Love is not in the air this moon; Billowhaze and Wolfgaze have a huge fight over how much time Wolfgaze sets aside for their relationship and break up. Meanwhile, Yellowburst finally acts on her kithood crush toward Thundergale and fails miserably.
[Image ID: Billowhaze yowls at Wolfgaze, "How am I supposed to feel important when you're… you?" Under Billowhaze, it says - MATE: WOLFGAZE. Under Wolfgaze, it says - MATE: BILLOWHAZE. In the back, Thundergale walks away from Yellowburst.]
(Billowhaze: 37, male, historian, loyal, good kitsitter)
(Wolfgaze: 37, female, codekeeper, thoughtful, connection to StarClan, great speaker)
(Thundergale: 34, female, teacher, adventurous, great hunter, good speaker)
(Yellowburst: 33, female, caretaker, adventurous, great mediator)
Dovefur spends his vigil contemplating the true nature of Clan life and his role in the Clan. The next morning, he quietly asks Shrewflame to help him learn caretaker skills as he continues his warrior duties.
[Image ID: Dovefur is now an adult. Under him, it reads LEVEL UP! DOVEPAW → DOVEFUR, OBLIVIOUS → COMPASSIONATE, ACTIVE IMAGINATION → GREAT KITSITTER. Shrewflame says to him, "Yellowburst wanted to get out of kit sitting today… could you help?"]
(Dovefur: 12, male, warrior, compassionate, great kitsitter)
(Shrewflame: 26, male, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)
Midnightpaw eavesdrops on Oilstar and wonders if he will ever able to care for himself.
[Image ID: Midnightpaw listens to Oilstar and Anchovystrike while Wolverineheart approaches him from behind.]
---
Midnightpaw was starting to lose it. The bandage that always seemed to cover the left side of his face irritated his skin, leaving him perpetually scratching at his scars. He begged Anchovystrike to let him go hunting, or patrolling, or anything that would get him out of camp, but his mentor put him down at every turn, leaving him to scrape by with the teachers in camp. It was so unfair! Midnightpaw could almost hear Valleypaw in the back of his mind, chastizing him for risking the recovery of his vision over a bit of boredom. Valleypaw got to enjoy perpetual hunting and fun in StarClan, so maybe he could back off.
Yep. Midnightpaw was losing his mind.
"Thank you for collecting the ashes, Midnight," Rattlepelt purred as she scooped said ashes into a pot of water and salt. "We'll let the skins soak in this solution, then scrap off the excess hair."
"And then we use the dung?" Midnightpaw groaned, poking at the stripped hides that sat at his feet.
"Don't worry," Rattlepelt chuckled, giving Midnightpaw a lick on the head. "I won't make you clean out the dirtplace for that. The caretakers get to do that." Rattlepelt winked as she grabbed a mouse hide and dropped it in the pot.
As Rattlepelt tried to include her son in her work, Midnightpaw's eye drifted around camp. There was still no snow, even though the older cats all insisted it would come any day now. Instead, it seemed like a gray autumn, where afternoon patrols and duties attempted to squeeze color back into camp. Everyone was focused on their duties, as had been the routine since RippleClan got back into their camp. It seemed like any cat with even a whisker of skill with leatherwork was busy crafting long pelts and leather flooring, replacing whatever was still wrecked from the flood.
"We just let that sit for now," Rattlepelt sighed, dumping the last pelt into the mixture. "I won't keep you any longer, Midnightpaw."
"Please keep me longer," Midnightpaw begged, front paws pressing against Rattlepelt's shoulder. "I have nothing to do!"
"Anchovystrike still hasn't taken you on patrol?" Rattlepelt muttered. "I thought Troutpool cleared you for patrols last moon."
"That's what I told him!" Midnightpaw groaned. Rattlepelt scanned the camp, but Anchovystrike could not be seen.
"I respect how busy he must be, what with the Rat Leader issue," Rattlepelt grumbled, licking the salty, ashy solution off her paws, "but that's no excuse to delay your training. Oilstar has been taking meetings since sunhigh. You should go to her and complain."
"I can do that?" Midnightpaw gasped, gaze locking onto Oilstar's den.
"If you don't, I will," Rattlepelt promised with a huff. "There's a lot I could say to both of your mentors, if I was a younger molly."
"Both?" Midnightpaw cocked his head, bandage once more scratching his skin. Rattlepelt stiffened slightly, paw held to her tongue for a moment too long.
"I think you know what I mean," Rattlepelt sighed, setting her paw down and licking Midnightpaw's ear. "Now go see Oilstar." Midnightpaw did not, in fact, know what his mother meant, but like many things, he did not question it. Instead, he made his way toward Oilstar's den, skirting around the Clan at work.
"He's the deputy's son, Anchovystrike." Oilstar's voice drifted from the shipwreck. "She's going to notice when his mentor doesn't take him on patrol." The sound carried Anchovystrike's scent with her. Midnightpaw perked up! Oilstar was already telling his mentor off! Good! He lingered near the Shiprock, ears turned to the den. Might as well see how mad Oilstar was.
"Do you really want Midnightpaw at the river with me right now?" Anchovystrike pointed out. Midnightpaw could just make out the swish of the white-speckled tom's tail. "The clerics want me at the border, but I don't think they want Midnightpaw catching yellowcough while he's still healing."
"Mentors have taken their apprentices out in worse conditions," Oilstar huffed. "Really, Anchovystrike, you should be ashamed. You of all cats know how warriors can adapt to vision loss. Your own sister has a condition not too different from Midnightpaw."
"No, no, that's not it," Anchovystrike stammered. "That's not the whole story, I mean."
"I was a historian. You know I appreciate a good story."
"I know he's your grandson, Oilstar, but the more I look at him, the more I worry he can't handle the responsibilities of being a warrior." Wait, it wasn't about Midnightpaw's vision? The black tom grew hot.
"In what way?" Oilstar pressed.
"Even before the accident, Midnightpaw seemed… distant. He always seems just half aware of what's happening at any given moment. He struggles to pick up on hunting cues. He's surprised by the noisiest cats. And the way he's helped around camp since the flood? Someone always needs to fix his mistakes. He messes up on simple tasks. If I take him out of camp, who's to say he won't wander across the border, or into the jaws of a wolf?"
No! Midnightpaw was a good apprentice. He worked hard! He just proved Anchovystrike wrong, he helped Rattlepelt prepare hides! Although all he did was claw off excess flesh… Midnightpaw burned in the winter chill, heart pounding.
"He's an apprentice," Oilstar huffed. "He spent most of his training in recovery. He's allowed to struggle."
"It's just the way he struggles," Anchovystrike groaned. "I don't like saying this, but at this point, I'm not sure Midnightpaw could ever be a warrior."
"Eavesdropping, Midnightpaw?" Midnightpaw jumped, back arching high. Wolverineheart stood behind him, head tilted slightly, a soft purr just reaching Midnightpaw's ears. Midnightpaw blinked dumbly. Should he say yes? Was this a question he was meant to answer? What did Wolverineheart want to know? Wolverineheart's face shifted from mirth to concern as Midnightpaw stayed frozen.
"I'm only teasing you," Wolverineheart said softly. "What's wrong?"
"Do I have to be an elder?" Midnightpaw managed to gulp. Wolverineheart stood taller, sharing in Midnightpaw's dumbfounded look.
"I don't think you're quite that old," Wolverineheart chuckled, eyes avoiding Midnightpaw.
"If I can't do anything, I have to be an elder," Midnightpaw explained, voice tightening. "Isn't that how it works?" The mouth of the elder's den across camp looked like a bear's endless maw, begging Midnightpaw to step inside and slide down its gullet.
"Who do I have to yowl at?" Wolverineheart snapped, surprising Midnightpaw once more. When had the brown molly's face soured? "No matter how well your eye heals, you can still follow your dreams. If you have to retire, half this Clan would be elders. What coward told you otherwise?"
"It's not my eye," Midnightpaw gulped, panting under the sheer heat of his anxiety. "It's me. I don't…" Could he tell Wolverineheart what Anchovystrike thought of him? Midnightpaw didn't think he was inattentive, or oblivious, or dumb… but if his own mentor thought he'd kill himself on patrol, how good of a warrior could he ever be?
It was only because of Wolverineheart's sudden shift that Midnightpaw realized Oilstar and Anchovystrike were leaving the den. A flash of surprise crossed both their faces, although Midnightpaw barely understood it. If they realized he had listened to their conversation, neither cat brought it up.
"I'm glad to see you, Midnightpaw," Oilstar sighed, touching noses with her grandson. "Anchovystrike and I just got done with an important talk."
"Am I an elder now?" Midnightpaw asked. The blood spinning in his head made it hard to focus on Oilstar's words.
"No!" all three adults yowled, in varying degrees of horror.
"You'll be a warrior someday," Oilstar promised, licking Midnightpaw's ear, "even though your training will take longer. No, Anchovystrike and I decided that, with everything that has happened in recent moons, he can't take the time to be the best mentor he could be for you." Wolverineheart's bi-colored gaze hardened on Anchovystrike, who quickly pulled his eyes down. "Since Troutpool has cleared you for training again, I want to give you a different mentor."
"I'll do it," Wolverineheart interuppted, her whole body perking up.
"Oh," Oilstar gasped softly. "I'm glad to see you're enthusiastic, Wolverineheart, but I was thinking someone with more experience as a mentor, like Halibutdusk. You'll be a mother soon. I don't want to take you away from your kits."
"Whatever you think Midnightpaw needs," Wolverineheart huffed, hardening her stance, "I can give him. I would love to be a mentor. The blind can lead the blind!"
"Do I count as blind?" Midnightpaw muttered. The itch of his bandages once more became the only thing he could focus on.
"You make a good argument," Oilstar conceded with a nod. "I'll summon the Clan and make you Midnightpaw's official mentor."
Midnightpaw's thoughts swam wildly as Oilstar climbed the Shiprock. Anchovystrike said something to him—an apology?—but the words didn't pierce Midnightpaw's mind. He wasn't helpless. He could still go on adventures. He could still graduate.
(Wolverineheart: 34, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)
RippleClan wakes up to its first snowfall, but find Tallowheart, Splashtuft, and Billowhaze never returned from their nighttime hunt. They find neither sight or scent of the three toms. Estherfern can only confirm their deaths in a dream... a bad, bad dream.
[Image ID: Estherfern looks upon Tallowheart, Splashtuft, and Billowhaze, now spirits of StarClan. Estherfern yowls, "Is the All-Seeing preventing you from explaining yourselves? Say something!"]
(Estherfern: 136, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)
(Tallowheart: 38, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)
(Splashtuft: 50, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)
(Billowhaze: 37, male, historian, loyal, good kitsitter)
Born to Turtlefeet and Partridgesun, Cloverblossom lived a good life, spoiled by her parents and Clanmates. She was apprenticed to Hawkstar and her and her siblings were made warriors at a young age. She was brave and loyal to her Clan, until she met Shrewflame of SalmonClan.
Shrewflame was loud and stupid and she loved that about him. They kept their relationship secret for a while, before Cloverblossom convinced Shrewflame to go to Sharkseer and Sealseer to ask if they may have kits. The Seers decided to speak with StarClan about their request, and the two anxiously waited for their answer. Only to be shocked when the Seers said no. Cloverblossom didn't know what to do: she was already pregnant.
After that, they grew distant, unsure if they wanted to continue the relationship if StarClan didn't approve. Cloverblossom moved to the nursery and claimed her kits were a rogue's. No one questioned it, but Cloverblossom noticed Sealseer eyeing her kits, making her fur prickle.
The fact that StarClan forbade Shrewflame and her to have kits kept her up at night, wondering why they didn't want this to happen. She wondered if they'd be hurt or if they would cause a war in the future. She'd wrap herself around her kits every night and assure them how much she loved them, hoping that'd keep them from becoming bad cats.
She wished her kits knew their father, but she never brought them to meet him. She told Shrewflame about them once at a Gathering, only to never speak to him again. When Paintbrushthroat and Swampberry became like fathers to the kits, Cloverblossom's heart filled once more. Maybe this was StarClan's way of telling her her kits would be okay.
The Witch Hunters find and kill Lemmy, leaving RippleClan in a strange state.
[Image ID: Darkkick, Terracottafoot, and Paleseed face Weevilsight. Paleseed says "Weevilsight?"]
Weevilsight nearly couldn't muster the energy for the Gathering. The last visit to StarClan's Shrine had been exhausting enough; Troutpool nearly cried when Trumpetspore didn't visit her dreams, and Weevilsight forgot her promise to Wolverineheart, to learn if Foampaw approved of her relationship with Mitespark, until just before the tortoiseshell cleric woke up. All the other clerics seemed forgiving of RippleClan's spaciness, yet Weevilsight dug her fangs into her lip and focused on her work. And part of that work was attending the Gathering.
Weevilsight and Honeybuzz were the only clerics accompanying the Clan to the Leader's Stone. Troutpool didn't want to face the official announcement of Trumpetspore's death, and Estherfern had to look after Gingerpaw, who somehow came up with the worst joke possible at Trumpetspore's vigil and was banned from the last winter Gathering. And thus, Weevilsight trailed within the middle of the RippleClan horde, following Downstar and Oilstripe along the SlugClan/WheatClan border. With Anchovystrike, Wolfgaze, and Ravenweaver staying behind, Weevilsight found herself with a duo she rarely got to interact with.
"I don't care how old they get," Paleseed said, adjusting her feather decor as she walked, "Terracottafoot is always going to look like a tiny scared apprentice to me. I can't believe how much they've grown! It's been ages since we had a chance to sit down with them, hasn't it, Darkkick?"
"We talked with them at Harvest Moon," Darkkick scoffed, fluffing herself up against the cold night wind.
"That was five moons ago!" Paleseed pointed out. "Before all… that happened."
"I thought mediators weren't supposed to avoid sensitive topics," Darkkick hummed.
"I'm trying to be respectful," Paleseed said. Even though the gray mediator was on Darkkick's right, and Weevilsight walked on her left, Weevilsight still saw the strained glance Paleseed sent her way.
"Why mince words?" Weevilsight laughed, venom in her voice. "My mom killed our Clanmates, my dad died, my aunt killed herself. I'm sure Terracottafoot can offer you some comfort." Considering Darkkick's short stature, she and Paleseed looked like a stunned, two-headed beast in the moonlight, their gaits evenly matched as they bawked at Weevilsight.
"I'll tell you the same thing I told your friend after the Shardling incident," Darkkick eventually huffed. "You handled that as best you could."
"I know that, Darkkick," Weevilsight sighed, staring at the cloud-lined moon as she walked. "I'm just going to feel like foxdung for a while."
"And that's okay," Paleseed added with a decisive nod. "You do what you need to do to grieve and come to terms with it all. You can always talk to me."
"I think she needs a friend, not a mediator, Paleseed," Darkkick muttered.
"Both work," Weevilsight hummed as the Clan approached the rock wall leading up to the Leader's Stone. It was slick with snow, making RippleClan's approach a slow and methodical process. Rabbitjoy walked along the edge of the path up, guarding Frostpaw from a potential fall. Boughfur took Tallowheart's basket while the rock-footed tom inched up the wall. A clump of snow fell from the grass above and smacked onto Stormjump's head, earning a laugh from her mate. Weevilsight's paws felt lighter. It felt normal, for the first time all winter.
As usual, RippleClan was the last Clan to arrive. Ospreystar, Eelstar, Gentlestar, and Lettucestar waited on the Leader's Stone while their Clans waited for their cue to mingle and share tongues. Downstar climbed to the second-highest platform of the Leader's Stone while Oilstripe took her traditonal place among the other deputies. Weevilsight laid in the half-melted snow and stared lazily at the Leader's Stone. The sooner announcements were done, the better.
The winter had been hard on the other four Clans in more traditional ways. WheatClan lost an overeager apprentice in the cold and an elder to distemper. LynxClan reported on harsh conditions in their rocky territory and gave their neighbors an official plea for hunting assistance. SlugClan and AshClan were a bit quieter, reporting a new litter and a death each, but Weevilsight couldn't help but notice how Eelstar and Lettucestar glanced at Downstar as they spoke.
"Before you begin your report, Downstar," Ospreystar said just as Eelstar finished delivering his news, "I want to say something that I didn't get the chance to last moon, when you announced the death of Mosspounce." The brown-speckled leader stood taller and faced the five Clans. "I want to formally declare LynxClan's gratitude to Mosspounce of RippleClan for killing the cougar that nearly destroyed us moons ago. He delivered the fatal blow, and for that, we hope that his story is honored with the same respect as Cougarstrike, Celestial of Cougars. LynxClan will hold a place in our hearts for RippleClan's brave caretaker."
"Mosspounce! Mosspounce!" the LynxClan cats cheered. Weevilsight sat up. Her ears rang with the sound of her father's name. Some of Weevilsight's Clanmates took up the cheer as well; Carnationspeckle and Asterblaze were particularly vocal. Weevilsight stayed still, unconsciously holding her breath. Her father was a hero.
"Take it with a drop of mouse bile, Weevilsight," Darkkick warned as the cheers began to die down. "I'm sure they are grateful, but this wh ole show is likely planned to win Downstar's favor. I'm sure LynxClan will be asking us for something soon."
"Thank you, Ospreystar," Downstar purred. "It does an old soul good to know that my grandson's fatal wounds were obtained for a good cause. I'm afraid that isn't the end of RippleClan's recent string of loss, however." Downstar shifted and prepared herself for the news. Weevilsight sank back down. Paleseed dipped her head and closed her eyes. "I'm sure some of you have learned of this, whether through meetings at the border or at the historian's gathering hosted by SlugClan this new moon. However, I regret to inform you that Trumpetspore, my granddaughter, took her own life shortly after the last Gathering." Quiet, shocked gasps rippled through the clearing. Eyes pierced the RippleClan delegation. Weevilsight closed her eyes and pretended she was alone.
"I'm sorry, Downstar," Gentlestar gulped, placing a paw on Downstar's platform above her.
"We ask that you respect our privacy surrounding this event," Downstar continued, "and know that Trumpetspore did her best against what can be the worst enemy a warrior fights; their own heart." Mutters of agreement washed over Weevilsight. She prayed no one would pry her for information. "Outside of this loss, we have no Gathering-worthy news to report. I say we get on with the Gathering proper and try to enjoy ourselves tonight." The other leaders nodded along with Downstar's idea. With that, the Clans merged. A wave of friends from other Clans crashed into RippleClan, firing questions of concern and morbid curiosity. Weevilsight wasn't ready; Yellowburst bumped into her flank, knocking her into a WheatClan historian. Weevilsight stumbled back, one of her signature petals fluttering out of her pelt.
