Discover Top Posts Tagged with #moon 26

Mar 27

Moon 26 pt 2

New Leaf

A/N: Sorry this took forever, had a major case of writer's block but I think we're back baby! Final part btw!

Nightleap ran the second Snowspeckle disappeared, not stopping until the trees swallowed the sound of camp behind her. A voice called out, but she pushed harder.

She slowed only when her lungs burned and the anger had nowhere left to go. For a time she stayed still, panting and gasping as her eyes took in nothing but the sand under paw.

Cowards ran. Her mind hissed.

A soft noise behind her, she could flinch in time.

“Are you done pretending you don’t hear me?”

Nightleap’s ears twitched.

Coralpaw stood several foxlengths away, not winded — not chasing now. She’d chosen her pace carefully. The apprentice’s tail flicked in mild irritation for once, not desperation.

“Didn’t get the hint I wanted to be alone?” Nightleap muttered.

“And I told you earlier that I wasn’t leaving you.” Coralpaw tilted her head, expression unreadable. “You don’t get to storm off and have me to trail behind like a lost kit.”

Nightleap turned sharply. “Then don’t.”

Silence hung between them.

Coralpaw studied her mentor for a long moment — not timidly. Boldly assessing.

“You know what’s funny?” Coralpaw began lightly. “I used to think you were the strongest cat in camp.”

Nightleap bristled. “Used to?”

“You’re fast. Clever. No one can outrun you. You see threats before most other cats.” Coralpaw’s tail swayed as she spoke, almost conversational. “I thought if I stuck close enough, maybe I’d learn to be like that.”

Nightleap’s jaw tightened. “You’re not built for that.”

“I know,” Coralpaw agreed easily. “I’m built for other things.”

Some how that stung more than disagreement.

“I’ve always known you were angry,” Coralpaw continued, voice losing its playful edge. “Long before Rippleclaw. Long before Snowspeckle started sleeping with her back to you.”

Nightleap flinched.

“You were angry when I was apprenticed to you,” Coralpaw said. “I saw it. Everyone did. But I thought…” She hesitated only a second. “I thought if I understood you, you might let me in.”

Nightleap’s gaze snapped to hers.

“I defended you,” Coralpaw went on, more quietly now, her eyes drifting to the sea. “When others said I should’ve had a different mentor. I told them you were misunderstood. That you just needed time.”

The words landed harder than any accusation.

Nightleap swallowed. “Then you fell behind.”

“Yes.” Coralpaw lifted her chin. “Because you were out of your depth.”

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t mocking.

It was simply true.

Nightleap’s claws slid into the earth. “I—”

“You didn’t teach me to track in shifting wind,” Coralpaw pressed. “You didn’t correct my stance. You didn’t notice when I improved because I practiced with Thistle at dawn instead of sleeping.”

Each sentence was measured. Weighed and precise.

“I put up with it,” Coralpaw said. “Because I wanted a bond with you. I thought if I was patient enough, charming enough, useful enough, you’d change. That we could be like the other mentors and paws.”

Nightleap felt something crack along her ribs.

“But I see now,” Coralpaw finished softly, “I wasted my time.”

The world seemed suddenly too quiet.

“You think I meant to—” Nightleap started.

“I think you’re cruel when you’re hurting,” Coralpaw cut in, eyes uncharacteristically sharp. Not sharp — just steady. “And you’ve been hurting a long time.”

Nightleap opened her mouth to argue.

The words formed — Rippleclaw. Snowspeckle. Ottersplash. The clan. Frostcurl.

Excuses lined up neatly.

She saw them.

And for once, she didn’t reach for them.

Coralpaw stepped closer, not intimidated.

“You need to apologize,” She said. “To Frostcurl. And mean it.”

Nightleap’s hackles twitched. “He—”

“He defended Snowspeckle.” Coralpaw said firmly. “You accused him because it was easier than admitting you were afraid and shameful.”

Nightleap inhaled sharply.

Afraid.

She had been.

Afraid of being replaced.

Afraid of being unnecessary.

Afraid that grief had hollowed her out and left nothing worth staying for.

But before all of that—

She had been cruel with Coralpaw.

Dismissive.

Impatient.

Cold.

For no reason other than it was easier than trying.

Nightleap looked at her apprentice — no, not an apprentice anymore, not really.

Coralpaw stood tall, bright-eyed despite all of it. Waiting.

“I didn’t know how,” Nightleap admitted, the words tasting foreign. “After Rippleclaw… and when Snowspeckle said she didn’t want more kits… I felt like something had closed.”

She swallowed.

“And instead of fixing it, I ran. I don’t think this…I don’t think I’m meant to be in a clan.” She choked out. “I don’t think I’m meant to be anywhere.”

Coralpaw’s expression softened — but she didn’t rescue her from the moment.

Nightleap forced herself to continue.

“That’s not your fault, my feelings, Rippleclaw, the clan.” She said. “None of it was.”

The apology stuck halfway in her throat.

She almost deflected.

Almost blamed timing. Stress. Anyone else.

Instead—

“I was a poor mentor,” Nightleap said, meeting Coralpaw’s gaze fully for the first time in moons. “And I was cruel to you.”

Coralpaw blinked.

“And I’m sorry.” Nightleap finished.

The words were quiet. Unadorned. Real.

The wind stirred between them.

