little from his shoulders. “I’m not afraid of being small.”
Shadowdive studied him for a long moment. “No one said you were.”
Curly shook his coat, letting the tension ebb slightly.
They moved on.
The river bank near the DuskClan border was thick with new growth and half-frozen mud, the kind that swallowed your paws if you stepped wrong. Shadowdive demonstrated the approach—slow, deliberate, patient.
Sunfrost tried to copy him and promptly stepped on a frog.
“Sorry.” She whispered loudly, staring after it as it hopped off.
Curly didn’t laugh, but he didn’t seem annoyed with her. He crouched low instead, eyes tracking movement beneath the water’s surface. When a fish darted too close, he launched—fast, fearless—vanishing beneath the surface in a spray of cold.
Shadowdive stiffened.
A heartbeat later, Curly burst back up, gasping and grinning, a silver fish clenched triumphantly in his jaws. He paddled to shore and dropped it at Shadowdive’s paws like a prize.
“Told you,” Curly said. “Quiet doesn’t matter if you’re quicker.”
Shadowdive exhaled slowly, but appraised the white tom again. “You swim very well.”
“You didn’t expect me too?” Curly shrugged, shaking water from his pelt. “It’s not like it’s hard.”
“You seem defensive.” Shadowdive murmured, leaning away from the spray.
“Where I’m from, you take what you can before someone bigger decides it’s theirs.” Curly’s lip lifted slightly at the thought.
Sunfrost tilted her head. “That explains why you bite first.”
“I do not—”
“You do,” She said fondly. “It’s very intimidating. Like a water snake.”
Curly’s ears burned, but he didn’t snap back. Shadowdive fought back another laugh.
He understood the small tom more than he’d initially thought.
As the day went on, Curly let Sunfrost have the easier path, he didn’t argue with her like he did Shadowdive. He applauded her catches and preened under her praise for his.
They hunted a while longer in messy coordination—Shadowdive’s experience, Curly’s ferocity, Sunfrost’s chaotic optimism somehow stitching it together. When they paused beneath a wind-bent pine, Shadowdive finally spoke again.
“You act like you expect a fight.” He said, leading them to the spot they’d hid some prey. “Like respect is something you win once and then lose every sunrise.”
“Yeah?” Curly sniffed, removing the snow he’d used to cover his previous catches. “That’s how it works.”
Sunfrost was walking in small circles, unable to remember where she’d hid hers.
“No,” Shadowdive said. “That’s how it works when no one accepts you.”
Curly looked away, tail twitching.
“I had to prove myself,” Curly muttered. “Every day. Just to be taken seriously. If I backed down, I disappeared.”
Shadowdive sat, the new grass flattening under his weight. “Being a warrior isn’t about how loud you are. Or how hard you hit.” He glanced at Curly. “It’s about following our code, even when no one is looking. Respect will come in time and it will stay.”
Curly swallowed. “Easy for you to say.”
Sunfrost looked Shadowdive over thoroughly. “He does look like a rock and a badger had a kitten.”
Shadowdive smiled behind his whiskers.
“I didn’t always,” He said quietly. “And I didn’t always get it right. It’s not like that here, in Saltclan once you’re a warrior….it’ll take a lot to lose that trust.”
Curly’s claws flexed, then sank back into the mud. “I dont need to be kit sat.”
“You’re not,” Shadowdive replied. “You’re getting honesty.”
The wind shifted. The waters speaking against stone.
Curly finally met his eyes. “I just want to be a good tom.”
Shadowdive nodded once, standing now. “Then stop fighting battles that aren’t there.”
A beat of silence, heads bowed.
Sunfrost bounced to her paws. “Does this mean we’re done glaring at each other? Because it’s almost sunhigh and I’m starving.”
Curly let out a breathy laugh, surprised by it.
“When we get back to camp, you should ask Lynxdawn and Dropletpaw about our first fallen warrior— Fennelheart.” Shadowdive went on, collecting his haul. With a flick of his tail he led them back.
As they turned back toward camp, if either cat noticed Shadowdive walked a little slower this time—slow enough that Curly didn’t have to strain to keep up— they didn’t say anything.
“Let all cats old enough to swim in the tide gather for a Clan meeting!”
Wolfstar’s call carried easily across camp, bright and firm despite the weight of her swollen belly. She didn’t attempt the fallen tree that marked her den—its bark was slick with melting frost and mud—so instead she settled carefully onto one of the smooth tide-pool rocks. Patches of old snow clung stubbornly in the shadows of the camp walls, slowly collapsing into slush that darkened the sand underpaw.
Lynxdawn sat close at her side, one eye fixed on Wolfstar’s footing. Mallowstripe and Shadowdive sat in her shadow on the sand without comment, their presence steady as cats filtered in.
The Clan gathered quickly. Newleaf warmth had crept into the air, carrying the damp, green scent of thawing earth, but every step still threatened to suck paws into mud. Tails were higher than they’d been a moon ago. Voices were brighter. Even so, the cold had not fully loosened its grip.