"Terracottafoot is over there!" Paleseed called, peering over the crowd. "This way!" Darkkick looped her tail around Weevilsight and gently nudged her toward Paleseed. Paleseed pierced the crowd, leaving a trail for Weevilsight and Darkkick to follow. Questions bounced off Paleseed's pelt. She deflected them with the skill of an expert mediator, offering polite, if not slightly dismissive, answers.
Terracottafoot, as was their habit, prepared a game of moss-ball to the side of the crowd. They set up small "dens", or overturned baskets, on either end of the massive play area and merged loose chunks of moss together. They scented the three RippleClan cats and turned to greet them. Weevilsight tried to imagine what Terracottafoot looked like as a "tiny scared apprentice". Sure, the AshClan cleric carried themself with a constant air of tension; they were always moving, whether through the twitch of their whiskers or the methodical wave of their tail. But they were mature, as well-muscled as a warrior and, much to Weevilsight's embarassment, as handsome as they came (oh how Honeybuzz teased her as an apprentice for that little crush).
"Hi, Paleseed," Terracottafoot chirped, touching noses with Paleseed. "StarClan, I'm happy to see you. I've wanted to say something about your sisters, but I didn't know what."
"I try to focus on the siblings I still have," Paleseed chuckled, licking her chest.
"Keeping out of trouble?" Darkkick hummed, staring Terracottafoot up and down.
"I do what I can," Terracottafoot said. They touched noses with the former AshClan cleric and turned to Weevilsight. "Cleric Weevilsight, you didn't tell me about Warrior Trumpetspore at the half-moon meeting. Is that why Cleric Troutpool was so upset?"
"We didn't want to make the meeting all about us," Weevilsight sighed. Her paw absently snagged Terracottafoot's moss-ball and rolled it under her paw.
"I'm sorry about that, regardless," Terracottafoot said. They glanced past the RippleClan cats and groaned, "Oh StarClan he's already telling Downstar." Weevilsight looked back. Eelstar spoke with Downstar on the Leader's Stone. Both seemed deeply serious.
"Telling her what?" Darkkick huffed.
"I'm not a storyteller," Terracottafoot gulped, "but there were these Witch Hunters at our border and they told us… uh… do you want their story or the summary?"
"Tell us what they told you," Paleseed suggested.
"Well," Terracottafoot groaned. They stared at Darkkick, gaze pointedly refusing to touch Weevilsight. "Apparently Lemmy showed up in the human settlement last moon. One of the Witch Hunters picked a fight with her, and, well, that Witch Hunter ended up dead. The Witch Hunters were really mad at that, I think the dead Witch Hunter just had kits and the humans took them away? I can't remember that part. But, um, the Witch Hunter General ordered them to find Lemmy, and they did… Lemmy's dead now." The words didn't quite reach Weevilsight's ears.
"Say that again?" Weevilsight said, rubbing her ears.
"The Witch Hunters killed Lemmy," Terracottafoot said. "I think their patrol thought we were RippleClan? We didn't get a chance to explain. They showed up a few days ago. I'm really sorry, Weevilsight." Weevilsight's claws pierced the moss-ball. The chatter of the Gathering clawed her ears. Her heart beat faster.
"Weevilsight?" Paleseed whispered. She reached a paw toward Weevilsight, but Darkkick pushed it down.
Lemmy's dead. Lemmy's dead. Lemmy's dead.
Mom's dead.
"Stars damn it!" Weevilsight yowled. She chucked the moss-ball as hard and as fast as she could. It smacked into the basket and sent it rolling toward the treeline. "I want to kill someone!"
"Weevilsight—" Paleseed and Terracottafoot both stammered.
"Shut up, both of you," Darkkick snapped, shoving her tail in front of the pair. "Let her be."
"She made mistakes!" Weevilsight groaned. "Stupid, awful mistakes, it got out of control!" She paced in a circle, as though trying to get comfortable in a nest. "She wasn't a monster! She wanted to keep me safe! They didn't have to kill her! StarClan, she never even knew Dad died! Why did this happen? Why did she have to kill Potterypool? I can't even decide if I love her or hate her! Augh!" Weevilsight sat in a huff, tail thrashing. She stared at the snowy ground, head spinning. Her jaw dug into her head so hard, she thought she'd break a tooth.
Paleseed crept past Darkkick and toward the rolling basket. She put a paw on the basket, stopping its retreat. She plucked the moss-ball from inside and stared at it. Her tail waved gently as she thought.
"Terracottafoot?" Paleseed asked. "Do you have any AshClan cats who'd like to play against RippleClan in a game of moss-ball?"
"I can ask around," Terracottafoot said hesistantly, still inching toward Weevilsight. "Shouldn't we help—"
"I don't need help, Terracottafoot," Weevilsight huffed at the ground, voice monotone.
"I seem to recall you being good with a moss-ball as a kit," Paleseed said. She tossed the moss-ball to Weevilsight. It rolled to a stop in front of her paws. "Want to put that rage of yours to good use? It would be an insult to Clan pride if we let AshClan beat us."
"Go get your Clan, kit," Darkkick scoffed. Terracottafoot cocked their head, but eventually sighed, chuckling at the same time. They jogged toward the larger crowd.
"For our players, I think we should recruit…" Paleseed hummed, studying the Gathering. "Boughfur, Stormjump, Yellowburst, Shrewflame, and Wolverineheart." Darkkick nodded along with Paleseed's assessment. "So, Weevilsight? Want to join?" Weevilsight gently snagged the moss-ball in her claws. She held it up to the light of the bonfire by the Leader's Stone. Did the color match Mosspounce's eyes? They had been so scarred at the end, Weevilsight almost couldn't remember…
"Let's kill these foxhearts," Weevilsight growled, tossing the moss-ball back to Paleseed.
"Metaphorically, though!" Paleseed chuckled awkwardly. "I'll go get the others." Paleseed passed the moss-ball to Darkkick and followed Terracottafoot's trail. Weevilsight sat next to Darkkick, unable to stop her thrashing tail.
"I'll help you hide the bodies," Darkkick chuckled.
A short time later, Weevilsight stood with her Clanmates in front of one of the baskets. Somehow, it seemed the whole group managed to escape the fog of grief imposed by Trumpetspore's death and laughed like kits as they prepared for the game. A gaggle of AshClan cats guarded the other basket across the clearing, throwing taunts toward the RippleClan cats. Paleseed and Terracottafoot stood in the middle, moss-ball sitting between them. A crowd of apprentices and warriors from the other Clans gathered to watch as they shared tongues.
"If it's been a while since any of you have played an organized game of moss-ball," Paleseed explained, "let us remind you. You are each on a patrol of seven cats, facing off against another patrol. Your job is to get the moss-ball past the enemy patrol and into their den, in this case the basket, to score points. No holding the moss-ball in your mouth, you have to catch it in your claws and toss it to your patrol members. If the other patrol has the moss-ball, you need to either make them drop it or grab it out of their paws, again, no teeth allowed. And no den guarding, you have to give the other patrol a chance to throw the moss-ball in. For this game, let's say… first to fifteen points wins. Any questions?"
"Do we have to be gentle with the cleric?" a dark red molly asked, nodding at Weevilsight.
"I won't be gentle with you," Weevilsight growled, ears tilted back. An excited bark of laughter and cheering rippled through the bystanders. The AshClan patrol laughed and yowled along with them.
"What about Darkkick?" asked a black and white tom, barely out of apprenticeship. "I feel bad fighting an elder."
"Darkkick fought Autumnstar, in the actual Dark Forest," Boughfur laughed, unweaving the blue flowers from her fur and placing them to the side of the game area. "I don't think you should be worried about hurting her, of all cats."
"Ready to run back to camp with your tails between your legs?" Shrewflame called, his tail high.
"I'm ready to feed you dirt, pretty kitty!" yowled the dark red molly.
"Aww, you think I'm pretty?" Shrewflame purred, wiggling his flank. "Why thank you!" Stormjump and Yellowburst laughed at Shrewflame, starting a wave of giggles across the crowd.
"Everyone go at my command!" Terracottafoot yowled, jogging out of the soon-to-be battlefield with Paleseed, leaving the moss-ball behind. All players shifted into battle poses. Weevilsight copied them as best she could. All eyes were on the moss-ball.
"Darkkick, stay in the back," Yellowburst whispered. "You can catch the moss-ball before it gets to the den."
"And miss out on clawing some AshClan fur?" Darkkick snapped in just such a way that Weevilsight couldn't tell if she was mad or teasing. "There's no chance of that."
As the pair argued, the AshClan patrol sparkled in Weevilsight's eyes. Ghostly doubles of the AshClan warriors launched toward the moss-ball. Sparkling premonitions of Weevilsight's Clanmates charged at the approaching patrol in return. Wolverineheart's future transparent form shoved into the dark red molly's shoulder. Her attack gave the black and white tom just enough time to slip around the charging enemy force and snatch the moss-ball in his claws. Weevilsight hadn't even seen that tom in the mass of cats yet-to-charge.
"Attack!" Terracottafoot cheered. Weevilsight's vision popped like seafoam. History repeated itself; the AshClan patrol ran at the moss-ball like stampeding horses. Wolverineheart led the RippleClan charge. No one noticed the black and white tom, running low against his taller Clanmates. He was invisible in the rush of fire-lit pelts. An afterimage of the tom's future position still flashed in Weevilsight's eyes.
Weevilsight lunged toward the empty space. Just as she neared it, just as she began to doubt her sight, there he was; the black and white tom, swooping past Wolverineheart to grab the moss-ball. Weevilsight smacked into him a whisker's length from the moss-ball. Weevilsight and the black and white tom tumbled back into the mass of swarming cats, each shocked at the other's appearance.
Stormjump rolled behind Weevilsight and snatched the moss-ball. She flicked her paw and sent the moss-ball soaring across the clearing. Shrewflame darted alongside the flying object. He jumped as though catching a bird mid-flight. Both front paws wrapped around the moss-ball.
Another premonition flashed within the mass of playful warriors. Shrewflame's ghostly paw launched a purple transparent moss-ball toward the AshClan den. A lilac and cream tortoiseshell streaked past her Clanmates and caught the moss-ball against her shoulder.
"Run with it, Shrewflame!" Weevilsight yowled as the black and white tom finally shoved her off. She fell onto her back, staring at the cloud-speckled night while the rest of the group hurried past her. All of the petals that clung to her pelt rubbed off in the snow and grass.
Weevilsight hurried back to her paws, only to see she was too late; the lilac and cream tortoiseshell stopped the moss-ball with her shoulder, just as predicted. But would Weevilsight let that go? Absolutely not. She had to sit by while her mother was exiled, while her father died, while her Clan suffered not under the claws of some Spirit of Shadow, something Weevilsight was born to fight, but mortals and the dangers of the everyday. She didn't have to let this go.
Weevilsight was not going to lose this game.
Weevilsight scrambled as the AshClan tortoiseshell tossed the moss-ball to the dark red molly. Darkkick thundered past Weevilsight, catching the eye of the dark red molly. Weevilsight yowled and sprung at the dark red molly. Weevilsight's sheathed paws batted the dark red molly's head. The dark red molly swung at Weevilsight, but the moss-ball slipped from her claws in the process. Darkkick swiped it from underneath the fighting mollies and batted it back toward the AshClan den. The dark red molly turned to follow, but Weevilsight shrieked and dragged the AshClan molly back by the tail. Her mouth burned with the taste of cat fur, that awful scent of combat that she still despised after so many moons, but the thoughtless rage bubbling in her throat forced her to remind herself, training grip, training grip, training grip.
A cheer ripped through the bystanders. Weevilsight let go of the dark red molly's tail. Boughfur had jumped into the AshClan den, moss-ball stuck to her claws. She looked like a rabbit crawling into a hole. Weevilsight laughed, but it was more like the cauterwaul of a rabid beast than anything funny.
"Clerics are mad," the dark red molly grumbled, hurrying back to her Clanmates.
Mad? Oh that was the right word for Weevilsight at the moment, as her patrol cheerfully regrouped by their den for the next round. Weevilsight was certain the actual grief would hit her when she got back to camp. But in that moment, with the freedom to run and scream and tackle and fight? Weevilsight could be as mad as she needed to be.
(Weevilsight: 27, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)
[Image ID: Midnightkit and Valleykit face Carnationspeckle, both in trouble. Midnightkit says "Why didn't Rattlepelt come get me?" Under Midnightkit, it says + NEW SKILL: ALWAYS WANDERING. Under Valleykit, it says + NEW SKILL: AVID PLAY-FIGHTER.]
SlugClan attacks RippleClan in hopes of recovering Icekit and Pearkit for their newest members, Nimblestep and Quickkit.
[Image ID: Lettucestar, a white tom with a scar, and Lighttrail face Downstar, Wolverineheart, Wildclaw, Yarrowclaw, and Leathermask. Lettucestar says, "I'm sorry, Downstar, but I can't take no for an answer. Nimblestep is their mother, not Puddlewhisper." Under Downstar, it says LIVES LEFT: 1. Under Leathermask, it says LEVEL UP! NERVOUS → CONFIDENT.[
---
Downstar could tell it would be a late spring as she stepped out of her den on the last day of the year and into the thick, dry snow. It had snowed from one sunset and through another without stopping, leaving snowdrifts as tall as cats against the rocks and trees. It wasn't a bitter cold, though, like the one that plagued the Clans a few moons prior. This was a cold that energized Downstar's aching muscles and told the whole Clan to have a bit of fun!
The kits were certainly taking advantage of the heavy snowfall. Pearkit and Icekit dug at the snow like dogs while Midnightkit and Valleykit watched, wide-eyed. Stormjump groomed herself outside the warrior's den in a pale attempt to hide her watchful eye resting on the kits. The clerics cleared snow out from around the medicine den, but there was a shine to their eyes that brought a purr to Downstar's throat. Gingerpaw rambled to Weevilsight as the pair dug a path from the medicine den to the bonfire. Weevilsight laughed at one of Gingerpaw's silly faces, further easing Downstar's heart. If the recent heartbreak of the season could be forgotten, even for a moment, there was hope for RippleClan.
There was no hope of telling the time that day, save for the natural rhythm of day and night inside every cat. The sky was an endless silver expanse. Not a single cloud could be distinguished from another. It was as gray as a clear day's sky was blue. The unbroken bright light reflected off the snow stunned Downstar's eyes. Were it not for her nose, she might have bumped into Oilstripe, who trotted toward the leader's den.
"Good morning, Downstar," Oilstripe reported, ears perking up in front of her leader. "We have a few patrols out already. Vervaincough and Darkkick joined Billowhaze, Whitepaw, and Boughfur on an expedition to study the snow, but they promised to mark the southern border while they were there. Carnationspeckle, Tallowheart, and Drumtooth are fishing along the northern coast. Lastly, Rabbitjoy took Mitespark and Frostpaw to trade with WheatClan. They'll be gone the longest."
"Busy morning," Downstar hummed.
"Everyone wants to be out of camp today," Oilstripe sighed, stretching her front legs.
"I can manage the camp if you want to lead a patrol," Downstar said. She flicked her ears toward the camp exit. "This will likely be our last bit of snow until next winter."
"That's alright, Downstar," Oilstripe said a bit too quickly. "We have a lot to clear out of camp. I should manage that." Downstar grabbed Oilstripe's gaze and didn't let go. She studied her deputy's cyan eyes, so strangely blessed. Oilstripe's whiskers twitched uncomfortably, unable to view Downstar's thoughts as easily as she viewed hers.
"It's no good to have a distracted deputy," Downstar said. She sat in the curve of the Shiprock where the snow was thinner. "You're lingering around camp for another reason. Deputies should be open with their leaders."
"I can't tell if you're teasing me or reprimanding me," Oilstripe sighed. She sat next to Downstar, her focus drifting past her leader. The only sign of Downstar's hesistancy was the shift of her tail; she knew when she chose Oilstripe that she'd have to tolerate her ghost sight and the weird, almost blaphemous intrusion into the privacy of the visiting dead. She was good at that by now, and with a hard blink to wipe her mind, Downstar focused back on Oilstripe.
"It's about Rattlepelt," Oilstripe groaned. "I don't want to leave her alone." Downstar eyed the nursery. The snow's reflected light easily showed Rattlepelt and Wildclaw inside the den, still asleep. Wildclaw snuggled deep into Rattlepelt's fox pelt, and Rattlepelt shifted closer to her mate.
"I hope you remember you aren't the only other member of RippleClan," Downstar gently reminded her deputy. "There's always someone in camp."
"I'm not doubting anyone," Oilstripe said. She flexed her paw, poking tiny holes in the snow. The gentle motion gave her time to find her courage. "I'm scared for her, Downstar."
"Do you think she could harm herself?" Downstar asked. She regretted the question as soon as she said it. She never would have thought something like that a moon ago. But then again, a moon ago Downstar still had her granddaughter. Oilstripe caught her breath.
"No," she huffed. "No… but then again, I didn't think Trumpetspore could, either. I don't think I can truly judge what's in someone's heart."
"Blame is a weight I've borne for far too many circumstances outside of my control. Don't let it crush you."
"But don't I deserve some of the blame? We're leading this Clan, Downstar. When someone dies like this, what does it say about us? And what about Lemmy? Could we have stopped her?"
"You're rambling, Oilstripe." Downstar raised her tail to pause her deputy's spiraling thoughts. "I'm going to tell you something that it took me a long time to learn. If you did the best you could with what you knew, then blaming yourself is useless." Oilstripe breathed deep, nodding along with Downstar's advice.
"I'll try to remember that," Oilstripe sighed.
"So," Downstar huffed, getting up, "do you think Rattlepelt needs an extra eye on her?"
"I think she's struggling," Oilstripe said, picking her words carefully. "It's like what happened after the Shardling incident. I don't want this to hurt Rattlepelt's relationship with Wildclaw or their kits. Rattlepelt didn't even leave the nursery to check on Midnightkit yesterday." Yes, Downstar had noted that; out of the two mothers, Wildclaw was usually the one with an eye on Midnightkit and Valleykit as of late, and when she went on patrol, Midnightkit tried to follow. It hadn't been Downstar's place to comment on Rattlepelt's absence, but everyone noticed it.