Coralpaw studied her carefully, weighing sincerity like prey in her paws.

“Good,” She said at last. “That’s a start.”

Nightleap huffed a humorless breath. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m charismatic.” Coralpaw corrected lightly.

A faint, unwilling twitch tugged at Nightleap’s mouth. Had her apprentice always been this cheeky? Certainly never with her.

It felt welcoming, shared, like a warm meal.

“Go back to camp,” Coralpaw added more gently. “Apologize to Frostcurl before this grows teeth.”

Nightleap glanced toward the direction she’d run from.

“Should I talk with her?” She muttered. “I don’t know if she’ll take me back.”

Coralpaw’s tail brushed her shoulder — brief, deliberate. She tried not to squirm away from the touch.

“This isn’t about taking you back, it’s over and that’s okay.” She said. “This is about whether you stop pushing everyone away theres no one left to turn to.”

Nightleap closed her eyes for a heartbeat, letting Coralpaw lead her like a kit.

For once, she walked slowly.

The days after the confrontation passed stiffly.

Snowspeckle moved through camp with clipped efficiency, her injured leg healing under Lynxdawn’s care. Frostcurl kept to his duties, speaking when spoken to, offering no opinion beyond what was required. The model of a respectable tom.

Nightleap watched.

On the fourth morning, she crossed the clearing before she could reconsider.

Frostcurl was sorting driftwood near the half-finished nets, separating sturdy pieces from rot. Thistle and Kelpjay were nearby, arguing quietly over whether a warped plank could be repurposed for Dropletshine’s newest idea.

Thistle noticed Nightleap first.

Her ears lifted. Then angled back.

Kelpjay followed her gaze and stiffened, tail wrapping around her paws.

Frostcurl didn’t look up.

“Frostcurl.” Nightleap said, clearing her throat.

His paws stilled on the driftwood, but he did not turn immediately. When he did, his expression was neutral to the point of cold.

“Yes?”

The single word was polite. Distant.

Thistle and Kelpjay exchanged a glance so obvious it bordered on comical. Neither moved away. Neither pretended not to listen.

Nightleap stood squarely, not skulking, not circling. For once, she didn’t look like she was preparing to flee.

“I owe you an apology.” She said finally, shifting her paws in the sand.

Kelpjay’s whiskers twitched.

Frostcurl’s gaze cut away. “For which part?”

The question was even. Not mocking. Not kind. His tone was light, he was purposefully avoiding anger with an ease he hadn’t shown before.

Who showed him how to do that, she wondered distantly.

Nightleap inhaled once through her nose— grounding herself.

“For accusing you of harming Snowspeckle.” She said. “And for questioning your loyalty to the clan.”

Silence stretched.

Thistle shifted her weight. Kelpjay’s tail flicked once, nervously.

Frostcurl regarded Nightleap with practiced neutrality. “You did more than question it.”

“You’re right.” Nightleap agreed.

That, at least, seemed to surprise him.

“I let my anger and pain speak for me,” She continued. “It had nothing to do with you, but that doesn’t excuse it.”

Frostcurl’s eyes flicked briefly to Thistle and Kelpjay, then back to Nightleap.

“You thought I would betray the deputy,” He said, tone finally betraying his anger. “In front of the clan.”

“I know.”

“And that I’d replaced your son.”

A muscle jumped in Nightleap’s jaw.

“I know.” She repeated, her eyes began to water.

Thistle looked sharply at the ground. Kelpjay’s ears flattened, discomfort plain across her face.

Nightleap forced herself not to look away.

“You defended her,” She said. “You drove off the rogue. You did your warrior duty.” A pause. “I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

The clearing was so quiet the wind through the wind chimes sounded loud.

Frostcurl studied her as though she was a strange fish he’d never seen.

“You don’t trust easily.” He said at last.

“No.” Nightleap replied.

“And you especially don’t trust me.”

Another pause.

“No.”

The honesty hung there — not hostile.

“But I won’t accuse you again,” She pausing, twitching an ear. “Not without cause.”

Kelpjay blinked at that phrasing.

Thistle’s whiskers twitched faintly, as if suppressing a laugh.

Frostcurl exhaled slowly.

“I don’t need you to like me,” He sighed. “And I don’t need you picking fights with me because you’re in pain.”

Nightleap held his gaze. “Understood.”

Another long beat passed.

Finally, Frostcurl dipped his head once.

“For the sake of the clan,” He said evenly. “I accept your apology.”

It wasn’t warm.

It wasn’t welcoming.

But it was steady.

Nightleap inclined her head in return.

Thistle let out a breath she’d clearly been holding. Kelpjay offered a small, relieved smile that neither warrior acknowledged.

Nightleap stepped back first.

There was no lingering. No attempt at camaraderie.

Just a line drawn.

Frostcurl returned to sorting driftwood.

Thistle leaned closer to Kelpjay and murmured something under her breath that made Kelpjay stifle an awkward, nervous snort.

Nightleap walked away without running, for once unbothered at displays of her disconnection from the clan.

And this time, no one followed her.

Shadowdive led his daughters out of the den early in the morning, the kits yawning as they trailed behind him. The camp was already busy—cats milling about, grabbing their morning meals and organizing patrols.

He smiled as he watched the little kits toddle along, taking wobbly steps. Each one moved so differently from the others.

Morningkit walked low to the ground, her toes spread wide as she carefully balanced each step.