When the last murmurs settled, Wolfstar spoke.
“Now that newleaf has begun, I have some announcements to make.”
A ripple of interest moved through the crowd. Nighthowl straightened immediately, nudging her kits until they sat tall beside her.
“We have much to celebrate,” Wolfstar continued. “At the next Gathering, SaltClan will once again host the First Bloom Festival.”
A low buzz of excitement spread—whiskers twitched, paws shuffled, a few cats exchanged eager glances.
“Snowspeckle and Kelppaw have been hard at work preparing,” Wolfstar said. “We’re nearly ready. Snowspeckle will be delegating a few final tasks later today.”
Snowspeckle dipped her head, smiling as a few cats murmured approval.
“We also have another reason to celebrate.” Wolfstar lifted her chin slightly. “Curly—will you step forward?”
A few heads turned. Leopardkit slumped despite herself as the white-furred tom padded into the open, chest puffed.
“Yes, yaow!” He said, sitting tall.
“It was only a quarter moon ago that you came to SaltClan,” Wolfstar said evenly, “hoping to live a freer, truer life.”
Curly nodded, grinning—but Wolfstar pressed on before he could speak.
“In that time, you’ve proven yourself a capable fighter and hunter. You’ve also asked to officially join our ranks as a warrior. Is that still your wish?”
“Yes!” He said without hesitation.
“And you’ve asked to receive a warrior name?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you promise to uphold the warrior code,” Wolfstar asked, her voice firm now. “To protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”
“I do.” Curly replied, just as steady.
Wolfstar nodded. “Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Curly—from this moment on, you will be known as Frostcurl. SaltClan honors your strength and dedication, and we welcome you as a full warrior of our Clan.”
“Frostcurl! Frostcurl! Frostcurl!”
The cheer rolled through camp, louder than it had been in moons. Cats pressed closer, tails waving, some leaping over puddles without care. Frostcurl beamed, eyes shining.
When the noise finally faded, Wolfstar raised her tail.
“There is no other news.” She said, nodding to dismiss the clan.
She shifted her weight, preparing to step down.
“Wait!”
Leopardkit’s voice cut through the humid air. She sprang to her paws, chin lifted. “Isn’t there something else you forgot to announce?”
A sharp hiss came from Pantherkit as he reached for her, trying to pull her back down. She shook him off.
The warmth in Wolfstar’s expression vanished.
“No.” She said, low and controlled. “There is not.” Her gaze fixed on Leopardkit alone. “And I do not need to be corrected by a kit—especially not one who has forgotten her manners.”
A ripple of discomfort passed through the crowd. A few cats shifted, ears flattening. Others glanced pointedly at Nighthowl.
Leopardkit opened her mouth again.
“Nighthowl!” Snowspeckle snapped, stepping forward to stand beside her leader. “Mind your kit.”
Pantherkit shoved Leopardkit fully back this time, clearly flustered. He glanced around, mortified, before ducking his head and backing away from the center of camp.
“I’m sorry, Wolfstar,” Nighthowl said quickly, hauling both kits in by their scruffs. “I don’t know what’s gotten into them.”
Wolfstar said nothing.
She didn’t glare. She didn’t raise her voice. She simply looked down at Nighthowl and Leopardkit—long, quiet, unmistakably disappointed.
The meeting broke apart in uneven fragments. Some cats hurried away, eager to escape the tension. Others lingered, pretending to chat while casting sidelong looks at the small family left standing in the mud and melting snow.
The warmth of newleaf did little to soften the chill that followed.
Lynxdawn felt it from sunrise.
Something was wrong.
The feeling clung to her like a dampness she couldn’t quite shake—an itch beneath her skin, a tension that made her shoulders rise no matter how often she forced them down. Everything looked normal. That almost made it worse.
The morning meal had been pleasant enough. She’d shared a fish gumbo over mash with Thistle, the steam curling lazily into the air as they watched Briarpaw work. The camp had been full of soft voices and clinking bowls, laughter carried on the wind. No one else seemed unsettled. No one else kept glancing over their shoulder at the sigh of shifting sand.
Her hackles refused to stay flat.
Every scrape of shell, every gull’s cry overhead made her ears twitch. Coralpaw was finally healed—no lingering excuse to sleep in the cleric’s den—and had inevitably crawled into Lynxdawn’s nest before dawn. The quiet that followed her leaving felt too clean, too empty. It made Lynxdawn’s stomach knot.
By sunhigh, the unease still hadn’t broken, despite the relative calm of the blustery newleaf day. Snow lingered in dirty patches along the rocks, melting into slick rivulets that turned the paths to mud. The air was warmer, brighter—but it felt thin, like a stretched skin ready to tear.
She made herself a calming tea: oat straw and chamomile. She lit her incense and settled into meditation, determined not to let nerves rule her.
The den was dark and still. She tried to focus inward—where the discomfort lived, how it coiled in her chest, what warning it was trying to give her.
She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly.
The yowl that shattered the quiet snapped her fully awake.
Panic seized her heart as recognition struck—Sandpaw.