"As the mother of your daughter-in-code rather than your leader," Downstar sighed, "don't worry about how Wildclaw feels. I'll take her out. Try not to worry. We'll help Rattlepelt as best we can." Downstar touched her nose to Oilstripe's head. Oilstripe gawked at the touch for a moment, eyes widening. She then purred and dipped her head. Her whole body softened. Downstar's work there was done; now onto her daughter.
Downstar left Oilstripe to her thoughts and entered the nursery. Her paws trapsing through the snow quickly woke Wildclaw. The scarred gray tabby lifted her head off her mate and yawned deeply. Her scar-lined tail swayed lazily.
"Wildclaw, I'm taking a sunrise patrol to mark our northwest borders," Downstar explained in a whisper. "I want you to come with. I'll even let you pick out who we bring."
"I'll be right there," Wildclaw grumbled, still yawning and blinking sleep from her eyes. She crawled over Rattlepelt, stretching her hind legs so high they nearly eclipsed her head. Rattlepelt shifted and threw a paw over her eyes. Wildclaw glanced back to her mate and whispered, "Rattlepelt, I'm going on patrol. The kits are playing outside. Do you need anything?"
"I can get it," Rattlepelt mumbled. She squirmed under her red pelt, but didn't get up. Downstar softly padded back out as Wildclaw whispered something else her aging ears could not catch.
Downstar trailed through camp, navigating around the kits' digging, and waited by the exit for her daughter. A few moments later, Wildclaw emerged from the nursery and jogged to the warrior's den, nodding to Stormjump as she passed. She seemed like the reckless young molly Downstar remembered from so many years ago, but there was a wisdom to her step and a thought in her eyes. Yes, Downstar did not need to worry about Wildclaw. The fierceness her named honored was truly something to respect now.
Some time later, Wildclaw joined Downstar at the exit with Wolverineheart, Yarrowclaw, and Leathermask. Downstar wasted no time leading the patrol into the cheerful winter. Wildclaw slipped beside her mother and pranced through the snow like a deer. Soft winds blew powdery snow off the trees, making it look like a second snowfall. The snow retained the memory of the wind in its swirling, smooth edges and gentle dance across the ground. The smell of Carnationspeckle's patrol drifted past, a soft reminder that they were never alone in RippleClan territory.
"You know who Midnightkit and Valleykit remind me of?" Downstar said as the patrol trekked through the forest. "You and Halibutdusk."
"Really?" Wildclaw huffed. "I don't see it."
"Midnightkit is going to be just as troublesome as you were, I'm certain of it," Downstar chuckled. "Valleykit has Halibutdusk's pensiveness."
"Valleykit just learned what birds are," Wildclaw laughed. "I think you might be insulting Halibutdusk there."
"They fit into our family, that's what I mean," Downstar hummed, studying Wildclaw's face. "You and Rattlepelt have done a good job so far. Just like you did with Shrewflame and Whitepaw. You'll all be alright in the end."
"I know, Mom," Wildclaw assured her. Her ears tilted back for a moment as she added, "I just need Rattlepelt to believe that."
"You've been through worse," Downstar reminded her. She stopped to rub an irritating itch on her back against a pine. "If you keep doing what you have been doing, it will work out."
"Downstar!" The whole patrol paused, ears high. Pale gray markings framed the green eyes of the tom who emerged from the depths of the forest. Lettucestar? His deputy, Lighttrail, walked alongside him, all thick ginger fur and confidence.
"Stop right there!" Wildclaw barked. She dove between Downstar and Lettucestar, lips curled tight and her body slithering like a rattlesnake ready to strike.
"This has to be a joke," Wolverineheart scoffed. "I get you're a Clan leader, but you can't just stroll into our territory without an escort!"
"Do you want to get attacked?" Yarrowclaw growled, showing off her fangs.
"Wait, wait," Downstar huffed. She pushed through her protective Clanmates, tail high to still their sudden fury. "Let me talk to him." Leathermask bristled, back arched high as Downstar approached the SlugClan leader. Wolverineheart and Yarrowclaw kept their claws out, but gave Downstar her room. Wildclaw stayed where she was, face curling in and out of battle rage.
"I know I'm intruding on your territory," Lettucestar huffed, keeping his tail low as a show of peace. "Waiting by the border would have been inappropriate. In a sad way, my purpose here isn't much different from the war patrol you brought to my camp almost a year ago." There was a mild venom in Lettucestar's voice that made Downstar's ears grow hot with old grief.
"Except Downstar's not losing her mind," Yarrowclaw grumbled.
"Yarrowclaw, you will not disrespect Gorgestar's memory in front of me," Downstar suddenly growled, turning on the brown and white molly. Yarrowclaw stiffened under Downstar's amber glare. "He was a good leader and my friend. You of all cats should know better than to make a joke of something like that." Yarrowclaw stared down, unmoving under Downstar's assault. Downstar bit back a hiss of frusteration; why in the world did Yarrowclaw have to make a comment like that? Now Downstar seemed like a weak leader! She would handle Yarrowclaw's coldness later; she had intruders to manage.
"It's once again an issue of miscommunication," Lettucestar sighed. "Lighttrail, you're the better storyteller of the two of us. Explain the situation to Downstar and her warriors." Lighttrail stepped forward, clearing his throat. He looked like a kit in Downstar's eyes. Then again, at Downstar's age, most cats looked like kits.
"Recently, SlugClan encounter a loner queen and her kit by the river," Lighttrail said. "The kit was sick with feather-head, so we offered to provide treatment. The queen grew to trust us, and the pair decided to join SlugClan. They are now known as Nimblestep and Quickkit, though you would have known the queen as simply Nimble." Nimble. So much had happened that winter, Downstar almost forgot that Puddlewhisper was not Pearkit and Icekit's birth mother.
"Wait," Leathermask grunted. "Nimble joined SlugClan? No, she hates the Clans."
"Her mate hated the Clans," Lighttrail said with the patience of a mentor with their apprentice. Downstar couldn't stop her jaw from tightening at the tone. "Nimblestep supported and followed Achilles, but once she understood we only wanted to help Quickkit, she learned to trust us."
"It's not like we didn't try to do that!" Wolverineheart whined. "She wouldn't listen to us!"
"Your Clanmates murdered Achilles in cold blood," Lighttrail scoffed, twitching his whiskers. "Would you listen to yourselves?"
"No more comments, all of you," Downstar hissed, thrashing her tail. This was no time to be debating the details.
"She told us about her other kits, Downstar," Lettucestar finally sighed. "A silver tom and a pale ginger molly. They're Icekit and Pearkit, aren't they?" Wildclaw paced behind Downstar. Her jaw twitched with unspoken words. Her paws crunched heavily into the snow, turning it to slush.
"They are," Downstar admitted. "Nimble ran—Nimblestep ran from our patrol, but only took a brown kit. Quickkit, I assume. She abandoned the rest of her litter."
"A mistake she wants to correct," Lettucestar said, stepping closer to Downstar. "We're here to take Icekit and Pearkit back to their mother."
"Take?" Downstar and Wildclaw yowled in unison. Lighttrail unseathed his claws and crouched into a battle stance. Lettucestar hovered his tail over his deputy's shoulder. Downstar steadied her breath and grounded her paws flat, letting the cold sap her sudden anger.
"Lettucestar, Icekit and Pearkit are RippleClan cats now," Downstar said slowly. "All they've known is RippleClan. Puddlewhisper is raising them. Taking them would be cruel. Nimblestep abandoned them to what she thought would be their deaths. How can we trust she has their best intentions at heart?"
"She's a SlugClan warrior now," Lettucestar said, his words just as slow and restrained as Downstar's tone. "We will help her raise the kits, just as I'm sure your caretakers help Puddlewhisper."
"I'm happy to discuss Nimblestep visiting our camp," Downstar huffed. "If she wants a relationship with Icekit and Pearkit, I don't want to deny her that. But simply taking them? They aren't prey. Do you think they'd ever be loyal to SlugClan if you forced them from their home?" Lettucestar sighed deeply. He closed his eyes and pulled his tail away from Lighttrail. His claws peeked out of his paws. The RippleClan patrol slunk closer to Downstar.
"Warriors!" Lettucestar yowled. The snow behind Lettucestar shifted. Pelts peeked out from the white and gray terrain, shoving off snowy coverings and emerging from behind trees and rocks. The RippleClan patrol hissed and snarled. There was an entire war patrol of SlugClan cats, hiding just fox-lengths away! The SlugClan warriors glistened with snow melting into their fur. Narrow eyes bore into Downstar, ready to tear and bite.
"I'm sorry, Downstar," Lettucestar sighed, shifting into a battle stance, "but I can't take no for an answer. Nimblestep is their mother, not Puddlewhisper. You can't claim her kits. I wanted us to agree on this, but if you won't take us to your camp, we'll just go through you."
"Yarrowclaw, warn camp, now!" Downstar yowled. Yarrowclaw leaped over Leathermask and skidded across the snow. She raced like a rabbit along the patrol's snowy prints, tail weaving between the trees.
"Don't let her get reinforcements!" Lettucestar ordered. Half of the SlugClan patrol bolted after Yarrowclaw, stomping and kicking their way through the snow. Leathermask yowled and launched himself into a lilac tortie, the war-hungry Carvingfur. The pair rolled back behind an ancient pine.
"Wolverineheart, help Yarrowclaw!" Downstar ordered as Lighttrail lunged for her. "We'll hold them back!" Wolverineheart ran after Yarrowclaw's hunters as Lighttrail smacked Downstar into the snow. Downstar raked her claws along Lighttrail's white chest. Blood immediately dripped from his pelt onto Downstar's face.
Lighttrail stumbled off, shrieking, as the rest of the patrol converged on Downstar and Wildclaw. There were three or four SlugClan warriors for each remaining RippleClan cat. At least Lighttrail wouldn't be a problem; he stumbled against a pine trunk and pressed his bleeding wounds into the snow.
"I'd like to see you take me, foxhearts!" Wildclaw cried. She hooked her claws into Carvingfur as she and Leathermask rolled back into the crowd. Wildclaw ripped Carvingfur off Leathermask and dug her teeth into the tortoiseshell's soft ear.
Sharp claws slashed Downstar's ankle. She tumbled forward into a black molly. A cream-colored tom pounced on Downstar's back. His claws tore into her ginger patches. Blinding pain ripped through Downstar's blood.
Lettucestar crouched by Lighttrail as the SlugClan warriors beat Downstar into the ground. The leader and deputy whispered to one another, mute under the screech of battle. With a decisive nod from Lighttrail, Lettucestar hurried past the fight toward the unseen coastline and RippleClan's camp.
Leathermask and Wildclaw fought back to back against Carvingfur and the other SlugClan warriors. They spun to face every blow. Nicks and scratches riddled their faces. Neither could get to Downstar.
The black molly and the cream-colored tom stepped off Downstar, blood staining their paws. Downstar's ears rang. She stared into the now pink snow. Her legs shook. The pain coursed through her back and toward her paws. Downstar couldn't get up. She couldn't help her daughter. Yarrowclaw and Wolverineheart had to get to camp. They had to protect the kits. That was what mattered.
A brown and white mass of long fur flew past Downstar's blurry vision. The figure landed on Carvingfur just before the tortoiseshell could claw at Leathermask's eyes. Carnationspeckle! Her hunting patrol! Drumtooth and Tallowheart dove into the fight behind their patrol leader. Tallowheart pulled Wildclaw and Leathermask out of the mess. Drumtooth whipped around the SlugClan warriors like a fish. He'd land one blow, then kick back at a sneaky warrior.
"They're going for camp," Wildclaw yowled over the ringing in Downstar's ears.
"Yarrowclaw got there first," Tallowheart gulped. The fighting in front of Downstar blurred. Downstar rested her chin on the cold, stained snow.
"Mom!"
It took a while for Downstar to die. From what she could tell, she drifted in a melting mass of dreams and noise until her strength finally left her. She couldn't tell how much time had passed, and could barely hold on to a single thought. The sounds of the battle rose and fell. They blended into orders and questions, making the line between war and peace impossible to see. Were the clerics there? They should focus on the camp. SlugClan would not have those kits!
Summer warmth licked Downstar's pelt. That oh-so-familiar ocean hum replaced the ringing in her ears. Her back no longer burned. Downstar rubbed her cheek on the sand. Oh Downstar had missed the summer. RippleClan needed that light and warmth once more.
StarClan's coastline was the same as ever; mountains far behind the forest, pure salty water nuzzling the shore. Sunhigh glistened at the top of the sky, honey-bright and as welcome as a warm nest at the end of a cold night. Now Downstar didn't want to get up at all. For now, she could breathe.
Yet who would greet her this time? She was never alone on that lovely beach. Locustseeker, Duskkit, Fennelspot, Rustshade, Scrubmask… someone always had a kind word to say. Who would be there this time? Maybe Downstar had to go find them.
Despite the tempting warmth of the sand, Downstar got to her paws. She stood quicker than she expected. Old age didn't plague her in the strange land of Silverpelt. Downstar scanned the shore. Down the coast, paws dipping into the slowly rising tide, a black tabby sat, waiting. Downstar's granddaughter was unmistakeable, even with the newly gained glimmer in her pelt.
"I shouldn't be surprised it's you," Downstar called. Trumpetspore turned at her grandmother's voice. Her ears pressed backward. She snapped her eyes down.
Downstar strolled down the beach. Her heartbeat matched the gentle pull of the waves. She slowed the closer she got to Trumpetspore. Trumpetspore's head dipped lower and lower.
"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm sorry, Downstar. I should have talked to you. I missed them so much, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to hurt anyone."
"Oh, Trumpet," Downstar cooed. She placed her chin on Trumpetspore's warm head. She wrapped herself around Trumpetspore as the ageless black warrior shook. The hum of the ethereal ocean hid Trumpetspore's whimpers.
"I should have hung on," Trumpetspore whined.
"I know, I know," Downstar whispered. "It'll be alright now. I know, you're sorry."
Downstar wasn't sure how long she sat with her granddaughter. Those visits to StarClan rarely aligned with time in the living world, after all. Downstar just let the salt water soak her flank as she offered Trumpetspore a familiar shoulder.
"There are things I need to say," Trumpetspore eventually croaked, "before you go back." The pair pulled away, leaving imprints of each other in their pelts.
"I understand," Downstar sighed. "Tell me first, though. Did Lettucestar take the kits?"
"No," Trumpetspore said, clearing her throat. There was a shift in her starry eyes, a soft dance of light cascading across her glittering pelt. Her gaze drifted to something Downstar could not see. "Puddlewhisper hid them in the medicine den when Yarrowclaw got to camp. She pretended they were in the nursery until Lettucestar's patrol had to retreat."
"As clever as her mother," Downstar purred. Good, the kits were safe. For now, at least.
"Happier moons are ahead," Trumpetspore promised as her focus returned to Downstar. She stiffened and glanced down as she added, "If I had known that earlier…" Downstar had no comforting words for that. Trumpetspore breathed deep and stood taller.
"You're on your last life, Downstar," Trumpetspore said. Her voice gained the sort of regal, knowing tone Downstar had grown used to hearing from StarClan cats. "The next time you wake up on these shores, you will not return to RippleClan."
"I understand," Downstar said. She could feel her body pulling her down. The weight of her many moons flowed back through her muscles. She laid on the sand, which now felt more like moss and leather. Downstar's body was likely in the medicine den. "One thing before I wake up. Can you pass a message to Shadowdrop and your siblings?"
"Anything," Trumpetspore gulped. Downstar purred at the light in Trumpetspore's eyes.
"Tell them I love them."
(Downstar: 151, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)
[Image ID: Lightningrunner yowls at Estherfern, "You took her from me! I barely got to know her! Why do you get to be a mother when she didn’t get to be mine?" Shrewflame and Whitepaw run toward the pair.]
ONE MOON PRIOR…
It seemed like a waste of a skilled cleric's time to accompany an apprentice to his training, but Estherfern supposed she would want someone close by if one of her kits were to injure themselves carelessly. She strolled beside Lightningrunner as Shrewflame and Whitepaw pranced ahead of them, making their way to Battle Beach. It seemed like far too gray and bright a day to spar, but the youth of RippleClan didn't care much for her opinion.
"Mr. Billowhaze said to be careful by the water," Whitepaw chirped, gazing up at his older brother like a Clan oogles a new leader. "Do you think Mom's stories about fish-cats are real?"
"Mom's an artisan, not a historian," Shrewflame laughed. "Her stories are all fake. Don't worry, the only creatures you should worry about in the ocean are poisonous fish."
"I don't think that makes me feel better," Whitepaw chuckled awkwardly. The two brothers left dainty pawprints in the sand.
"If you want to know more about the ocean," Lightningrunner said, "ask me anything."
"I will, Ms. Lightningrunner," Whitepaw promised, turning an ear back to her. Estherfern hummed softly at the young apprentice's strange phrasing. There was something humble about the titles, even though Estherfern had no idea what they meant.
"Battle Beach!" Shrewflame chirped as the patrol crossed into that special portion of the shoreline. To Estherfern, there was nothing particularly special about this portion of the beach as opposed to any other stretch of snow-dusted land. She wouldn't have known of their arrival had Shrewflame not pointed it out. Still, her Clanmates raved about fond memories sparring along the sand, so it was yet another thing she learned to keep her mouth shut about.
"Is sparring at all like that big fight Mr. Tallowheart and Ms. Cobaltchaser had?" Whitepaw asked, kneading the sand.
"That was just a fight, Whitepaw," Shrewflame laughed, running his tail over Whitepaw's head as he walked past. "When we spar with our Clanmates, we're practicing our skills and challenging ourselves. We aren't hurting one another, though. That's why you don't unseathe your claws. You aren't supposed to draw blood when you're training."
"I won't," Whitepaw promised. He ran to catch up with Shrewflame. He glanced back at Estherfern and Lightningrunner and called, "Ms. Lightningrunner, are you going to spar too?"
"I'll let you start with your brother!" Lightningrunner called. Estherfern found a partially dry spot closer to the trees. She sat her bandage down and tucked her paws under herself. Lightningrunner sat beside her, tail stirring the dusting of snow behind her. Shrewflame steadied himself, paws dug into the sand. Whitepaw copied him as best he could. His legs stretched out a bit too far to look comfortable.