Jaggedkit meandered, too occupied by the sights and sounds to walk in a straight line. She’d veer off course, then overcorrect and waddle back the other way, frequently tripping.

Moonkit would take a few steps, pause to look around, then take a few more. Her face held a worried little crease as she watched her sisters wander.

“Papa, where we go?” she asked, the words clumsy.

Morningkit paused, her bored stare locking onto him.

“Remember, we’re going to the kitchen for breakfast,” Shadowdive said, carefully emphasizing the words. “Today you’re gonna eat food with the big cats.”

Moonkit took another uncertain step before pausing again. “But what about Mama?”

Neither of her sisters paused to wait, both steadily toddling toward the growing noise of the kitchen.

“Mama will be there. She’s eating too,” he assured her patiently, waiting while she resumed her shaky steps. “Your Baba has something very special for you three.”

That got her moving. She hurried to catch up with her sisters, kicking up sand as she went.

Most of the clan was gathered around the large oven fire. Newleaf mornings were still cool enough that the kitchen felt warm and pleasant. Half-finished bowls rested between paws as warriors chatted about the day’s plans.

The kits slowed, staring wide-eyed at the noise and movement.

Jaggedkit moved first, immediately honing in on Mallowstripe. Moonkit followed close behind her.

“I go to, Mom,” Morningkit meowed softly, her voice flat and determined.

Shadowdive snorted as she toddled away, the shifting sand threatening her balance.

Across the kitchen, Briarpaw and Mallowstripe paused in their serving to gather the kits close.

“Okay, little ones, not too close to the fire now,” Mallowstripe said firmly, shooting Shadowdive a pointed look. “Go sit with your Papa and Mama. I’ll bring you your surprises.”

“Heh… sorry.” He muttered, ushering the two youngest to sit with their mother and sister. This time he planted himself firmly between them and the fire.

“Mama!” Moonkit cried, throwing herself into Wolfstar’s side. “You was gone when I wake up!”

Wolfstar purred through her laughter. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I had to be up early to lead the clan.”

“You scare her,” Jaggedkit declared sternly, swatting at her flank. “Bad mama.”

“Oh no,” Wolfstar gasped dramatically, while Shadowdive snorted with laughter. “How can I ever make it up to her?”

“Give her your tooths,” Jaggedkit suggested proudly.

Wolfstar gave her a flat look. “You’re not getting my shark tooth necklace.”

“Bad mama,” Jaggedkit scolded again, clumsily grooming her still-sniffling sister.

Moonkit shuffled closer to her mother’s flank, ignoring the muffled chuckles from nearby warriors. She squealed in surprise when Wolfstar gently lifted her away from the milk.

“Not now, sweetie,” Wolfstar said through Moonkit’s scruff. “Baba’s got a treat for you.”

It was the kits’ first taste of real food.

Mallowstripe returned with a long, flat saucer. Small piles of different meats sat in neat portions.

“Go ahead,” Shadowdive encouraged, lowering his head to demonstrate a careful lick. “You’re big mollies now. Tell us what you think.”

Jaggedkit dug into the nearest pile with enthusiasm, sneezing violently when fish paste shot up her nose.

Her sisters were more cautious, alternating between timid bites and uncertain licks.

“What this is?” Moonkit asked, making a face at the strong flavor.

Mallowstripe settled into a loaf beside them. “That one’s chipped rabbit.”

“Ts gross,” Moonkit sputtered, holding her tongue out.

“Don’t say gross,” Wolfstar corrected gently. “That’s mean.”

“Well it tastes…” Moonkit muttered, clearly offended. “Unlucky to me.”

Morningkit sat quietly, her serious gaze fixed on the mash in front of her.

“This is good, Baba.”

“Lemme try.” Jaggedkit demanded, her whiskers dripping with fish sauce.

She shoved against Morningkit’s side and attacked the mash with gusto.

Moonkit sniffed the remaining fish mash. She gave it a small lick.

Then another.

“I do not like this.” Jaggedkit announced dramatically, letting the fibrous mash slide off her tongue.

“Don’t spit food out,” Shadowdive meowed sternly. “There are cats without clans starving. We shouldn’t waste StarClan’s gifts.”

“StarClan don’t have to taste this.” She shot back.

She turned—only to see Moonkit happily occupying her former spot.

“Hey! You steal the spot!”

“Try this with me, Jag.” Morningkit murmured, nudging her toward the abandoned chipped rabbit.

It only took a few bites for Jaggedkit’s attitude to disappear.

“Mmmmmm!”

“You like it?” Mallowstripe purred. “What about you, Morningkit?”

The pale tabby paused, licking her lips thoughtfully.

“It’s nice,” She decided. “I like mash better.”

Moonkit sat up proudly, licking fish sauce from her whiskers.

“This tastes best.”

“That’s fish sauce,” Wolfstar said, giving her a quick lick between the ears. “Made from bass your papa caught.”

The kits continued sampling the piles until their enthusiasm slowed into sleepy chewing and wobbling yawns.

Wolfstar watched them fondly before standing.

“Alright, taste-testers,” She said, gently scooping Moonkit by the scruff. “I think that’s enough adventure for one morning.”

Jaggedkit immediately flopped over. “I sleepy.”

Morningkit simply blinked slowly.

“Nap time.” Wolfstar declared.