Lynxdawn bolted from her den, paws skidding on wet stone as the entire camp seemed to surge with her, cats spilling from dens in a sudden, frantic tide. She reached the pools just as the crowd parted.
Sandpaw stood alone at the center.
Blood streaked her pelt in dark, uneven smears. Small wounds marked her legs and flanks, her fur clumped and filthy. She wailed for help, the sound raw and broken, her eyes wide and unfocused as if she was looking through the camp rather than at it.
“Where’s Shadowdive? Where’s Ottersplash?” Wolfstar pushed to the front, her breath uneven, her stance unsteady with her heavy belly.
“The abandoned nest!” Sandpaw cried, voice cracking as she stared into nothing. “We need help—please—we need help!”
Lynxdawn shoved through the gathered cats and caught her daughter, pulling her close. The scent hit her immediately—sharp, musky, unmistakable.
“You stink like fox,” She said, gripping Sandpaw tighter. “What happened?”
Snowspeckle was already ushering them away from the pools, steering them toward the kitchen. Sandpaw’s legs trembled beneath her.
“We—we found one,” Sandpaw whimpered, her body shuddering. “It was—it—”
“Is anyone else hurt?” Snowspeckle asked quickly. “Do they need a cleric?”
Sandpaw shook her head violently. “No—no—we killed it—but then—then we found what—who—it was eating.”
The camp went deathly still.
Sandpaw broke then, burying her face into Lynxdawn’s chest, sobbing so hard her breaths hitched. Lynxdawn closed her eyes, jaw tight, rocking her gently as dread settled heavy in her gut.
Snowspeckle sucked in a sharp breath and turned to Wolfstar, eyes wild.
“Snowspeckle,” Wolfstar said lowly, tension rippling through her frame. “Take Frostcurl, Nightleap, and Thistle to the abandoned nest. Be prepared for anything.”
“Should Lynxdawn come too?” Nightleap asked. “Just in case?”
Lynxdawn hissed before Wolfstar could answer. “I’m not leaving my daughter like this!”
“That’s fine.” Thistle said quickly, already moving. She returned moments later with a prepared emergency bundle clenched in her jaws.
“Let’s move.” Snowspeckle ordered.
As they gathered, Wolfstar stopped them with a lifted tail.
“Sunfrost and Nighthowl are still out. If you’re not back when they return, I’m sending them after you. Be safe.”
Nightleap scoffed. “Of course the useless pair is missing.”
Frostcurl hissed sharply, but followed when Snowspeckle led them away.
“Don’t.” The deputy snapped under her breath.
Lynxdawn watched them go, then turned, guiding Sandpaw toward her den. Her other kits trailed close behind.
“Is… is it alright if we’re in here?” Dropletpaw asked softly.
Lynxdawn’s glare softened. She gave her eldest a quick lick between the ears.
“Of course. Take your sister to my nest. Kelppaw, start a fire. Coralpaw, find a pelt—warmth will help.”
Kelppaw hesitated, eyes fixed on Sandpaw’s slack posture. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I think she’s in shock,” Lynxdawn said quietly as she moved to reheat her abandoned tea. “It happens when a cat sees something… deeply upsetting.”
Her gaze flicked to Dropletpaw—measuring, worried—but her eldest was already helping Coralpaw pull a blanket over Sandpaw, movements calm and purposeful, eyes never leaving her sister.
“It must’ve been bad,” Coralpaw murmured. “Sandpaw’s the toughest of us.”
Lynxdawn reached for her herbs, the scent of skullcap and lavender blooming in the den as she stirred them into the tea.
“We never know our limits,” She said softly, “until we’re forced to find them.”
Silence settled as the tea steeped.
She retrieved a small jar and tipped two poppy seeds into her paw, holding them gently in front of Sandpaw.
“Eat these, sweetheart. They’ll help.”
They all held their breath as Sandpaw slowly leaned forward and licked them up.
“That’s it.” Lynxdawn purred, pressing her chin to the top of her head. “Good job.”
“What can we do?” Dropletpaw asked.
“Share tongues.” Lynxdawn instructed. “Against the fur. It can help bring her mind back.”
She watched as the three apprentices disappeared beneath the blanket to groom their sister. Pulling the tea from the fire, she let it cool before nudging it toward Sandpaw.
“Can you drink this?”
Sandpaw sniffled and took small, careful sips.
Eventually, she squirmed faintly under the attention, blinking blearily at her sisters. Lynxdawn curled around her then, ushering the others to guard the den entrance. She tucked her nose into Sandpaw’s scruff and began to purr—long, steady vibrations meant to anchor a drifting mind.
Outside, the wind rattled wet reeds and melting snow slid from stone.
Whatever had happened at the abandoned nest, Lynxdawn knew this calm would not last.
Snowspeckle reached the scene first.
Her nose recoiled instantly, the overwhelming stench of blood and fox and rot slamming into her so hard she gagged. The air was warm—too warm—and already thick with early newleaf humidity. Bugs buzzed low over the grass, drawn to the smell, their droning a constant, sickening hum.