"I'll start simple," Shrewflame said. "A lot of the basics of fighting involve the sort of moves cats instinctually use when they're in danger. Paw swipes, grabbing onto your enemy, things like that. Let's start with swipes. Swipe at my face, as best you—" Whitepaw's fluffy paw whipped out from his awkward stance. He smacked Shrewflame across the face. Shrewflame stumbled to the side, blinking wildly.
"Ah!" Whitepaw yelped. "Sorry, sorry! Are you okay?" Whitepaw hovered around Shrewflame, now scared to get too close. But Shrewflame just laughed. He shook out his pelt, letting his laughter ripple through his ginger fur.
"Now that was a swipe!" Shrewflame roared, rubbing his face on his leg. "StarClan, Whitepaw! Who knew you were so strong?" Whitepaw chuckled awkwardly, but his ears perked high and his tail unwound itself from his side.
Shrewflame went on about angling your paw and steadying yourself after a strike, but Estherfern's attention drifted. The forest had grown grayer by the day, and the snow meant approaching death and hibernation to the plants her fellow clerics so valued. She never imagined caring so much about medical stocks, but she never imagined any of this when she first set off west under the orders of her God.
"These two will be fine," Estherfern huffed to Lightningrunner, stretching as she stood. "I'm going to forage. Will you help?"
"Alright," Lightningrunner said, getting to her paws. Estherfern left her bandage behind and led Lightningrunner into the trees as Shrewflame and Whitepaw laughed and batted at each other.
RippleClan would soon turn to bark-based medicine as winter rolled in and vibrant herbs vanished, but it wasn't winter yet. It was the sort of weather where everything looked a bit like Estherfern; brown and tan and earthy. She could see how the world fought to ignore the approaching chill, even though the first frost had settled over the land. Green grass mixed with yellow, insisting on life. The earliest of winter blooms still dared not to show themselves. The land was waiting, preparing, hoping for a peaceful winter, just like all the Clans.
Estherfern brushed aside snow to get a better look at every plant. Not too far from Battle Beach, she uncovered chicory, its leaves almost identical to a dandelion. Artisans and caretakers could roast the root for their meals and strengthen everyone's stomaches. Estherfern carefully dug around the leaves and plucked the root from the frosty dirt.
"Is this something we should collect?" Lightningrunner called. Her paw danced around a large fallen branch, sprinkled with golden-brown mushrooms. Estherfern joined Lightningrunner and looped around the branch. She studied the mushrooms and their round caps, with a name quickly coming to mind.
"Deadly skullcaps," Estherfern warned, shaking her head. "I knew these mushrooms in my kithood. They are some of the most toxic mushrooms any cat has ever seen. They're as deadly as deathberries. Don't touch them."
Estherfern trotted back to her chicory root and picked it up. She glanced back at Lightningrunner, ready for the young historian to follow her to better, safer herbs. Yet Lightningrunner just stood there. She stared at the deadly skullcaps. Her dark blue eyes were slit and sharp. Her unnerving, unblinking glare drifted onto Estherfern.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Estherfern huffed, dropping the chicory root. Lightningrunner looked back to the deadly skullcaps.
"You should eat them," Lightningrunner said. Estherfern's claws instinctually slipped out. Her ears perked high, turning sideways, alert and ready.
"Say that again," Estherfern said. Lightningrunner's whiskers pushed back against her face. Her ears slowly turned backward, fighting not to go back. She looked at Estherfern once more. Her jaw quivered, searching for the path forward.
"You…" Lightningrunner gulped. She steadied herself, just as Shrewflame readied for Whitepaw's initial strike. "You should eat them. You, you should eat them, and you should die."
"I," Lightningrunner stammered, "You… Ugh! What sort of justice is it when a killer goes free?" Lightningrunner curled her lips.
"Again, Lightningrunner," Estherfern growled, "you're talking nonsense. Justice? What justice?"
"You know what justice!" Lightningrunner cried. Her voice rose so fast and violent that Estherfern jumped. Estherfern never jumped. "You know what you did! You summoned the spirits. You got my mom killed!" Ah. That justice.
"I was wondering if you would ask me about that someday," Estherfern sighed, smoothing her pelt. "I don't have good answers for you, Lightningrunner. I meddled with forces I thought I could control, and RippleClan suffered for it. I've done what I can to atone."
"No you haven't," Lightningrunner whined. "You got away with it because Foampaw died, but what about Silverpaw? What about my mom? Do you think there's anything you can do to make up for that? I never saw her body, Estherfern! She was my mom! You took her from me! I barely got to know her! Why do you get to be a mother when she didn’t get to be mine?" Estherfern had no clever retort to that. She dipped her head, but her eyes caught a flash of red in the trees. Shrewflame and Whitepaw slowly approached the arguing pair, ears cocked in confusion.
"I'm sorry, Lightningrunner," Estherfern sighed, straightening, "but I'm not killing myself for you."
"Yes, yes you are," Lightningrunner growled, tail curling, voice cracking. "Eat the mushrooms, or… or I'll just kill you myself!" Shrewflame and Whitepaw ran. Lightningrunner's eyes bounced, blind to all but her own vengeance. "Eat them! Eat them, you foxheart!"
Lightningrunner ran at Estherfern. Whitepaw, small Whitepaw, too-strong-for-his-age Whitepaw, launched past his brother and landed on Lightningrunner's neck, a tail-length from Estherfern. Whitepaw's fangs dug into her scruff, but no, it wasn't her scruff, his jaw wasn't in the right spot, it was her neck, her spine, Whitepaw let go right now—
Light sparked in Lightningrunner's eyes as a violent spasm took over her body. Blood splashed in Whitepaw's mouth. Lightningrunner's strength ebbed away. Her claws, tense and ready to strike, relaxed. She grew limp as leather underneath Whitepaw. Lightningrunner didn't even have time to whine before her life left her.
Whitepaw let go. Shrewflame stumbled upon the scene, his body begging to retreat. Estherfern stood over Lightningrunner's body. She no longer looked like a killer. She looked like a kit.
Whitepaw whined, a wordless, painful cry. He fell off Lightningrunner's body. He ran to Shrewflame, burying his bloody face in his brother's red fur.
"How…" Shrewflame gulped. "What… I don't…"
"I was trying to pull her off!" Whitepaw wailed, voice muffled in Shrewflame's pelt. "I didn't want her to hurt Ms. Estherfern! I didn't want to hurt her!"
"White, White, I know," Shrewflame cooed. He slowly wrapped himself around his weeping brother, hiding all traces of blood-stained white fur from the world. Whitepaw shook so hard that Shrewflame struggled to stay upright. "I know, I know. It was an accident. I know, White. You didn't mean it."
But would the Clan see it that way? Another dead Clanmate, killed, murdered. It had nothing to do with Potterypool, but would anyone believe them? Estherfern barely believed her own senses. An apprentice, barely a quarter moon into training, somehow landing a killing bite on a well-trained historian? Not just any historian, the little sister to one of RippleClan's most unified and beloved families, the daughter of Weedfoot, the Celestial of RippleClan Deputies. The three cats who stood before Lightningrunner's body were outsiders, welcomed into the safety of the shipwreck. Would any of them be allowed to remain after this? Who would believe Lightningrunner, of all cats, would suddenly try to kill Estherfern? Who would see Whitepaw's actions as justified?
No. Whitepaw and Shrewflame were barely out of kithood. They wouldn't suffer for a mess Estherfern caused. This was justice.
"Both of you, listen to me," Estherfern snapped. Shrewflame and Whitepaw snapped out of their shock for just a moment, looking up. Whitepaw looked pink with the blood on his lips. "I'm going to fix this. Nothing will happen to you, Whitepaw. Shrewflame, here, now." Shrewflame slipped himself out from around Whitepaw and crept closer to Lightningrunner's body. Estherfern studied the deadly wound. Even though Whitepaw was close to full-grown, it was clear that no adult cat bit into Lightningrunner. "Shrewflame, I need you to bite into Lightningrunner. You have to cover up Whitepaw's teethmarks."
"But—" Shrewflame stammered, gagging on the thought.
"Shrewflame, we are doing this to protect your brother," Estherfern growled. "Bite her neck, now."
Shrewflame's lips curled, almost prancing in his indecision. But then he looked back at Whitepaw, with wide eyes and his awful, bloody face. Shrewflame hardened. He squeezed his eyes tight and snapped his fangs around the back of Lightningrunner's neck. Estherfern tuned out the squish of flesh and bone.
"Now, both of you, to the ocean," Estherfern ordered as Shrewflame let go and hurried back to Whitepaw. "You're going to wash the blood out of your fur. Don't get out until it's all gone. Then you're going to run to camp and tell the codekeepers that Lightningrunner is dead." Whitepaw pressed against Shrewflame. "This is what happened. While you were swimming, Lightningrunner went to investigate a sound in the forest. When she didn't come back, we went to find her. We found her body. We don't know who did this. We were on the beach. We heard nothing."
"I killed her," Whitepaw whined.
"No you didn't," Estherfern growled, trying to soften her voice. "Not anymore. No one will know. You're not in trouble. You're my hero, Whitepaw, you did nothing wrong. Now go." Whitepaw moved toward Estherfern, but Shrewflame nudged him back. He shook his head, wide eyes glancing at Lightningrunner. He shoved Whitepaw back toward the beach. The two young toms scrambled out of sight.
Estherfern paced around Lightningrunner's body. She brushed the snow with her tail, removing nearby pawprints. No one would be able to tell which way the attacker came from, even if they questioned the patrol's story. With her tail coated in frost and the scene firmly scuffled, Estherfern sat at Lightningrunner's side, like a cleric mourning her charge.
"You stupid child," Estherfern moaned, lowering her head into Lightningrunner's pelt.
No one would know.
(Estherfern: 123, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)
(Whitepaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, nervous, active imagination)
(Shrewflame: 13, male, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)
[Image ID: Estherfern says to Lemmy, "I don't want to ruin her legacy over a moment of weakness. Do you want the Clan to look at Whitepaw like a killer?" Halibutdusk, Scaleripple, and Oilstripe approach from the distance.]
---
At the end of the story, Lemmy could only sit and think it through. Honeybuzz and Estherfern stared at her, silent, squirming. The quarantine den seemed even colder now.
"No one would know," Lemmy muttered, staring at Estherfern. "Yet you told Honeybuzz."
"I have…" Honeybuzz groaned, "let's say experience with issues like these. Do you understand why we can't let the Clan know now?"
"Call me a hypocrite for this," Lemmy huffed, "but if Lightningrunner tried to kill you, Estherfern, wouldn't you want the Clan to know?" Estherfern bristled.
"None of it would have happened if I had not communed with Spirits of Shadow," the old cleric sighed. "Lightningrunner had the right to be mad at me. I don't want to ruin her legacy over a moment of weakness. Do you want the Clan to look at Whitepaw like a killer?"
Pawsteps broke the snow outside. It had gotten brighter in the time Estherfern spent telling her story. Now morning light burned against the trees beyond. Scaleripple, Halibutdusk, and Oilstripe stood outside, stone still. Time for the trial. Lemmy sighed and stood, squaring herself in front of her Clanmates' painful gaze.
"We need a little more time, please," Honeybuzz stammered, getting up and close to Lemmy's escorts. "We want this to be easy on the Clan. We're not done talking with Lemmy."
"I want her out of this camp," Scaleripple growled. Oilstripe cleared her throat, diverting Scaleripple's boiling blue hate away from Lemmy for a moment.
"The spirits in here are agitated," Oilstripe whispered, ears tilting back, ruffling the thick maple leaves stuck to her fur. "We don't want a long trial. If they can make her tell the truth now, the whole Clan won't have to hurt for long."
"I know," Oilstripe groaned, "but do you think they'd rather sit there all day or wait a bit longer and be done with all this before sunhigh?" Halibutdusk and Scaleripple both squirmed, but neither confronted their deputy. Oilstripe turned to Honeybuzz and said, "Lead her out into the clearing when you're finished here." Honeybuzz nodded as Oilstripe led Scaleripple and Halibutdusk back around the shipwreck.
"We don't have long, Lemmy," Estherfern sighed. "I know you don't see your actions as strictly right and wrong, so why see this differently? There's no crazed killer living in our Clan. Don't make them suffer more than they already are." Lemmy's neck itched under her collar. Her head ached. Was there any good decision here? Was this any different than Lemmy's own coverup? Did the truth deserve to come to light? Or would the truth hurt worse than the lie?
"If I say I killed both Potterypool and Lightningrunner," Lemmy said softly, "what then?"
"Unless something strange happens at the trial," Honeybuzz explained, "Downstar has promised to exile you. Just play along with Waspdawn's version of events." Exile… not much different from the life Lemmy knew before RippleClan, before the Witch Hunters. And it wasn't as though she would lack purpose. There were still threats to the cats she cared for, threats to her kits and mate. She would do more good alive than dead. Even if it meant never seeing her daughters again. Maybe they would understand, one day.
"Do one thing for me, in return," Lemmy said. "Take care of my family."
"You deserve that, at least," Honeybuzz sighed. "Thank you. Are you ready, then?" Lemmy slowly approached the edge of the quarantine den. She could smell the grief and rage wafting off her Clan, just around the corner. The sun burned the land in brilliant purple and red, yet no warmth pierced the snow that muffled all birdsong. The walls of the shipwreck burned with illusionary fire. A good final view of her home.
"Take me to my exile," Lemmy sighed.
(Lemmy: 66, female, exiled, cold, deep StarClan bond, good mediator)
(Honeybuzz: 38, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)
(Estherfern: 124, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)
Carnationspeckle and Wildclaw fish together and work through their grief over Downstar.
[Image ID: Carnationspeckle and Wildclaw sit along the water, with - CONDITION: GRIEVING underneath them both. Carnationspeckle says, "It's a new era for us."]
(Wildclaw: 89, female, deputy, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)
Yarrowclaw heals from her mangled leg with a small scar. As she returns to patrols, however, Estherfern and Gingerpaw ask to speak to her about a vision.
[Image ID: Gingerpaw brings Yarrowclaw to Estherfern, saying, "I brought her, just like you asked." Yarrowclaw now has a scar along her back ankle, with - CONDITION: MANGLED LEG written under her. Under Estherfern, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: THE SHIP OF YARROW (VISION)]
---
If Yarrowclaw wanted to avoid hallucinating her long dead brother and convincing herself she was StarClan's invulnerable warrior, she needed a routine.
Sandhollow helped her craft the routine shortly after the horse path incident. A patrol at sunhigh and sunset every day, without fail. A hearty serving at each meal. A strict sleep schedule. Talks with Sandhollow or another mediator every half moon, just to check in. All of those little details added up to maintain balance over Yarrowclaw's mind. Yet for moons, Yarrowclaw had been unable to follow that routine, because LynxClan decided to be mouse-brains and kill Downstar over a bunch of crabs.
Getting Honeybuzz's approval to go back on patrol was one of the best things to happen in Yarrowclaw's life. Sure, the wound across her back ankle scarred, a permanent reminder of how a small cut on the right spot could kill a warrior. But now Yarrowclaw could act on the burning in her blood and help her Clan. She could also get away from her brother's flirting in the medicine den. Good for Anchovystrike, finally winning Weevilsight over, but bleh, did they have to make comments like that in front of Yarrowclaw?
As a blistering sunhigh crawled over RippleClan, Yarrowclaw led a hunting patrol through the bramble-lined entrance. A basket, heavy with mice and rats, hung on Yarrowclaw's neck. The warm scent of dough mixed with the bloody fresh-kill under Yarrowclaw's muzzle and made her mouth water. She quickly placed the basket beside the fresh-kill pile and let Rapidleaf, Whiteflower, and Pearpaw (the other members of the patrol) sort their catches. Yarrowclaw jogged up to the oven, where Asterblaze and Shrewflame carefully watched as Icepaw shuffled a large flat rock out from above the fire. Flat chunks of golden bread sat on the rock, steam rising from their hard surfaces.
"When did we get flour?" Yarrowclaw asked, sniffing the hot bread as Icepaw let go of the large stick that allowed cats to slide the stone slab in and out of the oven, just for special meals like this.
"We traded some of our clams and seaweed with WheatClan," Asterblaze explained. "We're going to pour mincemeat over the bread. Stormjump and the elders get the first pieces, but then it goes to whoever asks first." Yarrowclaw eyed the glistening bread. Biting into it once the juice from the mincemeat soaked through? It would be glorious.
"This needs to cool," Shrewflame said, gently nosing a piece of bread, "but when it's done, you can take some."
"We're the ones making the bread, we should get a piece," Icepaw huffed. His tail brushed against the hot stone. He hissed and jumped back.
"We'll see, Icepaw," Shrewflame chuckled as Icepaw rapidly licked his burnt tail.
"Yarrowclaw!" Gingerpaw trotted out of the medicine den, maple seed necklace swinging across his chest. He squinted in the harsh, cloudless light.
"Gingerpaw, do you want some bread?" Icepaw asked. "Wait, it is still Gingerpaw, isn't it?" Oh, right! The half-moon meeting had been the night before.
"Oh, that's not true!" Shrewflame huffed. "You're just chatty! If everyone was held back for being chatty, I'd still be an apprentice." Icepaw and Asterblaze both laughed at that.
"I need Yarrowclaw," Gingerpaw sighed. "Can you come with me?" Back to the medicine den? Yarrowclaw just got out of there! Still, Gingerpaw wouldn't call for Yarrowclaw without reason. But the food…
Yarrowclaw forced herself away from the oven and joined Gingerpaw. Her pelt itched in the heat as the medicine den drew closer. Weevilsight, Honeybuzz, and Troutpool were by the cleric's oven, preparing their concoctions. Yarrowclaw's curiousity peeked over her hesitancy, but only for a moment.
Estherfern waited inside the medicine den, laid out in her nest. Her sunlit eyes studied Yarrowclaw with the same detached, all-knowing gaze Yarrowclaw grew up with. Yarrowclaw's nest was still there, still stinking of healing wounds.
"I brought her, just like you asked," Gingerpaw sighed. He stalked past Estherfern and crawled into his nest.
"You're going to participate, Gingerpaw," Estherfern huffed, spinning back and nipping Gingerpaw's foot. "This is a cleric's most important job. You can nap later." Gingerpaw grumbled unintelligibly but shuffled closer.
"What do you need from me, Estherfern?" Yarrowclaw asked, taking an awkward seat in front of the old cleric.
"I need to talk to you about something I saw at StarClan's Shrine," Estherfern explained carefully. "I believe it strongly relates to you." Now that was a dangerous thing to tell a cat like Yarrowclaw. She buried her tension deep. "When I dreamed at the Shrine last night, I received a visit from your mother. She provided me with a vision." Harvest… Yarrowclaw struggled to remember her face at times. Did her spirit visit the camp? What did she think of Yarrowclaw and her brothers?