Shadowdive helped herd the remaining two kits to their paws while Wolfstar carried Moonkit back toward the den. Jaggedkit stumbled after them, and Morningkit followed with slow, determined steps.

Mallowstripe watched them go with a warm smile before standing and stretching.

“Well,” He said, glancing toward the apprentice waiting nearby, “Back to work.”

And as the den swallowed Wolfstar and the drowsy kits, the kitchen returned to its usual morning bustle.

Pantherpaw was frustrated.

Newleaf warmth clung to him like a second pelt—too thick, too damp. His fur never quite dried, salt and sand collecting along his legs and belly until it itched. No matter how much he groomed, something always felt off. Too heavy. Too tight. Too wrong.

His body didn’t feel like his.

His limbs had lengthened faster than the rest of him, all loose joints and uncertain footing. Every step felt out of place, like he was landing just slightly ahead of himself. Even standing still took effort—muscles twitching, correcting, never quite settling.

He exhaled sharply, claws flexing into the sand.

Shadowdive was still across camp, taking his time herding his litter back toward Mallowstripe. The kits weaved under his legs, slow and distracted. It was nearly sunset, and they hadn’t even left camp yet.

Something restless coiled in Pantherpaw’s chest, tight and prickling.

“Too bad your mentor is a queen.”

He flinched.

Leopardpaw’s voice slid under his skin like a burr. His tail lashed once before he caught it.

“Me and Ottersplash just got back from a hunting patrol,” She went on, stretching lazily as she passed him. “I scented a deer herd near the DuskClan border. We’re gonna prepare a hunt if it crosses.”

Pantherpaw didn’t answer.

But his ears flattened. His shoulders tightened. The tip of his tail twitched again—faster this time, harder to stop.

Leopardpaw moved on like nothing had happened, draping herself across the sun-warmed stones by the tide pool. Her sleek pelt caught the light, smooth and easy in a way his never felt.

“Maybe you’ll get enough practice in to join us.” She added with a smile. “Want me to ask Ottersplash if you can come on the evening patrol?”

Heat flashed through him—sharp, immediate.

He turned away before it could show on his face, but his lips pulled back anyway.

“I’m fine.” His teeth clicked.

A few cats glanced over.

Leopardpaw sighed. “I was just trying to help. Figured it beats sitting in camp waiting for your mentor.”

His claws pressed deeper into the sand.

“You’re not my keeper.” He muttered, forcing the words out evenly. “You don’t need to check up on me.”

The growl still slipped through, low in his throat before he could stop it.

Shadowdive chose that moment to approach.

“Let’s head to the training pools.” The tom said briskly. “We’ll do some sparring.”

He didn’t wait.

Pantherpaw followed, staring straight ahead, ignoring the way the camp seemed to press in around him—the heat, the noise, the eyes.

Each step felt too loud.

“You need to learn to control your anger.” Shadowdive said after a moment. His tone wasn’t harsh. But it wasn’t gentle either.

Pantherpaw’s shoulders tightened.

“Every day you’re snapping at someone. You’ll have a hard time finding friends if you keep that up.”

“I’m not trying to make friends.” Pantherpaw muttered.

Wet sand squelched under his paws. The sound scraped at him.

“I just wanna train.”

Shadowdive sighed, leaping onto one of the rocks lining the pools. He looked down at him, steady and unmoved.

“You’re naive,” He said. “You don’t think you need friends now, but you do. What’s the point of a clan—of the warrior code—if none of your clanmates trust you?”

Something in Pantherpaw’s chest snapped tight.

His hackles lifted before he could stop them.

He leapt up beside Shadowdive in one clean motion, landing harder than he meant to.

“Just because I’m not all fake and cheery doesn’t mean I’m untrustworthy.”

Shadowdive didn’t react.

“Except it does.”

The words landed heavier than they should have.

Pantherpaw’s claws scraped faintly against the rock. For a heartbeat, he wanted to shove him. To prove something—he didn’t even know what.

The urge came fast. Sharp. Gone just as quickly—but it left a pulse behind in his limbs, like an echo.

Shadowdive had already moved on.

“We’re working on balance.” He said, stepping toward the center rocks. “Pick a rock. Stand with a forepaw lifted while the waves hit.”

Pantherpaw nodded stiffly, glad to drop the conversation.

He stepped out onto the salt-slick stones. Spray hit his fur, cool and sharp, cutting through the heaviness for a moment.

He lifted a forepaw.

Nothing happened.

His whiskers twitched, irritation prickling again.

“Another useless exercise." He muttered.

If Shadowdive heard him, he didn’t respond.

So Pantherpaw waited.

And waited.

The rock shifted faintly beneath him. Or maybe it was him.

His muscles adjusted, then adjusted again. Never still.

A wave crashed nearby. He shifted instinctively, weight redistributing before he could think about it.

“Starting to feel it?” Shadowdive called, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “We’re building strength. Clench your stomach—it’ll help with the shaking.”

Pantherpaw tried.

His muscles tightened—but not evenly. Too much here, not enough there. His balance wavered.

“Breathe.”

He hadn’t realized he’d stopped.

The moment he inhaled, everything slipped.

His paw skidded.

The world tilted—

He hit the water hard.

Salt flooded his mouth. Water roared in his ears. For a split second, something in him liked it—the sudden drop, the movement, the force—

Then he was coughing, clawing his way back onto the rocks.