She skidded to a halt as the rest of the patrol caught up, eyes raking over the scene.
Nightleap swore under her breath.
Before them lay a shallow, muddy dip in the field, the ground churned and slick, stained dark red with blood and scattered remains. Toward the camp side, a fox’s body sprawled lifelessly, its pelt an unnatural mix of silver and black rather than the usual red or gray. Its eyes were wide and glassy, fixed on the sky.
But it was the body closer to the abandoned nest that stole the air from Snowspeckle’s lungs.
Shadowdive and Ottersplash stood over it, heads low, unmoving.
“Wh—what happened?” She gasped as she trotted closer, her breath coming fast.
The patrol froze where they stood. Thistle was the only one who followed her, giving the dead fox a wide berth. Frostcurl and Nightleap lingered back, eyes darting, visibly unsettled.
Ottersplash stepped aside without a word, giving her room to see.
“We found the fox first.” Shadowdive murmured, his voice flat, distant. “Didn’t even realize she was here until after we’d killed it.”
Snowspeckle circled the body slowly.
Then she gagged.
The cat was a molly—hard to tell beneath it all. Her russet and white coat was matted dark with blood, her throat torn open. Further down, her body was almost unrecognizable: her belly split wide, entrails spilled into the mud like butchered prey. A few tail-lengths away lay a soft lilac collar, smeared and trampled.
“Marceline?” Thistle whispered, horror cracking her voice.
Shadowdive’s head snapped up as the rest of the patrol edged closer.
“You knew this queen?”
“Yes,” Snowspeckle said hoarsely, closing her eyes. “We briefly met her last moon. She one of our leads on—on Rippleclaw.”
“But why do you say queen?” Thistle asked slowly. “I didn’t think she was pregnant?”
Snowspeckle shook her head, staring up at the sky as if it might answer for her.
“No. No, I don’t think so.”
“Well,” Shadowdive said grimly, lifting his chin and gesturing a few tail-lengths away, “She was.”
Snowspeckle followed his gaze.
“Oh, stars—” She gagged again, tears finally spilling over. “Is that— Is—”
“A kitten’s head.” Ottersplash said quietly.
Everyone turned to him. His sun-chipped eyes were hollow as he looked at his mother.
“We haven’t found the rest.” He added. “Or any others.”
Nightleap shook her head violently. “That fox did this. It tore her apart—ate her kits.”
“No.” Shadowdive growled.
He reached out and gently lifted one of Marceline’s stiff paws.
“The fur caught in her claws is orange.”
Silence crashed down.
“I smell other cats,” Ottersplash said shakily, nosing through the grass closer to the Twoleg border. “More than one. I don’t recognize them—no clan scent. Rogues.”
“We tracked the fox from further east,” Shadowdive said, shaking out his fur as if trying to rid himself of the memory. “There were no signs it’d been here long. It couldn’t have been with her body for more than a few mouthfulls.”
He grimaced at his own words but forced himself on.
Snowspeckle knelt near Marceline’s head, forcing herself to focus only on her face—her golden eyes, wide and empty. She leaned in, sniffing carefully at her mouth and muzzle.
“I smell cat blood.” She hissed. “Not hers.”
She choked down a sob.
“She fought back.”
Frostcurl shuddered, staring at the ruined body.
“Who could do this? Marceline couldn’t even fight—everyone liked her.”
Snowspeckle and Thistle exchanged a long, heavy look.
Could this be because of us?
“We should bury her.” Ottersplash said quietly, eyes flicking south toward the graveyard. “It’s only right.”
“We can’t yet,” Snowspeckle said, her voice trembling. “Lynxdawn and Wolfstar need to see—”
“My mate is heavily pregnant,” Shadowdive snarled sharply, eyes like fire. “She is not inspecting the body of a gutted queen.”
Nightleap nodded, in grim agreement for once. “He’s right. We can’t do that to her.”
Ottersplash swallowed thickly, then nodded. “We can have Snowspeckle take her spot. That should be enough.”
Snowspeckle exhaled shakily. It wasn’t proper—wasn’t clan law—but she was exhausted, sick to her core.
“Alright. I’ll stay here. The rest of you go home. Send Lynxdawn back—I’ll walk her through it.”
“I’ll stay.” Ottersplash said at once, pressing close to her side. “In case the rogues come back. And to help bury her.”
“I will too,” Frostcurl said quietly. “She was my friend.”
Snowspeckle nodded once.
“Go.” She ordered the others. “Now. And have Mallowstripe make a large batch of calming tea. For everyone.”
Shadowdive dipped his head, touching foreheads with her before leading the others away.
The remaining cats sat in silence, breathing in the heat, the rot, the blood—and the awful realization that something far worse than a fox had hunted on their lands.
The walk back to camp was quiet and heavy despite the idyllic weather. Shadowdive took the lead, setting a brisk pace, as if outrunning something unseen. His shoulders stayed tight the whole way, like he expected more blood waiting at camp.