"She showed us both the vision, technically," Gingerpaw chuckled. Estherfern smacked his muzzle with her tail.
"In this vision," Estherfern said, "I stood on a water-washed rock in the middle of the ocean. A violent storm raged around me. The waves nearly pushed me into the water. Yet as the storm grew more violent, something began to grow under my paws. A mass of vines and leaves stretched underneath me. It lifted me from the rock and above the chaos of the waves. It was a ship, just like this ship we now live in, back when the humans sent it to sea. But the ship was not made of wood. Growing between the plant matter were masses of white flowers. Yarrow flowers. The ship was built from the stems and leaves of impossibly strong yarrow. It carried me through the storm until land appeared on the horizon. Now I've grown familiar with how StarClan shares information through metaphor and symbolism. This ship of yarrow is a clear message. You were that ship, Yarrowclaw."
"No," Yarrowclaw immediately huffed. "No, no, I can't be involved in a prophecy." She hurried to her paws. Her muscles ached from restraining the storm inside.
"It's not something you have a choice about, Yarrowclaw," Estherfern sighed.
"StarClan can't pick me," Yarrowclaw snapped. "If they pick me, it will prove I'm right, and I'll get myself killed." Gingerpaw cocked his head at Yarrowclaw's odd phrasing, but Yarrowclaw barely noticed.
"Something's coming to RippleClan," Estherfern said, getting up. "You will be a sanctuary, a savior. You are destined to weather the storm, whatever it be."
"And you had to tell me that?" Yarrowclaw groaned. "What am I supposed to do with that?"
"It's not really what you're going to do," Gingerpaw explained awkwardly. "It's more what we're going to do about you. We wanted to let you know that we're going to talk to Oilstar about your duties. If you're a ship in this story, then whoever is on you, or I guess near you, should be safe from whatever's coming. So—"
"I'm not staying in camp," Yarrowclaw hissed, no longer afraid to hide her widening eyes and curling lips. "I can't stay in camp."
"You aren't trapped here," Estherfern grunted with a dismissive twitch of her whiskers. "But keeping you close to as many cats as possible could save lives."
"You don't even know what's going to happen!" Yarrowclaw yowled. "I—no, I can't have this conversation." She turned out of the den.
"Where are you going?" Estherfern snapped as Gingerpaw slunk back to his nest. "We need to talk to Oilstar."
"It's none of your concern!" Yarrowclaw growled, stepping back into the sun. Curious glances passed her way as she marched to the warrior's den. Hopefully Sandhollow would be inside. She needed someone sane to talk to.
You're special. You're chosen. Of course you're chosen. You can save them. You can save them all. You'll need to train, you have to be able to fight off what's coming, but what if it's not a fox or bear or wolf, what if its nature? You should go to StarClan's Shrine, you need to know more, go right now go go go go go—
No! Yarrowclaw growled at herself as she entered the warrior's den. Half the Clan was sleeping through the hot midday, relaxed in their nests and on top of one another. Yarrowclaw jumped into her nest, even though she knew she wouldn't sleep.
She couldn't be special. For her own sake, she could not be special. She wouldn't allow it.
(Yarrowclaw: 32, female, warrior, cold, fire master)
(Asterblaze: 44, male, caretaker, thoughtful, inventor and innovator)
(Shrewflame: 21, male, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)
(Estherfern: 131, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)
Sandhollow wonders if he is destined for something greater as his sister gives birth to three kits.
[Image ID: Sandhollow and Yellowburst approach Stormjump and her three newborns from the distance, with Yellowburst calling, "Hurry, we have to meet them!" Under Stormjump, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. The first kit looks just like Honeybuzz, and under him, it reads NEW PLAYER: BEEKIT, 0, MALE, NOISY. The next kit is white with ginger patches. Under him, it says NEW PLAYER: PATCHKIT, 0, MALE, CHARMING. The last kit is golden with a blanket of tinted white across his forehead and back. Under him, it reads NEW PLAYER: MORNINGKIT, 0, MALE, BOSSY.]
Midnightpaw is apprenticed to Anchovystrike while Valleypaw gets to learn under Asterblaze to harness his excitement to fight. Before they head out, though, Wildclaw and Rattlepelt apologize for any neglect they may have felt in the nursery as they both fought their grief.
[Image ID: Rattlepelt and Wildclaw talk to Midnightpaw and Valleypaw, now apprentices. Under Midnightpaw, it says LEVEL UP! MIDNIGHTKIT → MIDNIGHTPAW, POLITE → OBLIVIOUS. Under Valleypaw, it says LEVEL UP! VALLEYKIT → VALLEYPAW, QUIET → STRICT. Rattlepelt says, "We just… don't want you to think we weren't utterly in love with you." Under her, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING.]
(Wildclaw: 89, female, deputy, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)
Icepaw and Pearpaw meet their long-lost kin at the Gathering.
[Image ID: Icepaw and Pearpaw meet Nimblestep and Quickpaw, the latter of whom is now an apprentice. Pearpaw says, "So… how do we do this?"]
---
For a few days, Icepaw wasn't sure he would make it to his first Gathering. He'd been stuck in the medicine den, his head screaming to shut out the light and noise. Shrewflame did his best to continue his lessons, giving him the same overview of herbs that mediator and caretaker apprentices were expected to learn, but he couldn't join Shrewflame on patrol. He couldn't spar with Pearpaw and Dovepaw. All he could do was think about what his mother and sister would look like as the full moon drew closer and closer.
Yet, by the grace of StarClan or whatever Celestial watched over headaches, Icepaw still made it. He still got to walk alongside his fellow apprentices near the back of the crowd as they made their way to the Leader's Stone. The full moon glistened in the hot, cloudless night. Oilstar and Wildclaw proudly led the way, each eagerly discussing how to share their goods with the other four Clans. Baskets heavy with offerings from the sea dangled off warriors' necks. Pearpaw in particular had a basket of seashells, perfect for decoration. The seashells jingled together as Pearpaw walked alongside Icepaw and the pair listened to Dovepaw's rambling.
"Wolverineheart promised I could meet her friend Deerswipe tonight!" Dovepaw chirped, bouncing around the apprentices. "She's half-blind too. They spar together all the time! And now that SlugClan's not mad at us, Wolverineheart said she and Deerswipe can show me some tricks!"
"Was she part of the raid?" Icepaw muttered, unable to stop his hackles from rising.
"What raid?" Midnightpaw asked from behind the older apprentices. Valleypaw, who walked alongside his brother, kicked at Midnightpaw's feet.
"You know what raid!" Valleypaw huffed.
"No, because there's been two," Midnightpaw chirped innocently, stumbling back into a steady pace. "There was SlugClan breaching camp, and then there was LynxClan stealing our crabs."
"We're talking about a SlugClan warrior," Valleypaw groaned, rolling his eyes. "Why would we talk about LynxClan?"
"Midnightpaw's fine, Valley," Pearpaw huffed, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter if Deerswipe was part of that attack or not. We listen to our leaders, and we talk through what happened at the Gathering. That's what Clan life is like."
Icepaw relaxed at his sister's wise words, but something twisted in his chest. Yes, that was what Clan life was like. Yet none of them were technically ever meant to live that life. Dovepaw chose it, sure, but the other apprentices were less than a moon old when their mothers found them. They only had theories as to what happened with Midnightpaw and Valleypaw's birth mother. And for Icepaw and Pearpaw… well, their fate was decided for them before they were even born, by two mollies Icepaw never met. He could only hear secondary tales of Lemmy's motivations, and wonder why Potterypool agreed to murder his father. At least she felt bad about it afterward. Yet that did not stop the twisting in Icepaw's chest.
He recognized the great cliffside leading up to the Leader's Stone from Puddlewhisper's stories. He could see glimpses of the great bonfire through the distant shrubs. The hushed purrs of countless cats filled his ears. Oilstar and Wildclaw were already up and over by the time Icepaw and the other apprentices got close. Just before Icepaw could follow the rest of his Clan up, however, Scaleripple stepped in front of him.
"A few rules before you go up," Scaleripple said, his blue-feathered tail high. "Stay with us while the leaders give their announcements. We can socialize when they're done. Stay in the clearing. Be smart about what you share."
"Wolverineheart told me all that," Dovepaw huffed, cocking his head. "Why are you? You aren't our mentor."
"I'm a teacher now," Scaleripple said with a hint of pride in his purr. "I help apprentices. That's my job."
"Don't be rude, Dovepaw," Valleypaw huffed, gently smacking Dovepaw's side.
"I wasn't being rude, I was asking a question," Dovepaw said, earnest in his naivity.
"Let's go," Pearpaw said, weaving around Scaleripple and up the cliffside path. Icepaw was right on his sister's tail, heart racing as the voices above grew louder and louder.
It wasn't the size of the crowd that stunned Icepaw. He knew to expect more cats than he could count, with caretakers uncovering hidden cookware and constructing makeshift ovens and stoves. He knew each of the four leaders already on the Leader's Stone, from top to bottom: Eelstar, Gentlestar, Ospreystar, and Lettucestar. No, as Icepaw stared out across the crowd, he saw one cat in particular, sitting at the front of their Clan. It was a brown rosette covered tabby whose blue eyes caught in the firelight. She was thin, yet nimble in frame, sitting tall and tense, staring at the Leader's Stone. Icepaw couldn't explain how he knew with such certainty, but he knew. That was Nimblestep. That was his mother.
"Icepaw, let's sit near the front!" Midnightpaw called, charging past Icepaw. Icepaw stumbled forward, and the rest of his Clan pulled him through the crowd. By the times he got his bearings, he was close to the front of RippleClan, sitting beside Midnightpaw, Dovepaw, and Pearpaw, sans basket. Valleypaw lurked further into the crowd by Asterblaze. Icepaw searched for Nimblestep once more. Nimblestep's eyes sweeped RippleClan. She was looking for her kits.
"I want to give my Clan plenty of time to celebrate tonight," Oilstar called as she found her place on the bottom of the Leader's Stone. "Let's go through this moon's news quickly."
Icepaw struggled to focus as the other leaders gave their reports. Icepaw knew he should pay attention, Shrewflame would probably ask him questions later. But how could he pay attention when Nimblestep was so close by? Icepaw could barely sit still. Nimblestep was right there. He knew she would be, but to see her so soon, so suddenly…
The five Clans melted together faster than Icepaw expected. He hadn't even realized the leaders had finished delivering their news. Had the Clans cheered his name somewhere in all that noise? He couldn't tell.
"Icepaw." Oh thank StarClan, Paleseed was there. The gray speckled mediator brushed against her nephew, with Pearpaw lingering beside her. "Your birth mother is here. Do you want to meet her?"
"I already see her," Icepaw said as the SlugClan party merged with the rest of the Clans. Nimblestep swerved between cats, deftly navigating the chaotic reunions toward her own chaotic reunion. Her tail inched upward, ever hopeful. In Icepaw's eye, flashes of Puddlewhisper's blood still stained Nimblestep's mouth.
"I can stay with you while you meet her," Paleseed promised softly.
"No thank you," Pearpaw gulped. "I—We want to meet her alone." No! There was no "we" in that decision! Icepaw shook his head rapidly, but Paleseed merely touched noses with Pearpaw and dissolved into the crowd. She was gone before Icepaw could choke out a word.
"Pearpaw!" Icepaw whined.
"We shouldn't have someone else minding us for this," Pearpaw whispered as Nimblestep drew closer. "Nimblestep's our mother." Some mother, Icepaw thought.
"Is it you?" Nimblestep croaked as the crowd began to part and find places to share tongues. "Icepaw? Pearpaw?" Her voice quivered.
"Hi, Nimblestep," Pearpaw gulped. Icepaw didn't know whether to puff himself up and stand in front of his sister or allow his sister to take the lead. He stayed right next to Pearpaw, taking in Nimblestep's features. Pearpaw looked nothing like Nimblestep; the former was round and a bit short, while Nimblestep was tall and thin. Did Icepaw have his mother's angular face? Or did his features align more with his long-lost father?
"You're really here," Nimblestep purred. Her whiskers suddenly danced over Icepaw's pelt as she sniffed her lost son. Flashes of an event Icepaw could never have remembered overwhelmed his senses; teeth slipping off of his pelt, wood smacking into his skull, forever damaging the brain within. Icepaw's head throbbed in response.
"Hold on," Icepaw stammered, dancing away from Nimblestep. "Shouldn't Quickpaw be here?" Pearpaw's blue eyes (the only thing she shared with her birth mother) glistened at the thought of her unknown sister. Nimblestep's eyes glowed too.
"She's just with her mentor," Nimblestep eagerly explained. "She's going to be a mediator. This way, hurry." Nimblestep jogged through the crowd, but kept pausing to make sure Icepaw and Pearpaw were behind her. Both apprentices followed their birth mother, eyeing each other as they went.
Quickpaw sat with an older black tom among a gaggle of mediators from across the five Clans. Sandhollow and Slushtrail sat in their number, close to the young apprentice. Quickpaw looked exactly like Nimblestep. They shared the same brown fur and black markings. She had the spots to fill Nimblestep's rosettes. She was just as thin and clearly taller than Icepaw and Pearpaw. Yet her eyes were a rich dark brown, moving away from the family's pattern of blue.
When Quickpaw spotted her family through the crowd, she said something quickly to her mentor, who caught Nimblestep's eye. When Quickpaw's mentor nodded, the young brown molly bounded through her fellow mediators and straight to Nimblestep's side. Nimblestep nuzzled her daughter, purring deep. Quickpaw returned the gesture, stretching her head high to rub against her mother. Icepaw felt ill.
"You made it," Quickpaw gasped, oggling Icepaw and Pearpaw. She took in every detail of her littermates' pelts, but Icepaw could only look at Nimblestep. Her eyes shouldn't have been so relaxed, her pupils slit and calm. That was the look Puddlewhisper had when Icepaw became an apprentice. That was a mother's look.
Nimblestep did not deserve a mother's look.
"So…" Pearpaw gulped, "how do we do this?"
"I want to talk to Quickpaw," Icepaw blurted, louder than he intended. "Just Quickpaw. Uh, and Pearpaw too, I mean. Not Nimblestep. Later. Just… over here!" Icepaw spotted an empty spot on the far side of the clearing, beyond the Leader's Stone. Icepaw's claws dug up grass as he ran through the crowd. Whatever cries of shock his family gave, the sound of the Gathering covered it up.
Icepaw skidded to a stop beyond the chaos of the five Clans. When he glanced back, his racing heart eased. Pearpaw and Quickpaw were on their way. Nimblestep was lost within the crowd.
"What are you doing?" Pearpaw gasped as she and her lost sister neared their brother. "We can't just run away from Nimblestep like that! She's been dying to see us!" Yes, dying—like what happened to Downstar when SlugClan sent a whole patrol to steal Icepaw and Pearpaw from the only life they knew. Icepaw squeezed his eyes tight.
"Later, Pearpaw," Icepaw said through gritted teeth. "I can't do it now. I just can't." Icepaw finally looked up and locked eyes with Quickpaw. Did Nimblestep save her because they both looked the same? Would Icepaw be in her place if Quickpaw had been the one to slip out of Nimblestep's jaws that fateful day? Had Pearpaw even been considered for salvation?
"What would she have called us," Icepaw finally huffed, "if she got to keep us? She named you Quick. Who would we have been?"
"You would have been Sleek," Quickpaw said. She said it with such blunt sincerity that Icepaw snapped out of his spiraling thoughts. "Pearpaw, you would have been Silent. Quick, Sleek, and Silent." Hmm. Sleek. Icepaw had to admit, he didn't hate the name.
"I'm sorry, Icepaw's being rude," Pearpaw stammered, looping around Quickpaw. "I'm so happy I get to meet you. I've spent so long wondering what you would be like!"
"Me too," Quickpaw purred. She hesistated before Pearpaw, glancing at Icepaw all the while. Suddenly, Quickpaw dove into Pearpaw and rubbed against her shoulder. Pearpaw squealed at the sudden touch but did not recoil. A moment later, Pearpaw rubbed into her sister's neck with a noisy purr.
"Did Nimblestep tell you she attacked our mom?" Icepaw asked before his littermates could start sharing tongues and forget they were ever apart. "Puddlewhisper, I mean. She raised us. Nimblestep almost bit her tail off."
"My mentor, Crowtail, did," Quickpaw admitted, still purring as she moved back from Pearpaw. "He was there. Mom said she was sorry. She got overwhelmed."
"She still hurt our mom," Icepaw growled with a thrash of his tail. He pulled himself back, swallowing the bile climbing his throat. "But you… who are you? I mean, what are you like? I mean… I don't know what I mean." Icepaw kicked at the grass.
"I'm just… me," Quickpaw said, cocking her head slightly. "I don't really know how to describe myself. I like moss-ball. I like visiting the river, swimming is really fun. Uh… oh, don't tell Mom, but most of the time, when I need a break from her, I hide in this little nook in the roots of the Leader's Tree and sing to myself. I like singing."
"You hide from her?" Pearpaw repeated, taking a seat. "Why would you ever hide from your mom? Is she mean?"
"No!" Quickpaw stammered. "The opposite. She won't leave me alone sometimes. She always wants to know what I'm doing and if she can help. I couldn't wait to be an apprentice." Quickpaw glanced over her shoulder, as though Nimblestep would ignore Icepaw's wishes and storm into the conversation.
"Did she tell you how she left us?" Icepaw asked.
"In a way," Quickpaw groaned. "She told me she only managed to save me. Your meditators visited camp a few moons ago, and I bothered Sandhollow until he told me about you two." Quickpaw cocked her tail at Pearpaw and said, "You're always sticking close to Icepaw, and you get upset when something bad happens to a hero in stories."
"I want them to be happy," Pearpaw whined playfully.
"You love to stick your nose into everything," Quickpaw said, now pointing at Icepaw. "You're too smart for your own good, but you have a 'warrior's heart', whatever that means."
"Was Sandhollow complimenting us or insulting us?" Icepaw chuckled.
"You're also rude," Quickpaw pointed out. "Mom's always tried her best with me. You can at least see that she's trying."
"That's what I've been telling him!" Pearpaw huffed, making a face at Icepaw.
"She's not the one I want to get to know," Icepaw grunted. "She chose you, not us. Well, I want to choose you, and I want you to choose us. I want another sister."