“Let’s try that again.” Shadowdive said, already moving toward him. “Other paw this time.”

Pantherpaw hissed under his breath.

Embarrassment burned hotter than the sun. But he nodded anyway took his spot.

Again.

And again.

They spent the rest of the day like that—balancing on narrow rocks, crossing shifting paths, wading through shallow pools. His muscles burned. His paws slipped. His body fought him at every turn—

Until, slowly, it didn’t.

Not completely.

But enough.

The restless energy under his skin dulled, smoothed out by repetition. By effort. By exhaustion.

For a little while, he felt… quieter.

That night, curled in his nest, his limbs finally heavy in a way that made sense, Pantherpaw let his eyes close.

For a few breaths, there was nothing.

Then—

A twitch in his shoulder.

A flick in his tail.

That same prickling feeling returned, subtle but insistent. Like something beneath his skin shifting, waiting, ready to move before he told it to.

Pantherpaw exhaled slowly, pressing himself deeper into the nest.

Still.

Not gone.

Kelpjay left as soon as she could for her patrol. It would be her first time leading one and she was eager to show off.

Unfortunately, the only cats available were Nighthowl and Sandswipe.

“Oh, you don’t need to com.,” She waved off the older molly awkwardly as Dropletshine passed her the basket. “It’s not a big load, and the sun’s already brutal. It’s hardly a patrol.”

“That’s alright,” Nighthowl replied with a tight, careful smile. “I’ve been wanting to help more, now that I’m back in the warriors’ den.”

Kelpjay caught the way her gaze flicked—just briefly—toward Wolfstar’s den. She pretended not to notice.

Sandswipe set the basket down, herbs releasing a sharp green scent into the salt-heavy air. “Well, if she’s going, you don’t really need me. I’ll see if I can join the hunting patrol instead.”

Kelpjay’s whiskers twitched. She shot her sister a look as Nighthowl lifted the basket.

Sandswipe only shrugged and waved them off.

Slimy little smelt, Kelpjay thought, forcing her fur smooth as they left camp.

“So,” Nighthowl ventured once they’d reached the shoreline path, “Did you ask Wolfstar for your suffix?”

Her tail flicked. She was used to that question by now.

“Not really. I told her I wanted something no one’s ever had before. Something… memorable.”

Nighthowl nodded slowly, shaggy fur lifting in the ocean breeze. “Oh. I didn’t know we could do that.”

The wind fought them the whole way down the coast, sand dragging at their paws. Conversation faded into stretches of silence until the half bridge rose ahead.

Kelpjay darted up the stone wall first, wedging a rock into the basket to keep the herbs from scattering. Nighthowl took a few tries before finding the right pawholds, breath huffing softly as she climbed.

The twoleg place spread before them—strange and loud and sprawling. A few twolegs lounged outside the long nest that housed the boat monsters. They made clicking noises when they noticed the cats but didn’t move. Loners and kittypets milled about in loose clusters, giving the clan cats space.

As they walked beside the thunderpath, monsters roared past in bursts of heat and wind.

“I’m surprised you’re so calm,” Kelpjay remarked. “My first time here, I was a shaking mess.”

Nighthowl squeaked softly. “Oh! Well… I suppose I’m used to it. When I was a kittypet, it was always noisy. Busy. I didn’t go out much, but when I did the world was always loud.”

The dead monster that marked Capri’s Post came into view. Kelpjay swallowed whatever compliment she’d been about to offer.

“Kelppaw!” Archer called from the fence, tail waving lazily. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Ignore them.” Kelpjay muttered.

Nighthowl stopped anyway and smiled politely. “It’s Kelpjay now. She’s a full warrior.”

Kelpjay groaned as Archer let out a delighted trill.

“And who might you be, dear?”

Jade’s broad head appeared from inside the dead monster, blinking sleep away.

“I’m Nighthowl,” She said, stumbling slightly. “A—uh—warrior of SaltClan.”

“Archer, hush,” Jade called, calm but firm. Then her gaze settled on the basket. “What’ve you brought?”

“I’ve got nettles, chickweed… rosemary.” Kelpjay forced a bright smile. “Is Capri here? I wanted to see her.”

Jade’s expression tightened.

“She’s not available.”

“Oh.” Kelpjay deflated.

“She’s been sick. Housefolk took her to the vet. They’re keeping her inside. You can see her—but only through the window.”

Kelpjay’s stomach dipped, she tried not to sag her head.

“Could we?” Nighthowl asked gently. “I’ve heard good stories about her.”

Jade studied them, then nodded. “Sure.”

They traded quietly—rope bundles in riotous colors, a jar of seeds, bits of cordage. Kelpjay wished she’d brought a bigger basket, but her mind was already racing ahead.

The barn loomed larger than the abandoned nest back home, walls intact and humming faintly with strange metal sounds. Its shade felt heavy. Milling about were several cats, loners and kittypets basking in the warm morning light.

Some Kelpjay recognized from trading. A few gave the clan cats sidelong glances, but parted as Jade led them closer to the barn.

“Oh! Kelppaw!”

Kelpjay spun.

“Capri?”

A few cats nearby laughed.

“Up there.” Nighthowl murmured, gently guiding her chin upward.

Capri lay framed in a square opening in the wall.

Oh. A window.

“Hey there, tadpole.” Capri rasped warmly.