Once there, Nightleap lingered at the camp entrance, half-swallowed by the long shadows cast by the rock walls. She didn’t step inside.
Thistle slowed when she noticed.
“You waiting on someone?” She asked, eyeing the black molly’s rigid posture.
“Snowspeckle and Ottersplash.” Nightleap muttered. Her voice was flat, but her hackles twitched despite herself.
Thistle squinted at her, then stalked off. “Could’ve just stayed with them, but whatever.” She hissed under her breath.
Nightleap scoffed, but didn’t move. Lynxdawn passed next, eyes forward, expression carved from stone. She didn’t acknowledge Nightleap at all.
Camp was subdued. Few cats moved. Nighthowl and Sunfrost returned from their firewood patrol with confused, worried looks, murmuring quietly to one another as they stacked the damp branches.
The sun dipped lower as the burial patrol finally returned, paws caked with mud.
Snowspeckle glanced Nightleap’s way but didn’t stop, exhaustion weighing her steps as she beelined for the warriors den. Ottersplash followed close behind.
His gaze brightened when he spotted Sunfrost.
Nightleap saw it immediately. Anyone could. The way his ears tilted toward her. The way his steps quickened without him meaning to.
Sunfrost trotted up, greeting him enthusiastically despite everything. Their noses brushed—brief, instinctive. He flicked his tail and gestured away from camp.
They slipped past Nightleap without noticing her, disappearing toward the cliffs as night fully closed in.
“I just don’t want to be in camp right now.” Ottersplash said, voice barely heard above the waves.
Nightleap followed.
Sunfrost’s heavy pawfalls covered the sound of Nightleap’s lighter steps.
“I get that,” Sunfrost replied, bumping his shoulder gently. “I heard what happened.”
They climbed toward the graveyard, the rocky slope leading to the grassy cliff. The earth still smelled raw and turned.
“I just want quiet.” Ottersplash sighed, dropping heavily to the ground.
Sunfrost mirrored him with a weak laugh. “Then you brought the wrong cat.”
A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Nah. I didn’t want to be alone.”
The words hung there.
“Plus,” He added with an awkward cough. “you can carry me back if my legs give out.”
They laughed softly.
Nightleap’s claws dug into the dirt.
“You were brave,” Sunfrost said after a moment, voice hushed for once. “Staying to bury her…I don’t think I could’ve done that.”
Nightleap stepped forward.
“Funny you say that.”
They startled, springing to their paws.
“Nightleap?” Ottersplash snapped, ears burning red. “What are you doing here?”
Her gaze slid to Sunfrost, sharp and searching. “I should be asking her.”
Sunfrost blinked. “Me?”
“This is the second rogue attack since you joined,” Nightleap said, voice tight. “And this queen had orange fur between her claws.”
Sunfrost nodded slowly, still clearly processing. “Yeah… Shadowdive mentioned that. It’s awful. Someone killed her before the fox even got there.”
Nightleap’s chest rose and fell sharply. “I think you’re behind it.”
The words trembled—not with malice, but fear.
Sunfrost recoiled. “What? No—never!”
“Enough!” Ottersplash snapped, stepping in front of her. “She was with Nighthowl all day.”
“We were clearing new growth at the south cliffs.” Sunfrost added quickly, nodding.
Ottersplash bristled. “Sunfrost is loyal. She would never do this.”
Nightleap’s tail lashed. “Something isn’t right. She arrives, Wolfstar’s attacked. She’s gone all day, and a queen is murdered.” Her voice cracked despite herself. “If there’s a killer in this clan, I need to know who it is.”
“I checked the clearing myself,” Ottersplash growled. “Her scent wasn’t there. Not even faint.”
“It could’ve been her friends,” Nightleap shot back. “You don’t know who she knew before she came here.”
Sunfrost’s eyes finally filled with something other than confusion. “I haven’t talked to anyone. I swear. Nightleap—I wouldn’t betray the clan.”
Ottersplash turned, placing himself between them again. “You don’t have to convince her.”
He guided Sunfrost away. “Wolfstar and Lynxdawn decide guilt. Not her.”
“I don’t want her thinking I did this.” Sunfrost hesitated, glancing back once. “I don’t want anyone thinking I did this.”
“They won’t,” Ottersplash said quietly. “No one who matters anyway.”
They disappeared back toward camp.
Nightleap remained on the cliff, chest tight, eyes burning.
“You should stay here and rest,” Shadowdive meowed, stepping into her path. “You could deliver any day now.”
“I am not missing another Gathering,” Wolfstar snapped, shouldering past him with surprising force. “That would make two in a row—and it’s our festival.”
He moved again, blocking the camp entrance. Cats slid awkwardly around them, paws splashing into the shallow tide pools as the morning sun warmed the sand.
“Everyone will understand.” He insisted, though with little force. “No one expects a near-labor queen to host a festival.”
She whirled on him, tail lashing. “It’s a show of strength. Look how prosperous and unbothered Saltclan is.”
“Love, please just rest.” He pleaded.
She muttered under her breath. “After everything the clan has been through this moon, I should be there for them.”