"That's why I'm going to be a mediator!" Quickpaw chirped, ears perking. "I can make lots of excuses to see you!" Icepaw's ears perked up too. The twisting force in his chest unwound itself.
"Does SlugClan have any teachers?" Pearpaw asked. "Maybe Icepaw can get Shrewflame to help SlugClan with the new role!"
"We have one," Quickpaw hummed, "but I have a better idea. How do you feel about sneaking out of camp?"
"Quickpaw," Icepaw said with the seriousness of a battle-hardened warrior. "I have wanted to sneak out of camp since I was born."
"That doesn't make any sense," Quickpaw laughed, playfully flinging her paw at Icepaw.
"Wouldn't it be better to make sure the adults approve our visits?" Pearpaw gulped. "I don't want to make my mentor upset."
"The adults are why Mom never saw you before tonight," Quickpaw whispered, leaning in. "We're shouldn't have to wait until graduation before we can visit each other. We should have our own Gatherings!"
"We could meet where SlugClan, WheatClan, and AshClan meet," Icepaw purred, ideas sparking wildly. "We can meet on the new moon! That way we don't have to worry about missing the actual Gathering."
"It'll be fun, Pearpaw!" Quickpaw said, nudging the pale ginger molly. "Don't you want a sister?"
"I really do," Pearpaw groaned, one ear angling back. "Oh… alright, let's do it. The Littermates Gathering." Quickpaw and Icepaw cheered at the top of their lungs. Icepaw laughed at Quickpaw's cries, and Quickpaw laughed at Icepaw's laughter.
That was family, to him—choice. He wanted them, they wanted him, and none of them would let the others go.
Estherfern drips an infection-fighting concoction into Mosspounce’s eyes, not paying attention to his protests. She needs to stop the infection before it gets any worse.
[Image ID: Estherfern and Honeybuzz stand around Mosspounce, treating him while Washington watches in the back. Under Mosspounce, it says + INFECTION. Under Honeybuzz, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING.]
"Shouldn't you be doing some sort of ritual?" Mosspounce groaned as Estherfern shoved his chin up. His bloody eyes stared at nothing, yellow pus pooling around his torn eyelids. Pale white light drifted inside the medicine den, bouncing off the paw-deep snow covering camp.
"Like what, contact StarClan for medical advice?" Estherfern muttered, removing the leather lid from an empty bottle. "Apparently StarClan only has the energy for one proper channeling a year, and we spent that on Currentsmoke's jaw. We're doing everything we know we can, Mosspounce." Estherfern grabbed the bottle in her jaws and lowered it into the warm pot beside her. A freshly brewed concoction sat within the pot, packed full of infection-killing herbs. Estherfern dipped the bottle into the concoction, accidentally getting some on her lips. She tilted her head to the side to keep the botte face-up. Then she slowly brought it over Mosspounce's face and poured a splash of the concoction onto his eyes.
Mosspounce hissed, flinching back, but Honeybuzz was there to help. He stood behind Mosspounce and gently shoved the injured caretaker back into place, allowing Estherfern to set the bottle down and massage the concoction in. Mosspounce's claws poked his nest.
"Your body is killing itself in an effort to kill this infection," Estherfern huffed. "This will give your body an ally in that fight. So stay still!" Estherfern removed her paws from Mosspounce's eyes and rubbed them clean on the medicine den's leather floor. Mosspounce groaned as Honeybuzz grabbed fresh bandages and wrapped them around Mosspounce's face.
"Will he be alright?" Estherfern hid her surprise well as she faced the cat resting a few tail-lengths away, a splint and bandages wrapped around his back leg. Estherfern had truthfully forgotten Washington was there. The old tom (and she truly meant old, she had never met a cat who claimed to live over two hundred moons before) watched Mosspounce carefully, gaze sharp and twitching as though he were the one with a concoction burning into his eyes.
Washington had not said much in the quarter moon since his arrival to RippleClan, clearly mourning those he lost in the shipwreck offshore. Remnants of that ship now reinforced part of the medicine den's walls. There had been so much wood, in fact, that the caretakers were able to take apart a decaying portion of the medicine den's back wall and build it into the hollows of the main shipwreck, allowing more room for herbal preparation, rituals, and sleeping patients. Washington now slept in the remains of his former home, silently watching his new home swirl about.
"We're doing what we can," Honeybuzz promised, releasing Mosspounce. "Do you need something, Washington?"
"No, no, I'm comfortable," Washington muttered.
"I'm not," Mosspounce groaned, curling into a ball. "Can I have something for my pain?" His whiskers twitched as his face squirmed, biting back a mrow of frustration.
"Can you fight through for a bit longer?" Honeybuzz asked. "Troutpool and Weevilsight should be back with more willow bark soon."
"You know what would shut him up and keep him warm?" Estherfern muttered, rubbing her paws clean on the snow outside. "A smoke-den."
"You know we don't do that, Estherfern," Honeybuzz sighed. Estherfern could feel his disapproving stare against the back of her head.
"Forgive the interupption," Washington croaked in the back, "but if a smoke-den, as you called it, could help this kit with his pain, why not try it?"
"Kit?" Mosspounce groaned. "I'm a father!"
"Smoke-dens are a tradition in SlugClan, one of the other Clans," Honeybuzz explained, joining Washington's side. "They burn herbs like catmint and valerian to enter an overly relaxed, trance-like state. Downstar always saw it as a waste of herbs, so we don't use smoke-dens in RippleClan."
"You might not understand it," Washington sighed, "but back on my ship, my humans would sit around with sticks in their mouths, blowing smoke at one another. They were at their calmest when they did that. Not a pleasant smell, no, but it's a wonderful feeling to be sitting on a human's lap as they relax, listening to their purr." Honeybuzz squirmed at Washington's description, yet somewhere in Estherfern's memories, she could remember a human's paw stroking her back, soothing her into quiet dreams.
"What is it like to be on a ship?" Mosspounce asked, slightly lifting his head from his ball of shame. "What are they like when they're floating?"
"Well, not everyone likes the way the ground shifts under your paws," Washington mused, "but I'm a ship-cat, through and through. I love it."
"Tell me more," Mosspounce begged. He shifted toward Washington's scent.
"Estherfern." Outside the den, Puddlewhisper and Waspdawn stood in the snow, pelts dull in the shiny light. The weight of Waspdawn's infection was evident in the way his footing seemed unsteady on flat ground, yet he matched his sister's blank, focused expression.
"Are you going to rest now, Waspdawn?" Estherfern muttered. Behind her, Honeybuzz helped Mosspounce over to Washington's nest. It could have been the snow-light's reflection, but Estherfern swore Washington had a sparkle in his eyes as he dove into stories of massive ships coursing across the sea.
"Do you have the fur samples we collected from Potterypool?" Puddlewhisper asked.
"Troutpool's kept them safe," Estherfern promised. She crossed over to Troutpool's nest, covered in plush leather expertly tanned by Rattlepelt. Estherfern shuffled through the thick layers of the nest until she found a small vial. She grabbed a scrap of leather the clerics used to wipe medicine from their paws and lips. She placed the scrap in front of Puddlewhisper and Waspdawn, opened the vial, and carefully poured out the contents. Strands of dark fur fluttered out.
Puddlewhisper and Waspdawn nodded to each other in some secret littermate language. Puddlewhisper jogged off to the bonfire in the center of camp, which projected warmth into all the dens. She grabbed a dry stick beside the fire. She carefully tilted the stick into the flames. The fire licked the tip of the stick and climbed on. Puddlewhisper hurried back to the medicine den, head tilted hard to the right to keep the tip of the torch aloft. She plunged the torch into the snow and sand a safe distance from the wooden shipwreck. Waspdawn tugged the leather scrap closer to the light. Honeybuzz stood beside Estherfern, focused more on the dangerously close torch than the codekeepers' work.
Puddlewhisper carefully pawed at a few strands of fur. With the firelight, even Estherfern could better make out each strand's details. The fur at Puddlewhisper's paw was black, perhaps dark gray, and fairly short. Yet there were other strands beside Waspdawn that were long and the color of dark leather. They all looked the same without such clear light illuminating through every hair.
"You were right, Puddlewhisper," Waspdawn muttered. "These samples don't come from the same cat." Estherfern's shoulders tensed.
"What does that mean?" Honeybuzz asked softly. Puddlewhisper pulled the torch out of the ground and submerged it into the snow, quickly dousing the flame. Smoke drifted from the suddenly melted slush.
"It's not wise to make assumptions," Puddlewhisper sighed, "but we pulled these samples from Potterypool's claws and wounds. We can't determine the context, but we can say that Potterypool fought with more than one cat the day she died. We may be looking for two killers."
(Estherfern: 124, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)
(Honeybuzz: 38, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)
(Washington: 218, male, elder, nervous, good mediator)
(Puddlewhisper: 56, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, keen eye, ghost sense)
(Waspdawn: 56, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)
Gingerpaw asks to be apprenticed to Estherfern, while Frostpaw becomes Rabbitjoy’s newest artisan apprentice. Honeybuzz gives Gingerpaw a maple seed necklace.
[Image ID: Gingerpaw and Frostpaw are now both apprentices, though Gingerpaw has a maple seed tucked by his ear. Under Gingerpaw, it reads LEVEL UP! GINGERKIT → GINGERPAW, CHARMING → CHILDISH, + NEW SKILL: MOSS-BALL HUNTER, + ACCESSORY: MAPLE SEED. Under Frostpaw, it says LEVEL UP! FROSTKIT → FROSTPAW, QUIET → STRICT.]
(Frostpaw: 6, female, artisan apprentice, strict, lover of stories)
Puddlewhisper is determined to solve her little sister’s murder.
[Image ID: Puddlewhisper, Vervaincough, and Venturedapple watch a brown rosette molly with blue eyes run off with a brown speckled kit. Puddlewhisper yowls "Hold on!" Under the kit, it says NEW PLAYER: QUICK, 0, FEMALE, KNOW-IT-ALL. Under the brown molly, it says NEW PLAYER: NIMBLE, 45, FEMALE, RIGHTEOUS, GOOD SWIMMER.]
---
Everything was bitter. The last three days had been so bitterly cold that even Scaleripple and Venturedapple, with two of the thickest pelts in the Clan, couldn't stay out of camp for long. The mice and squirrels had been eating something, something that made Puddlewhisper's mouth curl no matter how well the caretakers cooked the meat. And that was without mentioning the way Puddlewhisper's teeth ached to dig into guilty flesh. The bitterness had reached her heart, pushing her into the snow.
Another look around. Another try. For Lightningrunner.
Puddlewhisper stalked through the snow. She placed her paws in the prints left by previous patrols, reducing the sound of crunching snow to a mutter. Her ears turned with every creaking branch or scuttering leaf. Her tail waved back and forth, a reflection of her rising frustration. She kept at a slow pace, though, sniffing at the base of a fir.
She could see Battle Beach through the trees, although the sand had been consumed by snow, blurring the border between the forest and the shoreline. The fur on the back of Puddlewhisper's neck itched. Phantom fangs pierced her spine. It was so bad that she had to stop and scratch her neck, sending a few tufts of winter fluff floating into the snow.
"We've been here half the morning, Puddlewhisper," a voice groaned from the trees. "I don't think anyone's going to show up." Two pairs of gray eyes peered at Puddlewhisper from the snow-heavy needles of a black spruce. Vervaincough and Venturedapple leaped out of the tree and landed gracefully beside Puddlewhisper.
"Stars damn it," Puddlewhisper hissed, settling her itchy body. "I was certain someone would stop me from 'confirming my theory'. I suppose it wasn't likely to succeed."
"Because they know you're smarter than to talk about 'almost solving the murders' in the middle of camp," Venturedapple muttered.
"It was worth a try, Venturedapple," Vervaincough snapped, her tail smacking against Venturedapple's half-furred tail. Venturedapple dipped his head to the mourning molly.
"You can go back to camp if you want, Venturedapple," Puddlewhisper sighed. "I'm going to look around more. Maybe I can figure out how Lightningrunner's killer managed to get away from the rest of the patrol so easily…" Puddlewhisper studied the layout of the trees, looking for an easy hiding spot.
"I'm staying too, then," Vervaincough huffed, standing next to Puddlewhisper. "There has to be something I can tell my family when I get back."
"It wouldn't be right to leave you two alone," Venturedapple sighed, shaking his head. "We're too close to the river."
"Do you and Lemmy still think a Witch Hunter killed them?" Puddlewhisper asked. "There's no way a Witch Hunter could have killed Lightningrunner and returned to the human settlement without leaving some type of trail."
"Actually, no," Venturedapple said simply, sitting at the base of the spruce. "The cats who follow Pearl wouldn't have a reason to do this. However, there were some cats who were loyal to Achilles when he and Pearl fought for the title of Witch Hunter General. Perhaps the killer is one of the minority who still view the Clans as witches to be exterminated."
"I can see why you left them," Vervaincough huffed, fluffing her pelt against a bitter breeze whistling through the trees. "I wouldn't want to live in RippleClan if a power struggle like that happened."
"I won't reject the possibility that an outsider killed Potterypool," Puddlewhisper admitted, "but Lightningrunner? No, I'm sorry. It had to be a RippleClan cat. There's no other way they could have escaped." Somewhere behind Puddlewhisper, a heavy weight crunched into the snow. A pawstep. Puddlewhisper's ears swiveled. There it was again. This time Vervaincough and Venturedapple heard it. They both stood tall, ears turned the same way as Puddlewhisper.
Puddlewhisper put her tail to her mouth, silencing the patrol. Crunch. Another pawstep. The three codekeepers dropped. Puddlewhisper in the lead, they followed the sound further into the trees. Crunch.
There! A figure to match the sound. For a moment, Puddlewhisper thought it was Rapidleaf, what with the dark brown fur and blue eyes. But no, this was not Rapidleaf; this molly was younger, nimbler, with rosettes sprinkling her pelt. The stranger reeked of milk and afterbirth; a queen? A recently kitted queen, as well. Despite her thin body, her belly swelled with milk and had yet to fully shrink from pregnancy. She stalked a squirrel digging at the snow, searching for its autumn nuts.
"Halt!" Puddlewhisper called, standing up. The queen jumped, back arching violently. She hissed, showing off her yellow teeth. The squirrel scrambled up a spruce. The queen darted past her lost catch, slamming into the snow with each frantic step.
"Stop!" Vervaincough yowled. She tumbled past a dead bush and sprinted after the queen.
"Vervaincough, pull back!" Puddlewhisper ordered.
"She's getting away!" Vervaincough snapped, skitting through the snow. Her wild gaze bounced between Puddlewhisper and the disappearing queen.
"She's got the strongest scent trail I've ever smelled," Puddlewhisper huffed, nose curling at the intensity of it. "Don't waste your energy running. With her scent and her pawprints, we won't lose her." Puddlewhisper once again led Vervaincough and Venturedapple on, but this time she kept at a light jog, letting her nose do the work. Venturedapple, obediant as ever, walked alongside the gray molly.
"What are you thinking?" Venturedapple asked, trying to look through Puddlewhisper's eyes.
"I think if she's as new a queen as she smells," Puddlewhisper explained, "she's made her nest not far from here. If that's the case, she might have seen something that could help us." Were it better days, Puddlewhisper would have suggested inviting the stranger to RippleClan, provide her a safe place to nurse her kits. But the thought lingered only for a moment before memories of dead, red fur replaced it and Puddlewhisper's heart hardened.
The queen's panicked trail headed towards the Great Northern River, as Puddlewhisper suspected. The stranger's pawprints reappeared on the other side of the stepping stones. Ice glistened across the surface of the stones where they peeked above the freezing current. Puddlewhisper stopped and licked warmth into her paws. Vervaincough pushed ahead, hopping onto the first slippery stone. She jumped from stone to stone, allowing the momentum of her landing to propel her to the next. She landed on the opposite bank with nary a stumble.
Puddlewhisper crossed next. She took her time in her crossing, merely stepping from stone to stone. Her claws poked at the ice. Even though she warmed her paws, it was hard to feel the pads when chilling mist sprayed up from below.
Her back paw slipped at the edge of a stone. Her hind legs fell into the river. The water was shallow and couldn't pull her away, but a paralyzing cold whipped up her spine. Puddlewhisper's legs shook as she tried to stand.
Suddenly, gentle fangs grabbed Puddlewhisper's scruff. Venturedapple stood behind her, his long fur dragging in the current. He shoved Puddlewhisper onto the stepping stone and nudged her back to her paws. Puddlewhisper shivered violently, but nodded deeply. Venturedapple merely dipped his head and crossed past Puddlewhisper, unphased by the cold water and ignoring the stepping stones.
Snow stuck to Puddlewhisper's wet flank when she and Venturedapple made it over to Vervaincough. Puddlewhisper shook out her pelt, spraying Vervaincough. Luckily the queen's trail was still clear and stinking. Puddlewhisper and Vervaincough hurried alongside the queen's pawprints, too focused on their mission to worry about Puddlewhisper's health.
They slowed and crouched as the queen and her nest came into view. Dead grass and orange needles curled around the queen and her three newborn kits. The queen gently groomed a brown kit whose pelt made it clear they would look just like their mother in time. Two other kits mewed and whined for milk; a silver spotted kit and a pale ginger kitten with a nose so pink and pale that it blended into the rest of their fur. They looked healthy from what Puddlewhisper could tell. She, Vervaincough, and Venturedapple lurked under the low-hanging branches of yet another black spruce. The queen purred and panted, glancing behind her.
"Let's try not to scare her again," Puddlewhisper advised her companions. "We can't chase her all day."
"I recognize her," Venturedapple whispered. "Her name is Nimble. She used to live in the human settlement. She left with Achilles. He was her mate." Achilles… he had long brown fur. Could he be the cat Potterypool encountered in the moments before her death?
"Isn't Achilles really old for her?" Vervaincough groaned, sneering at the thought.
"Not every cat has the same concern about age as the Clans seem to," Venturedapple muttered, shaking his head. Yet as he did so, he knocked into a snow-burdened branch. A clump of snow fell from the tree with a loud thud.
The queen, Nimble, ripped herself from her litter's affections. She stood between her kits and the codekeepers like a crumbling wall, unable to stop shaking. Despite the light bouncing off the snow, Nimble's pupils were wide, utterly terrified. Puddlewhisper groaned in her mind.
"We aren't here to hurt you," Puddlewhisper promised, crawling out from under the tree. "We just want to ask you some questions."