Kelpjay reared onto her hind paws, bracing against the frame, the cat she'd interrupted gave her an eyeroll. “I’m Kelpjay now! I got my warrior name!”

Capri’s scarred face creased with pride. “That’s a beautiful name, sweetheart.”

Kelpjay purred, preening under her gaze.

They talked—about Dropletshine, about Wolfstar’s kits—until Nighthowl nudged her gently.

“We should go.”

Reluctantly, Kelpjay said her goodbyes.

They were nearly back to the thunderpath when it happened.

A monster shrieked past—too close, too sudden.

Wind and gravel exploded outward.

Kelpjay slammed into Nighthowl, knocking her clear of the spray. Dust filled her mouth and nose. Smoke burned her lungs.

She gagged.

“Mommy! Mommy wait!”

The cry tore through the haze.

“Come back! Please!”

A small, compact body collided with her flank.

Kelpjay staggered, blinking through tears as a tortoiseshell molly coughed violently at her paws.

“Give it up, sweetie!” Someone called from behind them.

“Yeah give it up hon.”

The tortie shook, eyes wild. “It was an accident! It had to be!”

“Oh no, you’ve been dumped, baby.” Another cat drawled.

“No—no, she loves me—”

An older stray snorted. “You think you’re special?”

The tortie’s voice shrank. “I’ve been really sick lately…”

Silence pressed in.

“Maybe I became too much of a burden…”

Laughter.

“Better get used to it.”

“Ain’t no housefolk taking you to the vet now.”

The molly looked impossibly small despite her plush coat.

“What if I get worse?”

A cat yawned. “Whatever happens happens. Stop making noise.”

Kelpjay’s hackles shot up.

“So you all know what those creatures are like,” She hissed, rounding on the crowd, “and you still won’t help your own?”

Growls rippled back at her.

“Disgusting,” She snapped. “You dare call yourselves cats.”

She turned back to the tortie.

“You can come with us,” She said, voice hoarse but steady. “We have a healer.”

The molly stared between the patrol and the watching strays.

Finally.

“Okay.”

Nighthowl gave Kelpjay a small, proud smile.

Together, they led the abandoned kittypet toward the SaltClan border.

The sand was hot under her paws.

She stepped gingerly, each movement careful, measured—her joints stiff and aching from the long walk. Heat soaked into her pads, up her legs, settling deep into places that already hurt.

A tail-length behind her, the large black molly—Nighthowl—kept to the damp sand, letting the waves lap at her paws.

The kittypet flinched at the sight, hackles lifting on instinct.

“Don’t worry, swimming isn’t required to join,” Kelpjay called lightly, glancing back at her as she led the way.

She managed a faint, weary smile—but it caught in her throat, twisting into a tight, stifled cough. She turned her head quickly, shoulders hitching as she forced it down.

If I answer, I won’t be able to breathe, she thought, swallowing hard as her chest tightened.

The sun pressed hot against her pelt. Too hot. Her fur felt thick, suffocating—nothing like the gentle, brushed softness she remembered. Her breath came shallow, uneven.

She quickened her pace.

“Do you need a break?” Nighthowl asked, moving up beside her. “It’s just up ahead, but we can stop.”

The warrior sounded winded too.

That should have been reassuring.

It wasn’t.

“I’m fine,” She said quickly, though her voice rasped. She swallowed again, fighting the tickle in her throat. “Really.”

A soft sniffle betrayed her anyway.

Kelpjay, thankfully, perked up ahead of them, pointing with her tail. “It’s just past these rocks!”

The grey tabby broke into a light run.

She followed—too fast.

Her breath hitched almost immediately, a wheeze slipping out before she could stop it. Her chest burned, tight and uncooperative, but she pushed forward anyway, stubbornness carrying her the last few steps around the stone outcropping.

And then—

She stopped.

Her body simply refused to go further.

Her jaw fell slack as she tried to pull in air, chest heaving, a thin, shaky cough finally breaking free. She turned her head sharply, trying to hide it, but it came again—dry, rattling, impossible to fully suppress.

The clan shifted as she made her presence known.

A few cats nearby paused—not staring outright, but their noses lifted, ears twitching. One took a small, unconscious step back, giving her a polite smile.

Another angled themselves slightly away.

Not fear.

Caution.

She swallowed hard, forcing the cough down again as she lifted her head.

The camp stretched out before her.

A wide, sandy clearing cradled by stone. Dens carved into the rock walls, some draped with hanging foliage like soft, swaying curtains. Cats moved everywhere—some lounging, some working, some carrying bundles or tools she didn’t understand.

A controlled flame flickered near the far corner.

Two cats worked around it, turning prey with careful, practiced movements.

The smell hit her next.

Warm. Savory. Familiar in a way that made her chest ache.

It smelled like her Mommy’s cooking.

Her mouth watered instantly.

She spotted another pair of cats passing by with woven baskets—of all things—filled with crisp slices of something pale and golden.

Her breath hitched again—but this time with something like longing.

She licked her lips, a little dazed.

One of the passing cats, a fluffy grey molly, glanced at her and offered a small, warm smile.

She returned it, tentative.

The molly’s companion—a small black tabby—froze mid-step, eyes flicking to the kittypet’s face as she sniffled again, unable to stop it this time.

The tabby’s posture lowered instinctively.

Not hostile.

Just… worried.