Shadowdive started to argue again.
“Wolfstar, get your pelt back in this den or I’ll drag you myself!” Lynxdawn yowled from the leader’s perch.
Shadowdive broke into a grin, not bothering to hide it as the cleric successfully reeled his mate back.
Wolfstar huffed, glaring daggers at him before turning and trudging back toward her den.
“I feel fine.” She muttered, shooting a look at the stream of cats leaving camp. “And I have at least a few more days.”
Lynxdawn hopped down and gave her flank a light, corrective swat to keep her moving. Mallowstripe lingered by the kitchen fire, his expression tight.
“I’d much rather stay.” He murmured, pressing his forehead to hers.
“Briarpaw can’t manage without you.” Wolfstar said more gently, nudging him toward the entrance. “And those other keepers can’t cook seafood worth a rat’s tail. They’ll poison half the Gathering.”
He sighed, heavy and anxious. “I just don’t like being far from you this close to kitting.”
“Shadowdive and Lynxdawn are staying.” She purred, brushing her tail along his shoulder. “If we need you, Nightleap will fetch you. Now go—show off how far we’ve come this season.”
Briarpaw appeared at his side, looking just as nervous as he felt. With a soft, resigned smile, Mallowstripe let himself be led away to her first festival.
Wolfstar settled just outside her den, letting the sun soak into her pelt. The last crusts of frost and slush clung weakly to the sand, finally surrendering to newleaf warmth. She purred as Lynxdawn nosed over her, checking her ears for heat, pressing gently at her belly.
“I’m ready for these kits,” Wolfstar sighed, flopping onto her side. “Got any tricks to hurry this along?”
Lynxdawn snorted. “We can try raspberry leaf tea. Maybe.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a no.” Wolfstar chuckled, resting her chin on her paws as Lynxdawn padded off.
Her thoughts drifted despite herself. She wondered—briefly, traitorously—if she should’ve asked Jaggedstar for advice at the last Gathering. The idea made her tail curl tighter around her belly.
These kits will have it different, she promised herself fiercely. I’ll be there. They’ll never doubt my love.
The thought made her eyes burn.
Soft pawsteps approached.
Blinking, she saw Pantherkit edging toward her, glancing back over his shoulder like he expected to be caught.
Nighthowl and Leopardkit nowhere in sight.
“Um… Wolfstar?” He asked, hesitant, like he was interrupting something important.
She swallowed and forced a smile. “Yes, Pantherkit?”
He hesitated, then rushed out, “I’m sorry about the meeting. I know I shouldn’t have shoved my sister again—I just—I wanted her to stop. I’m sorry.”
“Come here,” Wolfstar said immediately, shifting to make space at her flank and angling her body so he couldn’t see the camp. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“But I—”
She gently laid her tail over his mouth. “I don’t care about the shoving. What I do care about is you thinking you’re responsible for Leopardkit.”
He blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Her choices—good or bad—aren’t yours to manage,” Wolfstar said softly. “No one expects you to keep her in line.”
He stared at the sand for a long moment, drawing an uneven line with his paw.
“I just don’t wanna be in trouble,” he admitted quietly. “And it feels like I always am.”
Her heart clenched.
“You’re a good kit,” Wolfstar murmured, nudging her forehead against his. “And if you ever forget that—if you ever feel like nothing you do is right—you come find me. I’ll remind you.”
He shivered and leaned into her side.
She very nearly cried again, hormones and protectiveness tangling painfully in her chest.
Maybe I let my discomfort with Nighthowl seep where it didn’t belong. She sighed.
They sat together for a short, quiet moment before Pantherkit suddenly scrambled to his paws and backed away.
“I should go.” He said with a weary little sigh. “Mom would freak out if she saw us sitting like this. Leopardkit too.”
Wolfstar winced. “I understand.”
He turned to leave, then paused.
“I hope it’s not always like this.”
His words lingered long after his pawsteps faded.
The sun was sinking into the sea when Nightleap burst into the clearing, lungs burning, hackles raised. A few cats startled as she cut straight through the camp, paws kicking up damp sand as she barreled toward the kitchen.
Snowspeckle caught her eye and intercepted her at the firepit.
“Mallowstripe!” Nightleap gasped, keeping her voice low despite her heaving chest. “I’m relieving you. Hurry—Wolfstar’s started kitting.”
Mallowstripe didn’t hesitate. The ladle clattered to the ground as he spun and sprinted for the camp entrance. Snowspeckle watched him go with a tight, nervous chuckle before turning back.
“So,” She asked quietly, taking up the ladle and stirring the pot, “you’re really staying?”
Briarpaw squeaked, whirling to find her mentor gone.
“Don’t worry, baby.” Thistle called from her perch on the rocks, eyes warm and steady. “You finish up. We’ll help you.”
“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be cooking,” Nightleap muttered, already inching backward.
“All you have to do is serve,” Briarpaw said softly.
“You can do it,” Snowspeckle added, trying for a reassuring smile. “Just stay in the kitchen. No one’s going to bother you.”