"No," Nimble hissed. "No, you're lying. You're here to kill me."
"We don't want that," Vervaincough said as she and Venturedapple joined Puddlewhisper. "Did you see a red molly out here last moon?" That was the wrong thing to say, as Nimble unseathed her claws.
"She did it!" Nimble yowled. "I saw the two of them. They killed my mate, they didn't care! They sent you here to silence me!" Nimble's fear scent overwhelmed her milk-scent. Her kits whined, unfamiliar with the nose-curling stench.
"Tell us what happened," Venturedapple snapped, the tip of his fangs peeking out into the harsh light. Nimble spun and shoved her face into the nest. She emerged with her brown and silver kits dangling in her mouth. The pale ginger kit cried, tiny paws flailing for their missing littermates. Yet Nimble, ears low and tail tucked, simply ran. She stumbled over an exposed root, the exhaustion of kitting slowing her down. As she dove over the root, the silver kit slipped from her jaws. The kitten's tiny head smacked into the buldging root. They landed in the crunchy snow and wailed louder than Puddlewhisper thought a newborn ever could.
"Hold on!" Puddlewhisper cried, but Nimble wouldn't stop. She weaved through the trees, whimpering until her abandoned kit's screams drowned her out. Puddlewhisper's memories flung her back, back to that night when she woke up to screeching and screaming echoing from the nursery, unsure if her nieces, her nephews, her sisters and mother, if any of them were alright. That night, even as Downstar explained the horrors of the Dark Forest that caused such a disaster, all Puddlewhisper could think was, I'll never let a kit scream like that, ever again. They'll never hurt like that as long as I draw breath.
Puddlewhisper flew over the exposed root and cradled her paws around the silver newborn. There was no blood, thank StarClan, but the kit, a tom, still wailed and screamed, his nose-sized paws digging at the sky. Puddlewhisper pulled the kitten close to her chest, forcing herself to purr. She groomed the tom's tiny head. The tom began to soothe himself, rooting into Puddlewhisper's fur with painful whimpers. As he quieted, the pitiful mews of his other abandoned sibling became the loudest thing in the forest.
"One of you check on that kit already!" Puddlewhisper snapped at Vervaincough and Venturedapple, who stared dumbfounded at the silver kitten. Venturedapple, at least, pulled himself out of the stupor and obeyed Puddlewhisper's order. He crawled into the nest and nosed the pale ginger kit.
"It's a molly," Venturedapple explained. "She seems healthy. Just upset."
"She left them," Vervaincough muttered, staring at Nimble's trail. "She left her kits behind. They, they could die without her!"
"That's why we're taking them back to camp, right now," Puddlewhisper hissed, lifting the silver kit back over the exposed root.
"What about Nimble?" Venturedapple asked.
"She'll never tell us what we need to know if she thinks we're out to kill her," Puddlewhisper growled. "We'll find her eventually. The clerics need to see this kit. We're going home, right now. Grab his sister and follow me."
For the first time in an entire moon, Puddlewhisper didn't think about her sister's murder. She could only think of the two newborns beside her, whining for their mother.
[Image ID: Puddlewhisper stands with a silver speckled kit and a pale ginger tabby kit. Puddlewhisper says "What kind of mother is she if she only saved one kit? Someone should put these two first." Under the silver kit, it says NEW PLAYER: ICEKIT, 0, MALE, UNRULY. Under the pale ginger kit, it says NEW PLAYER: PEARKIT, 0, FEMALE, QUIET.]
With no nursing queens to feed the two newcomers, Carnationspeckle quickly set to work brewing kitten soup while Currentsmoke built a nest in the nursery. Vervaincough and Venturedapple met with Waspdawn, Oilstripe, and Downstar in the leader's den while Puddlewhisper stayed with the silver and pale ginger kits, warming them by the bonfire. Troutpool carefully examined the silver tom's head while Puddlewhisper made sure his sister didn't crawl into the fire.
"I don't see any signs of injury," Troutpool muttered, "and he seems to be doing well. I can monitor him, but I don't think he's hurt. Just a little knock on the head, I believe." Troutpool licked the tom's head, chuckling. Shrewflame and Whitepaw hovered over Puddlewhisper, trying to get a good view of the newborns.
"They're adorable," Whitepaw gasped, eyes sparkling. "Do they need anything?"
"Some space," Puddlewhisper huffed, batting at the two brothers. "Don't you have chores to attend to?"
"Well forgive our curiosity," Shrewflame grumbled, guiding Whitepaw back. The rest of the Clan were able to contain themselves and give Puddlewhisper room to breathe. If they weren't discussing the day's events, they were trying to listen to Downstar's meeting (only for Cobaltchaser, guarding the den, to remind them it was private).
"Once Currentsmoke's done in the nursery, we can move them in," Troutpool sighed. She sat beside Puddlewhisper and warmed her whiskers. Puddlewhisper pulled the kits close to her. They sensed her warmth and turned their noses into her pelt.
"You seem like a natural," Troutpool hummed. Puddlewhisper's ears dipped. She stared at the fire, forcing her pelt to stay smooth. Troutpool tucked in her tail and quickly added, "I'm sorry, I didn't think that through. They just seem to like you, that's what I mean." Puddlewhisper stared at the kits. The silver tom looked like he could be Puddlewhisper's son. The molly looked more like Waspdawn's kit, a thought that brought out a purr. It did seem natural, didn't it? But Puddlewhisper's tail flicked against the ground, a clear sign of her thoughts.
"Can I admit something to you?" Puddlewhisper asked softly.
"A cleric never reveals what her Clanmate says in confidence," Troutpool promised, sitting taller. Puddlewhisper curled her tail over the kits.
"I hated Elmsprout for having kits," Puddlewhisper muttered. She waited for backlash, for a horrified gasp, but Troutpool stayed quiet. "Gingerpaw and Frostpaw are going to be wonderful cats, and Lavendertwist adores being a father. But when I saw Elmsprout nursing her litter, I hated her for it. I wanted to be nursing kits in the nursery. All the mothers in this Clan seem so happy to be in the nursery, and I would give up anything to be one of them. But if I had children by blood, I could only stand to the side while another molly gave birth to them. I wouldn't really be their mother."
"Yes you would," Troutpool insisted, putting her tail on Puddlewhisper's back. "They would call you their mother."
"Yes," Puddlewhisper groaned, "but didn't Oilstripe feel awkward with you, knowing you and her shared no blood? It's a similar feeling." Troutpool's ears tilted back slightly. "I can't be the mother I want to be."
"I'm sorry I can't change that," Troutpool sighed. "If it helps, though, I think your concern would make you a great mother, in whatever way that happens." Troutpool gently nudged the silver kit, but the newborn was too absorbed in the warmth of Puddlewhisper's belly fur. "Are you going to try Nimble and return her kits?"
"She put her fear over her kits," Puddlewhisper snapped. "She left these two to die. What kind of mother is she if she only saved one kit? Someone should put these two first."
"What if Downstar orders you to give them back?" Troutpool asked softly.
"She won't," Puddlewhisper said. The tension in her voice disturbed the nestled kits. She quickly licked each of their little bodies and settled their hearts.
"Then I can't think of anyone better to raise them," Troutpool purred. "I think StarClan approves. Your… Ripplefern's spirit is watching. She looks happy." Puddlewhisper's pelt tingled. She stared at an empty spot in camp. She saw no ghostly shapes, but some deep instinct told her that her sister was right there, keeping watch, just as Troutpool described.
"We don't know exactly when they were born," Puddlewhisper hummed, studying the kits… her kits. "I don't think it would be wrong to give them names now."
"Can I help?" Troutpool asked, ears perking up.
"You can help with the molly," Puddlewhisper said, "but I have the perfect name for the tom. Icekit." Just like the ice she encountered on her way to meet him.
"Cute!" Troutpool said. "The molly's so round and plump, she deserves a round name. Maybe a fruit, or a seed, maybe even a mushroom! There are a lot that match her color. Hen-of-the-woods, porcini mushrooms, maple flowers, pears, maybe a squash, like the sort WheatClan steals—"
"Wait," Puddlewhisper said, raising her tail for the cleric to pause. "What's a pear?"
"Oh, they grow them in the human settlement!" Troutpool explained. "Lemmy told me about them. They grow on trees and they're shaped like rattles. The humans love to eat them." Hmm, pears…
"I like Pearkit," Puddlewhisper decided. She stuck her face between her son and daughter and nuzzled them both.
Yes. In the midst of chaos, this felt more natural than anything.
(Puddlewhisper: 56, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, keen eye, ghost sense)
The first thing Whitepaw asks to do after being apprenticed to Billowhaze is to collect moss, shocking his mentor.
[Image ID: Whitepaw is now an apprentice. Under him, it reads LEVEL UP! WHITEKIT → WHITEPAW, SKITTISH → NERVOUS.]
(Whitepaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, nervous, active imagination)
Lightningrunner is murdered.
[Image ID: Whitepaw and Shrewflame hurry to Leathermask, Vervaincough, and Puddlewhisper.]
---
While Whitepaw couldn't claim to be as self-assured and skilled as his older brother, or as respected and proud as his adopted mothers, he certainly tried to live up to them. He would groom his long, wild fur and make sure his elders knew he was listening, ears locked and unmoving on them. He would keep an eye on Gingerkit and Frostkit, even though the caretakers insisted it was their job to mind them and Whitepaw could enjoy his last days of kithood. He would make sure he wasn't under anyone's paws or bothering anyone as they worked. There was a lot to do, a lot to protect, and all Whitepaw seemed good at was coming up with new games to pass the time until his ceremony.
Things should have been better with his apprenticeship. He should have found a way to support the Clan that immediately offered their love and support. He should have focused on his new studies, tackling Billowhaze's lessons on science and history with the same fire Shrewflame had in his apprenticeship. He should have been a good apprentice.
None of this should have happened.
Whitepaw seemed to carry the entire beach on his half-wet pelt as he ran after Shrewflame. He looked more cream than white. Even through Shrewflame's legs were equally soaked, the sand didn't slow him down. He bounded toward the shipwreck with an unmatched speed. Whitepaw, meanwhile, struggled to feel his legs. The waves smacked into the shore with a consistent, drum-like beat that pounded deeper and deeper into Whitepaw's head. The water ate the dusting of snow that shrouded the rest of RippleClan territory. The writhing tides ate the sunlight while the snow beyond the shore reflected it onto Whitepaw's back.
"Shrewflame, wait," Whitepaw begged, stumbling over his own paws. "I, I can't keep up!" Shrewflame danced to a stop and turned back to his younger brother. Whitepaw panted, falling back on his flank. He tried to groom the matted sand off his legs, but the dark tan flecks seemed to tangle in his long fur. The salty water stung his mouth and the sand irritated his skin. His tongue raked harder and harder through his pelt, but he couldn't get clean. The weight of it all pulled him deeper into the sand.
"Whitepaw," Shrewflame said softly as Whitepaw whined. It wouldn't come off! "Whitepaw, listen, everything will be alright. I promise you."
"How?" Whitepaw gulped, coughing on sand. "You can't promise anything. You don't know what'll happen next."
"I'm going to keep you safe," Shrewflame huffed. He rested a paw on Whitepaw's head, knocking his tongue away from his obsessive grooming. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Whitepaw. Trust me." Whitepaw nodded without thinking. Shrewflame touched his nose to Whitepaw's head. Whitepaw forced himself to breathe. It was only when Whitepaw could stand still before his brothee that Shrewflame stepped back and continued on the path to RippleClan's camp.
"Don't panic the Clan," Shrewflame warned as he and Whitepaw approached the camp entrance, guarded by Currentsmoke. "Let me handle this." Whitepaw nodded once more. He shivered as he passed through the thorny walls of the entrance. Currentsmoke eyed his soaked, sandy pelt. Shrewflame let his brother enter first, glancing north the way they came.
Whitepaw waited by the camp entrance for Shrewflame, below the stove where Rabbitjoy and Ravenweaver debated what to serve for the sunhigh meal. He could feel eyes on him; Asterblaze and Drumtooth glanced at him while they crafted more tooth-sticks, and Rapidleaf nudged Carnationspeckle from her work fortifying the camp walls as Shrewflame joined Whitepaw. Over by the Shiprock, Puddlewhisper sat with Leathermask and Vervaincough. They seemed focused on their conversation. Shrewflame jogged toward them, Whitepaw hot on his heels. Puddlewhisper's ear perked at the pair's approach.
"Shrewflame?" Puddlewhisper said, cocking her other ear. "What's with that face? I thought you were sparring with Lightningrunner at Battle Beach."
"What happened to you?" Vervaincough asked, peering at Whitepaw's sandy legs.
"Estherfern is with Lightningrunner," Shrewflame whispered, sticking his head in the middle of the three cats. "We need codekeepers. Right now." Leathermask's eyes slowly widened. Puddlewhisper's claws poked into the sand. Vervaincough's breath caught.
"What happened?" Leathermask gulped.
"Just come on," Shrewflame muttered, flicking his tail back to the exit. "Do you want to start a riot or start investigating?"
"Take me to my sister," Puddlewhisper snapped, jumping to her paws. Shrewflame started back to the exit with Puddlewhisper beside him. Leathermask and Vervaincough hurried to follow while Whitepaw scrambled to catch up with his brother.
"Whitepaw, stay here," Shrewflame sighed as Asterblaze and Drumtooth left their task and stalked toward the tense group. "You don't need to go back there. Someone should stay here to explain."
"I want to stay with you," Whitepaw whined softly.
"Just tell them what they need to know," Shrewflame said, straightening up under the growing attention of the Clan. "You'll be alright." Shrewflame didn't wait to finish talking; he continued onto the exit. Nervous energy propelled Puddlewhisper, Vervaincough, and Leathermask after him. Whitepaw's still wet fur dripped onto the sand, forming tiny balls underfoot.
"Whitepaw, you look terrified," Carnationspeckle whined, jogging up to her grandson with Rapidleaf at her side. "You're a mess! What's got you and Shrewflame hurrying into camp like this?"
"I…" Whitepaw gulped. "She…" Tell them what they need to know. I'm going to keep you safe. It's not your fault.
"Maybe start from the beginning," Asterblaze suggested, abandoning his crafts to join the small but growing group. Drumtooth squinted at Whitepaw and the sand glued to his fur. Yes, start from the beginning. Work through the story. Tell them what they need to know.
"Since Mr. Billowhaze is still fighting his allergies," Whitepaw finally gulped, "Shrewflame took me out to spar in the water. Ms. Estherfern joined us to check if we got too cold, and Ms. Lightningrunner asked to come along. Me and Shrewflame were sparring and swimming, and Ms. Lightningrunner was on the shore with Ms. Estherfern. She… Ms. Lightningrunner said she heard something in the trees, and she went to check. When she didn't come back, we got worried, and we followed her, and, and…"
"She's dead," Drumtooth said, voice low and tight. Carnationspeckle's breath tightened. Rapidleaf couldn't stop herself from gasping. Asterblaze tensed. "Lightningrunner's dead, isn't she? You would have brought her back if she was just hurt." Whitepaw begged StarClan to let him sink into the sand. Instead, he closed his eyes and nodded.
The few cats still in the Clan would soon rush about and search for Lightningrunner's siblings, scattered on patrols throughout the territory. They would find Downstar and Oilstripe, grimly informing them that yet another Clanmate had been found dead; this one, they'd soon learn, with a huge and bloody bite on the back of her neck like a sloppy hunt.
For now though, Whitepaw stood in the shock of it all, sand heavy on his legs, images of Lightningrunner frozen against his eyes.
(Whitepaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, nervous, active imagination)
(Shrewflame: 13, male, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)
(Puddlewhisper: 55, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, keen eye, ghost sense)
(Vervaincough: 24, female, codekeeper, insecure, understands nature, good mediator)
(Leathermask: 37, male, warrior, nervous, good fighter, eloquent speaker)
Scaleripple, Anchovystrike, Yellowburst, and Boughfur hear desperate screams coming from the seashore.
[Image ID: Anchovystrike, Yellowburst, Boughfur, and Scaleripple lead an old gray and white tom with yellow eyes along. Under Anchovystrike, it reads LEVEL UP! DEEP STARCLAN BOND → UNSHAKABLE STARCLAN LINK. Under the stranger, it reads NEW PLAYER: WASHINGTON, 217, MALE, NERVOUS, GOOD MEDIATOR, + CONDITION: BROKEN BONE. Under Boughfur, it reads LEVEL UP! GOOD CLIMBER → GREAT CLIMBER.]
---
"I heard Lemmy say the killer bit into her neck twice to make sure she was dead," Brightreed whispered to Wolverineheart in the warrior's den. "It's no wonder Whitepaw's been moping in the apprentice's den. Part of me just wants to hide in camp too!"
"You make it sound like he's just being sour," Wolverineheart huffed. "He's barely started his training. He could have been killed instead of Lightningrunner, you know! He's young, he's allowed to be scared."
"I'm not trying to insult him. I'm saying I'm scared too. Thinking about Lightningrunner makes my scar itch."
"It has to be a RippleClan cat, right? I haven't heard of any foreign scent by Battle Beach."
"I guess. But who would want to kill Lightningrunner?"
"Lightningrunner and Potterypool. You can't expect it to be a coincidence that they both died like that."
"I still don't know who would kill either of them. I don't think we should guess, either. That would be the worst gossip you could share. What are we supposed to do if we can't trust each other?"
"…maybe the killer has a thing for gingers. Oilstripe should watch her back."
"Wolverineheart! Scaleripple is sleeping right over there!"
Scaleripple was not, in fact, sleeping.
Yes, he laid in his nest, carefully barren of any irritating leathers, his graduation gift from Tempestshade carefully tucked by his paws, but Scaleripple was not asleep. His blue eyes were open, but turned away from Wolverineheart and Brightreed's nests. Scaleripple's claws poked at his rattle. He was Lightningrunner's big brother. It was supposed to be his responsibility to protect his little sisters, even though their chatty, gossipy behavior was stranger than what laid in the depths of the ocean. Yet Lightningrunner found her end just beyond RippleClan camp while Scaleripple was tied up in the medicine den with a pounding headache. What was he supposed to do with that? Even though dawn consumed the territory and urged the Clan out of the giant warrior's den and onto their duties, Scaleripple lingered, pretending to catch a little more sleep. What else could he do?