Then they hurried on.

Her smile faltered slightly.

Kelpjay didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ll be right back!” She called over her shoulder, already darting deeper into camp.

She was left standing at the edge of a shaded den entrance, the coolness a relief against her overheated skin.

She sniffed again, quieter this time, and tried to compose herself—sitting neatly, tail curled over her paws.

More cats glanced her way now.

Some curious.

Some friendly.

Some… wary.

She tried to ignore the way a few of them kept their distance.

Of course, she thought faintly. You’re sick, you must sound awful.

A soft cough slipped out despite her best efforts. She pressed her lips together tightly afterward, as if she could hold the rest in.

“How many are there?” She murmured to herself, watching a group of cats gather around a wide woven plate.

Too many.

Far too many.

There could be more hidden in the caves, she thought.

She flinched slightly when Nighthowl finally reached her, dropping into the shade with a heavy breath.

“Don’t worry,” Nighthowl said between pants. “Wolfstar is the kindest cat. She’ll help you.”

She nodded gratefully, still not trusting her voice.

“Who’s that?”

The voice was deeper—closer.

Her ear twitched toward it.

Two larger cats approached—one black, towering and broad, the other sleek and spotted. They moved with confidence the way only the young did, their eyes sharp as they took her in.

Too sharp.

“Oh! Those are my kits.” Nighthowl said quickly, beckoning them closer.

The kittypet shrank slightly as they approached.

They were… big.

The tom especially—his shaggy fur only made him seem larger, heavier.

“This is Leopardpaw and Pantherpaw.” Nighthowl said.

Pantherpaw leaned in, sniffing her fur carefully.

She held still, though her breath hitched again—another quiet wheeze escaping her.

Pantherpaw paused.

Just for a second.

Then he drew back, slower this time.

“Are you a kittypet?” Leopardpaw asked, a faint sneer tugging at her expression.

Nighthowl laughed awkwardly. “She’s our guest. She might even join us, if Wolfstar approves.”

The two apprentices exchanged a look—very different opinions written plainly between them.

She shifted uncomfortably, trying not to cough again.

“So, Nighthowl,” She said, voice soft and slightly strained, “Why do their names both end in… paw? Is it a twin thing?”

Nighthowl blinked—then burst into laughter.

Loud enough that several nearby cats turned to look.

The kittypet flushed, shrinking slightly under the attention.

“I’m sorry,” Nighthowl said between chuckles. “I just wasn’t expecting that.”

She shook her head, still smiling. “It’s a Clan tradition. Cats have different names throughout their lives.”

“Oh,” She meowed, genuinely curious despite herself. “So those aren’t their real names?”

Leopardpaw puffed up immediately. “I was Leopardkit as a baby—kits all have ‘kit.’ Now I’m an apprentice, so it’s ‘paw.’ When I’m a warrior, I’ll get a new ending.”

She nodded slowly, though the logic felt strange. “And what will it be?”

Pantherpaw scoffed lightly. “We don’t know yet. The leader chooses it based on our skills and traits.”

“Oh,” She said again, offering a small smile. “That’s… quite lovely.”

Her voice cracked slightly at the end.

She turned her head quickly, coughing into her shoulder this time. It came sharper now, her chest rattling faintly with it.

When she looked back, Leopardpaw had taken a half-step away.

Subtle.

But unmistakable.

She pretended not to notice.

Thankfully, the moment shifted.

The camp seemed to still.

From one of the larger dens—marked by a tall, weathered tree trunk—Kelpjay emerged, practically glowing with excitement.

Beside her walked a tall white tabby.

Her breath caught.

Even before anyone spoke, she knew.

This had to be Wolfstar.

The leader moved with quiet certainty, her jeweled blue eyes fixed on the kittypet with calm, assessing interest. Behind her, a dark-furred tom lingered near the den entrance, watchful.

Cherrytail instinctively lowered herself, shrinking slightly as Wolfstar approached.

The faint scent of milk clung to her fur.

“Kelpjay says your Twolegs abandoned you,” Wolfstar said, her voice even, nonjudgmental. “That you’re sick and need care.”

She swallowed, her throat dry.

She nodded.

Wolfstar leaned slightly toward Leopardpaw, murmuring something too quiet to catch.

Moments later, a bowl was placed in front of her.

Cool and fragrant.

“It’s chamomile tea,” Wolfstar explained. “It’s cooling, good for the heat.“

The scent made something in her soften.

Bedtime.

Safety.

Without thinking, she nudged the bowl gently toward Nighthowl.

“Here, darling,” She said softly. “You drink first. I don’t want to get you sick.”

Nighthowl blinked in surprise.

Around them, a few cats shifted again—small, subtle movements. Space opening. Distance maintained.

Nighthowl hesitated only briefly before taking a careful sip, then pushing it back.

The kittypet dipped her head in thanks and drank.

Warmth spread through her throat, easing the tightness just a little.

Wolfstar spoke as she did.

“You’re welcome to stay,” She said. “Even if only until you recover. But we live collectively. You’ll be expected to contribute—however you can.”

She finished the last of the tea and stood, wincing as her joints protested.

“Thank you,” She said, bowing her head. A soft sniffle followed immediately. “I’ll do whatever I’m able.”

Wolfstar’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Are you injured?”

She flushed. “No—just… older than I used to be.”

“How old are you?” Kelpjay asked.