Nightleap grimaced, but nodded, taking the ladle with stiff reluctance.
Back in the leader’s den, Wolfstar yowled, claws shredding into her nest as another contraction tore through her. Moss ripped free beneath her paws, offering no purchase, no anchor.
“Here!” Nighthowl called from the entrance, a smooth, short branch clenched in her jaws.
Lynxdawn took it quickly, ushering her back before she could linger.
“Bite down.” The cleric instructed, guiding the stick between Wolfstar’s teeth.
Shadowdive dragged a thick floor pelt closer, bracing it beneath her claws. Wolfstar latched onto it desperately, a broken purr shuddering out as he pressed close, licking her face.
“You’re doing so well, love.” He murmured.
She barely had time to breathe before Lynxdawn’s voice cut through the haze. “Get ready to push again.”
Wolfstar whined, then bore down hard, body shaking. Heat and tearing pain flared through her flank—burning, sharp, relentless—until suddenly the pressure broke.
A thin, sharp cry pierced the den.
“We’ve got the first one!” Lynxdawn announced, setting the slick bundle against Wolfstar’s belly.
Shadowdive immediately bent to groom, tongue working fast as the kit wriggled.
“Take a breath,” Lynxdawn said, removing the branch gently. “Do you need water?”
Wolfstar almost refused to let it go. When she did, her voice was hoarse. “Yes.”
She took two shaky laps from the bowl slid beneath her muzzle before another contraction seized her.
“Where’s Mallowstripe?” She panted.
“He’s coming,” Shadowdive said quickly. “Nightleap just left—he’ll be here soon.” He glanced down, pride softening his fear. “This one’s a molly.”
Lynxdawn checked her again. “Take a short break. Then one big push.”
Resting felt impossible. When Lynxdawn gave the word, Wolfstar pushed again immediately.
Another cry joined the first—louder, stronger.
“This one’s got lungs.” Shadowdive breathed out a laugh, grooming the dark kit as it tried to climb his muzzle.
Lynxdawn placed her beside her mother’s belly. The kit latched clumsily, then suckled.
“There’s more,” Wolfstar gasped, dropping the branch as drool and tears soaked her chin. “There’s one more.”
The den grew heavy. Both kits cried, strong and alive—and all three adults felt the shadow of the vision settle over them.
“Wolfstar!” Mallowstripe burst in, soaked from the river, eyes wild. “Are you—”
She gave him a slow blink and a watery smile. “Two so far. The last one’s close.”
He took in the scene: the pale tabby nursing, the dark kit wailing as Shadowdive groomed.
“Another molly.” Lynxdawn murmured.
“Both tabbies,” Shadowdive purred. “Both perfect.”
Wolfstar clenched the branch again.
“Don’t push yet,” Lynxdawn warned. “It’s not positioned.”
They waited. The two kits fed, warm and solid against her belly. Wolfstar sighed, licking over their heads—then another wave hit, sharper, faster.
Panic spiked.
“I don’t know if I can,” She choked around the wood. “I don’t know if I can push out a dead kit.”
Mallowstripe licked her face, tears streaking his whiskers. Shadowdive groomed her back, looking helplessly to Lynxdawn.
“You can,” The cleric said firmly. “And you will. We’re here—but there is no other choice.”
Wolfstar nodded, sobbing once. “Okay.”
“Now,” Lynxdawn commanded. “Push!”
Wolfstar screamed. Her claws tore straight through the pelt, the branch splintering between her teeth as the burning, tearing agony peaked—
—and then stopped.
Sound rushed back in unevenly.
“You can rest,” Shadowdive murmured into her neck. “You did it.”
Mallowstripe swallowed hard and stepped forward, blocking Wolfstar’s view.
The kit was tiny. White-splashed. Still.
Cold as moonlight.
He pulled it close, grooming desperately, tongue dragging against limp fur.
“Mallowstripe…” Lynxdawn said softly. “It’s no use.”
“No.” He rasped, voice breaking.
“Mallow,” Shadowdive said gently. “It’s gone.”
Wolfstar lifted her head weakly. “I’m sorry.” She whispered.
He didn’t stop.
Wolfstar dragged herself closer, dislodging the two kits. She pressed her muzzle to the still kit and began to lick too—slow, shaking strokes.
Shadowdive joined them.
Three parents, grooming grief into silence.
With heavy shoulders, Lynxdawn watched, letting them mourn while she checked the living kits.
Then—
“Wait.” Her voice snapped sharp.
She shoved their heads aside, examining the tiny body.
A wet, fragile mewl slipped free.
“She’s—she’s alive.” Lynxdawn breathed.
Mallowstripe froze. “Another… molly?”
“Yes,” Lynxdawn said, stunned. “Another molly.”
She nudged the kit toward Wolfstar’s teat. It took a few tries, then latched with surprising strength.
“She’s the runt.” Wolfstar murmured fondly, exhaustion and awe tangling together.
Shadowdive met Mallowstripe’s eyes—relief crashing through him.