She thought for a moment. “Nine or ten years… perhaps eleven.”

Confusion rippled through the gathered cats.

A small white tom stepped forward. “Kittypet years are seasons,” He clarified. “She’s around ten seasons.”

Several cats blinked.

“You’re an elder?” A large orange tabby asked, incredulous.

She let out a wheezing laugh—cut short by another cough. “Yes, of course. Don’t I look it?”

“You look like an apprentice,” Asandy tabby said, laughing lightly. “You’re so small and plush.”

She smiled faintly. “Is that… good?”

Wolfstar let out a smooth, quiet laugh, cutting through the moment. “Let’s get you to our cleric.”

By evening, everything felt… unreal.

She had been washed—thoroughly, if somewhat indignantly—and checked for things she hadn’t even known to worry about.

Kept gently—but firmly—at a bit of a distance.

Not unkindly.

Just… carefully.

She now lay tucked into a woven nest, a soft pelt draped over her back. A warm stew sat between her paws, steam curling into the dim air.

She sniffled again, quieter now, though her chest still felt tight.

Across from her, the blue pointed cleric and a small black molly spoke in low voices about herbs and storage.

Lynxdawn and Thistle, she tried to remind herself.

Wolfstar slipped into the den not long after, nodding to them both before turning her attention to Cherrytail.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

“Better,” She said, her voice still rough. “Just needed to cool down.”

Lynxdawn flicked their tail, gently motioning Wolfstar back a step.

“She may be contagious,” The cleric said calmly, “but I don’t suspect anything severe. No fever. Catmint hasn’t helped.”

Her ears twitched. Contagious.

“Oh,” She said softly.

That explained… a lot.

“What do you think it is?” Wolfstar asked.

“Likely asthma or allergies,” Lynxdawn replied. “She’ll be more vulnerable to illness, but for now it’s mostly discomfort.”

The kittypet deflated. “So… I won’t get better?”

“You’ll improve,” Lynxdawn assured her gently. “But some sensitivity will remain.”

She nodded slowly, absorbing that.

“I’m giving you mullein and licorice root,” Lynxdawn continued, “and goldenrod for your joints.”

She smiled faintly. “I never knew cats could live like this.”

Wolfstar dipped her head. “We’re fortunate.”

There was a pause.

Then, softly—

“I know I’m still sick,” She said, “but… may I join your Clan?”

Her voice was fragile. “I don’t think I’ll find anywhere like this again.”

Wolfstar’s expression softened. “I’ll announce it tomorrow morning.”

Relief washed through her.

“Wait—” She added quickly. “What about my name?”

The leader paused.

“Most who join us take a Clan name,” Wolfstar said. “If you don’t have one in mind—”

“Cherrytail,” She said immediately. “I’d like to be Cherrytail.”

Wolfstar let out a soft, surprised sound. “Then welcome to SaltClan, Cherrytail.”

Cat Allegiances:

Wolfstar- 32 moons. Leader. Responsible. Compassionate. Keen eye. Apprentice- Dropletpaw.

Lynxdawn- 27 moons. Lead Cleric. Thoughtful. Faithful. Good teacher.

Snowspeckle- 43 moons. Deputy. Artisan. Loving. Thoughtful. Great singer. Apprentice- Kelppaw

Nighthowl- 83 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Lonesome. Watches humans.

Nightleap- 47 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Sneaky. Incredible runner. Apprentice- Coralpaw.

Thistle-37 moons. Caretaker. Troublesome. Thoughtful. Keen eye.

Mallowstripe- 33 moons. Camp keeper. Nervous. Careful. Dream walker.

Shadowdive- 31 moons. Warrior. Blood thirsty. Loyal. Talented Swimmer. Apprentice- Pantherpaw.

Rippleclaw - 19 moons. Warrior. Troublesome. Adventurous. Fast runner. Permanent condition: Partial hearing loss. Missing.

Ottersplash - 19 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Childish. Good swimmer. Apprentice: Leopardpaw

Sunfrost - 16 moons. Warrior. Oblivious. Playful. Good climber.

Frostcurl - 14 moons. Warrior. Bold. Faithful. Formidable fighter.

Dropletshine- 14 moons. Historian. Nervous. Lonesome. Learner of lore.

Kelpjay- 14 moons. Artisan. Charismatic. Responsible. Good potter.

Sandswipe- 14 moons. Warrior apprentice. Fierce. Confident. Good hunter.

Coralpaw- 14 moons. Mediator apprentice. Flamboyant. Confident. Fast runner. Mentor- Nightleap.

Briarpaw- 8 moons. Thoughtful. Lonesome. Picky nest builder. Mentor- Mallowstripe.

Leopardpaw- 6 moons. Cunning. Righteous. Always wandering. Mentor: Ottersplash

Pantherpaw- 6 moons. Vengeful. Gloomy. Avid play fighter. Mentor: Shadowdive

+Cherrytail- 113 moons. Lonesome. Wise. Good mediator. Permanent Condition: Raspy lungs. Condition: Running nose

Morningkit- 1 moon. Quiet. Inquisitive. Loves nature

Jaggedkit- 1 moon. Unruly. Troublesome. Avid play fighter.

Moonkit- 1 moon. Sweet. Noisy. Loves to sing.

Moon 0

#clangen #warrior cats #wc #saltclan #saltclan moon update #moon 26

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