The den settled into quiet as they cleaned Wolfstar gently. Lynxdawn prepared herbs—red clover, raspberry leaf, burnet, chervil—her paws moving automatically.
Before leaving, she paused.
“I’m glad the littlest one lived,” She said quietly. “But remember—the vision was clear.”
No one answered.
They curled closer instead, three kits pressed tight between them, guarding the smallest as night finally closed in.
Cat Allegiances:
Wolfstar- 31 moons. Leader. Responsible. Compassionate. Keen eye. Apprentice- Dropletpaw. Condition: recovering from birth.
Lynxdawn- 26 moons. Lead Cleric. Thoughtful. Faithful. Good teacher.
Snowspeckle- 42 moons. Deputy. Artisan. Loving. Thoughtful. Great singer. Apprentice- Kelppaw
Nighthowl- 82 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Lonesome. Watches humans.
Nightleap- 46 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Sneaky. Incredible runner. Apprentice- Coralpaw.
Thistle-36 moons. Caretaker. Troublesome. Thoughtful. Keen eye.
Mallowstripe- 32 moons. Camp keeper. Nervous. Careful. Strange dreamer→Dream walker.
Shadowdive- 30 moons. Warrior. Blood thirsty. Loyal. Talented Swimmer. Apprentice- Sandpaw.
Rippleclaw - 18 moons. Warrior apprentice. Troublesome. Adventurous. Fast runner. Permanent condition: Partial hearing loss. Missing.
Ottersplash - 18 moons. Warrior apprentice. Insecure. Childish. Good swimmer.
Sunfrost - 15 moons. Warrior. Oblivious. Playful. Good climber.
Curly→Frostcurl- 13 moons. Warrior. Bold. Faithful. Formidable fighter.
Dropletpaw- 13 moons. Historian apprentice. Nervous. Lonesome. Learner of lore. Mentor- Wolfstar
Kelppaw- 13 moons. Artisan apprentice. Charismatic. Responsible. Good potter. Mentor- Snowspeckle
Coralpaw- 13 moons. Mediator apprentice. Flamboyant. Confident. Fast runner. Mentor- Nightleap. Condition: no longer suffering from frost bite.
Sandpaw- 13 moons. Warrior apprentice. Fierce. Confident. Good hunter. Mentor- Shadowdive. Condition: shock.
Briarpaw- 7 moons. Thoughtful. Lonesome. Picky nest builder. Mentor- Mallowstripe.
Leopardkit- 5 moons. Inquisitive. Daring. Always wandering.
Pantherkit- 5 moons. Fearless. Unruly. Avid play fighter.
+???????kit- 0 moon. Quiet. ?????. ?????.
+??????kit- 0 moon. Unruly. ????. ?????.
+????kit- 0 moon. Sweet. ????. ????.
Prev
Next
Moon 0
Moon 25 - Spring: Part 2
Moon Events:
Loudpaw and Ashpaw earned their warrior names at 13 moons old. Honored for his determination, Loudpaw is named Loudpeak! He still remains insecure as ever and Icystar can only hope he outgrows this as he steps into his new role as deputy. Meanwhile, Ashpaw is honored for her boldness as she is named Ashspeck! She has gone from charismatic to daring!
Despite still being confined to the healer’s den with her injury, 14-moon-old Hawthornpaw is made a warrior alongside the two littermates. Honored for her intrigue, she is named Hawthornnight! Her childish nature is still intact despite recent events.
FIRST
PREVIOUS|NEXT
One of the downsides of having a clan be led by a dynasty is that sometimes the position of deputy is fulfilled by an insecure 13-moon-old with little life and no leadership experience…
Bonus doodle! Based off a scene I had in mind for the moon, but I couldn’t fit it in.
Moon 25
uh so Trembleseeker and Zinniaspirit huh? >.>'
I honestly don't really like it but this continues and I tried to restart this moon but it had saved. My whole thing is that Trembleseeker was almost a warrior when Zinniaspirit was born and that makes me a bit uncomfortable but yaknow what can you do...
Moon 0
Moon 24 - Moon 26
Moon 25 of Tinyclan
Last moon | Next moon
Intro
(Please forgive my poopoo handwriting)
MOON 25
The first moon of year three!! Lots of cats healed up this moon :D
Locustpaw’s headache is gone, the joint pain Echopaw was experiencing has abated and Fumble has healed from the strain of delivering his litter!
While on patrol, Quietstar has a run in with a skunk! Everyone avoids them for a few days…
Bluesky leads a patrol consisting of Breeze and Fumble, but stops when he hears an odd sound coming from a nearby bush. Before Bluesky can move to check it, a loner emerges with their newborn kits. The cat explains they would like to join the clan and after a short conversation with Bluesky, the loner and their family join the patrol on the journey back to camp.
Perditofog, Stemkit and Magnoliakit have joined the clan.
Cats just keep wanting to join Mantisclan! Would you guys be interested if i made an allegiances post and kept it updated as the clan grows?
Be prepared though, I’m sure some of your faves are going to start dying soon…