"Scaleripple?" Scaleripple sat up, spooking Wolverineheart and Brightreed. Yellowburst stood outside the warrior's den, tail swaying as she waited. "Are we still going on patrol?" Oh. Right. Downstar wanted Scaleripple to lead a patrol south to clean up the shoreline. The investigation into Lightningrunner's death the day before had to abandon their search for the killer early due to a violent late autumn storm that left the beaches covered in debris. Scaleripple was supposed to lead Anchovystrike, Boughfur, and Yellowburst at dawn. How long had they been waiting for him?
"I'll join you outside camp," Scaleripple promised. Wolverineheart and Brightreed shifted uncomfortably, their dark gossip staining their hearts with guilt. Good. Scaleripple groomed his strange white spots as Yellowburst left his sight. He plucked his jay feathers from his nest and wove them into his tail, focusing on the gentle ritual. Feathers were a good sensation, the opposite of fur and leather. They were a comfort in such dark times. Lightningrunner loved them, and so Scaleripple loved them even more.
Scaleripple left Wolverineheart and Brightreed to wallow in their embarrassment. Yellowburst, Boughfur, and Anchovystrike waited for him by the camp entrance. The sand gently coated the bottom of Scaleripple's paws, still wet from last night's freezing rain. Scaleripple simply flicked his tail for his Clanmates to follow him out into the late dawn.
The coast south of RippleClan camp was riddled with debris. A rotting wolffish stunk up the rocks that formed the southern beaches. Broken wood like the planks that formed the shipwreck floated in the waves and caught against the rocks that stuck out of the foam, watery reflections of the rocks that lined camp. Sticks, grass, and seaweed polluted the usual gray, pristine image of the beach. At least the sky offered a glimpse of peace. The stormclouds broke apart into gray sheets against a yellow sky.
"I think a ship sunk," Boughfur noted as the patrol approached the beach. "I've never seen so much wood on the shoreline before. We should bring it back to camp! There are a lot of planks on the shipwreck that could be replaced. Who knows, maybe we can open up space for another den in there!"
"Yellowburst," Anchovystrike chuckled. He hopped across the rocks to the beached wolffish. He hooked his paw under the wolffish's jaw. "Wouldn't it be funny to take this back to camp and claim it was Wolfgaze's reflection?" Yellowburst snickered with Anchovystrike.
"This isn't the day for jokes," Scaleripple huffed. His tone had more bite than he expected. Anchovystrike dropped the fish. Yellowburst crept away to the debris. Distant seabirds filled the silence that followed.
"Scaleripple, we'll tear our fur out if we don't unwind," Anchovystrike pointed out. "There's nothing any of us can do about… you know. Let's just clean up the beach and try to keep the mood light." Scaleripple hummed under his breath. Boughfur and Yellowburst shared an awkward glance.
"Why don't Yellowburst and I collect the usable wood and make a pile?" Boughfur suggested when Scaleripple refused to give an actual response. "We can have Mitespark and Venturedapple carry them home later."
"Go ahead," Scaleripple said, hopping down to the beach. He grabbed a chunk of grass and dragged it to the treeline where the mice and squirrels could use it for nesting material. Anchovystrike dug a hole to bury the dead wolffish. Boughfur and Yellowburst quietly debated the best way to carry the heavier planks out of the rocks and onto solid ground. Scaleripple tuned them out, ears pricked to the eager waves at his side.
As Scaleripple worked, his thoughts drifted back to his family. What was he supposed to do for them? He wanted to protect them, but was that feeling any stronger than his desire to protect everyone in RippleClan? What would Tempestshade have thought of the last moon? Did Oilstripe or Troutpool ever see their spirit wandering camp, checking in on their littermates or sitting beside Scaleripple? Scaleripple couldn't help but sneer at the thought of how RippleClan would treat Tempestshade if they were still alive. Would the Clan blame them for Potterypool or Lightningrunner's deaths?
Scaleripple paused with a large chunk of seaweed in his mouth. His pelt prickled as old memories of Tempestshade's mistreatment itched at his chest. He knew the cats in his Clan were good cats, or at least tried to be. Yet it seemed that even the wiser among them still gave into superstition and overcaution. They avoided being alone with Tempestshade. They didn't know how to spend time with Scaleripple without sharing tongues. Scaleripple even saw how cats like Carnationspeckle and Elmsprout flinched when Yarrowclaw raised her voice, as though any sign of overeagerness was a step away from the brown and white molly dissolving into madness. Wasn't there something Scaleripple could do for cats like that? The only answer he received was the gentle churning of the ocean and far-off, feral screaming.
Wait. Screaming?
Scaleripple stared out into the sea. Larger planks and chunks of a now sunken ship bobbed along the water. Some pieces had bright swaths of paint splashed over the wood, turning the planks green and yellow. One large bicolored wreck tumbled with the waves. A soaked gray and white cat clung to the wood, claws embedded in their one saving grace. Bleary yellow eyes stared at Scaleripple and the RippleClan patrol. The drowned cat screeched with all the strength they had left as a wave splashed over their makeshift raft.
Scaleripple didn't realize he was running until he plunged into the icy ocean, salt stinging his eyes. His feathers floated to the yellowish-gray surface. He breached the water with a large gasp. The drowning cat was a few bear-lengths away. Scaleripple paddled, letting the ebb carry him closer to the stranger and pushing against the flow.
"Careful, Scaleripple!" Boughfur yowled from the shore just as Scaleripple reached the ocean's victim. He could barely smell the stranger's tom-scent through the salt. The stranger's soaked tail smacked Scaleripple's face. Scaleripple shivered so violently, he almost slipped under the raft. Yet that gave him an idea. He paddled around the drowning tom and shoved his head against the broken, ragged edge. The raft rolled toward the shore, even as the water pushed it every other way. Scaleripple's head hurt with the raft's pressure, but it was better than someone else's wet fur against his skin.
Anchovystrike scrambled into the water. As the ocean floor climbed to meet the surface, the pressure of the waves eased. Yellowburst splashed beside Anchovystrike. She grabbed the edge of the raft and stabilized it. Anchovystrike grabbed the terrified tom by the scruff and lifted him onto the rocks. Scaleripple shoved the raft aside and crawled to dry land.
Now that the salt wasn't blinding Scaleripple, he could better see just who he rescued. The tom was old; his white chin was coated in aged gray and his eyes sagged. Had he not been soaked clean through, he would have been a fluffy old tom. He coughed up water and shivered hard enough to spray the warriors surrounding him.
"You're on dry land," Anchovystrike promised as Yellowburst licked the tom's fur the wrong way. "You've landed in RippleClan territory."
"The crew," the old tom croaked, staring back at the sea. "The ship! The storm!"
"We have cats who can take care of you," Yellowburst said, coughing out wet hair. The old tom's eyes shook, mouth half open and ears pushed back.
"They're gone," he moaned. "They're all gone."
"Were there other cats on your ship?" Boughfur asked. "Maybe they washed up somewhere else along the coast."
"Not cats," the tom whined. "My humans. I caught rats for them. They're gone! They're sunk!" He pushed himself off the rocks, but his back right leg gave out under him. He yowled, spasming as he smacked back onto the rocks.
"That looks broken," Scaleripple muttered as Anchovystrike and Yellowburst hurried to help.
"We could make a splint from all this wood," Boughfur realized, dragging over a small plank. "That should help him walk back to camp. Let me go find something to tie it on." Boughfur adjusted the dry flowers in her fur and hurried off to the forest. Scaleripple stared at the shipwrecked tom as he clawed at the stones, moaning. Loving humans, those strange, unknowable beacons of intelligence and craft, did not seem much different from how Scaleripple loved his family, or how they loved him.
"What's your name?" Scaleripple asked the soaked tom. The tom swallowed his grief and blinked saltwater out of his eyes.
"They named me Washington," he sighed. Scaleripple nodded softly, shoulders tense.
"I'm sorry, Washington," Scaleripple said.
For what else could be said? What else could be done?
(Brightreed: 21, male, warrior, righteous, student of art)
(Wolverineheart: 21, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)
Potterypool went missing for a few days. Her body is eventually found in the territory.
[Image ID: Moontide runs toward something offscreen, with Shrewflame, Thundergale, and Yarrowclaw behind her. Shrewflame yowls, "Moontide, don't touch her!" Under Thundergale it reads LEVEL UP! GOOD HUNTER → GREAT HUNTER. Under Yarrowclaw, it reads LEVEL UP! TALENTED FIRE-STARTER → FIRE MASTER.]
Shrewflame was a sprinter, but when he couldn't smell the ocean, the forest provided him security over the open southern reaches, despite the many obstacles in his way. In some ways, the obstacles were better. They were a challenge, allowing Shrewflame to launch himself from rock to rock, tree to tree, flying through the land with the speed of a peregrine falcon. Limp leaves flew out behind him, spooking the occasional squirrel. Shrewflame laughed as a cold wind stunned his cheeks.
Yarrowclaw, Thundergale, and Moontide sat around a particularly scratched-up grouping of pines. The caretakers loved to climb the low-hanging branches, as it was easy to collect bark and wood for the clerics and artisans. It was also a go-to spot to rake your claws down the trunks, leaving permanent gouges in the bark. Thundergale scratched at the tree while Moontide and Yarrowclaw chatted, nested in the fallen needles. Shrewflame burst into the scene, skidding through the leaves with another hearty laugh.
"Sorry if I'm late!" Shrewflame chirped. "I was helping Whitekit settle on training for later this moon. He wants to be a historian."
"Good for him," Thundergale said a bit too loud. Her words were muffled as though talking with her mouth full. Shrewflame bit down the slight disappointment that bubbled with his mentor's words. The spoken word no longer sounded as clear to Thundergale, it seemed. How long would it be until Thundergale could never hear Shrewflame's laugh or the hum of bird song again? She would be alright, she would still be happy, she wouldn't even lose her stride in the growth of her new role (so many cats asked for lessons that Lettucestar asked for one of the teachers to stay in SlugClan for a time and share their new ways). Still, a loss like that could still be mourned. Shrewflame stopped himself from making a mouse-brained comment about Thundergale's voice and instead settled beside Moontide.
"We were just chatting with Yarrowclaw," Moontide explained. Shrewflame's enthusiasm sombered even more with Moontide's monotone. It was clear what was on her mind. Potterypool had left camp a couple days prior, but had not returned that night. Should Shrewflame comfort Moontide? Despite her switch to the teacher position, Shrewflame didn't know her well. He may have learned the basics of mediation from Spikecrash and Paleseed, but he was far from sweet-tongued.
"I'll tell you what I told these two," Yarrowclaw sighed, flicking her ears at the mollies. Shrewflame quickly took up translating for Thundergale on instinct. "If all we talk about is day-night cycling, I'm going back to camp."
"That's only part of what we could learn from you," Thundergale signed, with Shrewflame translating back for Yarrowclaw. Thundergale hopped away from the tree and stood beside Moontide. "Yes, as one of the few cats in recent Clan history with this condition, we want to learn about it so if others have questions, they don't have to interrogate you. But you're a great fighter, and I've never seen anyone sneak up on you. Every member of the Clan has a lot they can teach future generations. If we're going to learn from any of our Clanmates first, you're the one I want to hear from."
"So you want me to talk about myself?" Yarrowclaw asked. Thundergale nodded eagerly. Yarrowclaw sighed and sat up, stretching her flank high. "If that's how I'm spending my afternoon, we aren't going to just sit here. I want to check on the river near the SlugClan border. Come with me and I'll answer your questions."
"But—" Shrewflame huffed, not able to finish translating Yarrowclaw's answer. Yet Thundergale put her tail on Shrewflame's shoulder.
"You can tell me what I miss later," Thundergale said, shaking her head. Shrewflame tensed, but he nodded anyway. Yarrowclaw led the three teachers north, one ear turned back to them.
The sun shone behind a thick layer of light gray clouds, a reflection of Shrewflame's suddenly smothered mood. He pretended otherwise, however, constantly running ahead of Yarrowclaw before "remembering" what he was supposed to do and jogging back. Even the mice seemed to force their mood, skittering in the distant leaves rather than hide from the four fierce hunters. With Thundergale unable to keep up with the conversation and Moontide as quiet as the moon itself, it felt like Shrewflame was talking to himself. He bounced against Thundergale's initial interests and groomed his questions toward Yarrowclaw's supposed specialities.
Usually, Shrewflame would love to hear how Yarrowclaw learned to hunt without a sense of depth, how she honed her senses, how the mediators taught her to harness her day cycles in a healthy way. Yet it didn't feel right. Thundergale couldn't participate, Moontide wasn't engaged, and Shrewflame found himself missing his little brother. Whitekit was hilarious! It helped that he looked at Shrewflame like the sun, but maybe Whitekit could have made Yarrowclaw laugh or loosened her mouth with his unique, cautious charm. At this point, Shrewflame should have just joined a border patrol.
"I'll tell you what I told Wolverineheart as a kit," Yarrowclaw sighed as the Great Northern River came into view. "I have my nose. I have my ears. I can feel the wind on my whiskers and pawsteps through the ground. I can get by with one bad eye."
"Good to know," Shrewflame said, glancing between Moontide and Thundergale. "Well, um, we're at the river! Do we want to rest by the water for a bit?"
"Dog," Thundergale suddenly gulped, gaze locked on the other side of the river. Moontide, Yarrowclaw, and Shrewflame stiffened. They gazed over the gray river, whose white foam caught what light leaked through the clouds. The tanning grass rippled in the wind, which carried the dangerous scent to the patrol. Heavy paws scrambled through the fading undergrowth. The dog's golden brown pelt melted against the dying leaves as it burst into view. One of its floppy ears was stuck inside-out and its tongue dangled out of its loose lips. The brown-eyed beast turned back toward the trees, wagging its tail wildly. Shrewflame couldn't see its human yet, but he heard them cracking leaves underfoot.
Shrewflame had never seen a dog so close before, but the sight still made his back arch. He grew up with his mothers' stories; Wildclaw and her various confrontations with overeager pups, Rattlepelt and her near-death experience with the darkhound that took Mousesong, the aunt Shrewflame never knew. All of Shrewflame's lessons and the scars sported by his Clanmates taught him never to underestimate a dog, especially one that hunted alongside a human.
"The dog seems well-taught," Moontide noted softly, signing quickly. "I don't think it will cross the river unless its human does, and Venturedapple says humans hate wading through water."
"I'll keep my eye on it," Yarrowclaw promised, dead eye facing the three teachers as Yarrowclaw glared across the border.
The dog sniffed at the grass lining the river, uninterested in the cats beyond. Its nose led it between a pine and a fir, where recently disturbed dirt protruded in a mound. The dog lunged at the mound like a kit pouncing on a leaf. Its thick paws dug rapidly. Dirt flew into the river and floated toward the sea. The smell of decay brushed Shrewflame's nose. The human emerged from the trees with a swift bark. The dog bounced back, thoughtless eyes gazing joyfully up at its master. Though the human's misshapen paw rubbed the dog's head, their attention lingered on the mound. Whatever the human saw, Shrewflame couldn't make it out from his position.
"That smell," Moontide gulped, eyes as big as her namesake. Shrewflame didn't know what she meant as the human crouched by the mound. They brushed aside loose dirt and continued some of their dog's work. They purred low, a purr of pain rather than contentment. Their leather-lined paws reached into the mound and slowly lifted up what laid beneath.
A dark red cat laid in the human's grasp. Blank gray eyes stared at RippleClan territory. Blood smeared her marbled pelt.
So that's where Potterypool had gone.
"Drop her!" Moontide suddenly shrieked, charging to the riverbank. "Drop her right now! Don't take her!" The golden dog barked at Moontide's yowls. Even the human turned their head, noticing the Clan cats for the first time. Shrewflame, Yarrowclaw, and Thundergale all stood beside Moontide, the river licking their paws as they hissed at the human. The human glanced down at the body in their grasp, cradled close to their chest. Their attention drifted between Potterypool and the living cats. Their paw absent-mindedly stroked Potterypool's still pelt.
"There are good humans, right?" Shrewflame yowled like there was some chance of the human understanding him. "Maybe you're one of them! Just put her body down! She's our friend!" The human held Potterypool tighter. Their eyes shimmered. The human slowly sat beside the unearthed mound. The dog came close, sniffing Potterypool's body, but the human hissed at it, shielding the dead cat. The human carefully laid Potterypool beside the disturbed earth. They arranged her legs gently underneath her. They made it look as though Potterypool was curled up, deep in a peaceful dream. The human stroked Potterypool's head, whining. Blood covered their paws. They even rested their muzzle against Potterypool's forehead, as though participating in vigil. Could humans truly care about cats so deeply, even cats they never met?
The human stood and made a sharp bird-like song to their dog. The dog walked alongside the human, eyeing Potterypool and the living cats. Yet it stayed tame as the human led it back through the trees. As soon as the pair slipped through the undergrowth, Moontide dove into the river.
"Moontide, don't touch her!" Shrewflame yowled. Moontide swam with the river pushing against her side. She crawled onto the opposite bank as Shrewflame raced for the stepping stones. The cold water numbed his paws. He slipped onto the grass beyond the border. Moontide reached her paw to Potterypool's curled body just as Shrewflame snatched the white molly's scruff and tugged her back.
"Shrewflame, get off of me!" Moontide cried, paws smacking at Shrewflame.
"Look at her, Moontide!" Shrewflame hissed, letting go and shoving the frantic molly back. "She's covered in blood. She was buried beyond the border. A dog or fox wouldn't have done that. Think!" Yarrowclaw and Thundergale joined the pair on their side of the river. "We need codekeepers. That's the right way to do this. They should get a look at her body before anyone else disturbs her."
"She's been here all this time," Moontide whined, shaking. "I patrolled by here yesterday. I didn't see her!"
"Thundergale and I will go back to camp," Yarrowclaw promised. "We'll find some codekeepers." The air hung stiff around them, aching for some sort of comforting phrase before the two mollies left, but Yarrowclaw and Thundergale were silent. They slowly crept away from Potterypool's body and back to the river. Moontide moaned as Yarrowclaw and Thundergale hurried back to RippleClan territory.
Moontide sunk low, one paw stretching out toward her sister. Her instincts fought against her common sense, desperate to touch Potterypool's matted, dirty fur, shake life back into her lungs. But Shrewflame kept a paw on Moontide's leg, refusing to look away from Potterypool's body. When he looked past the slight decay, past the scent of death and dirt and the river's mist, Shrewflame could make out distinct trails of blood staining Potterypool's already dark red fur. Shrewflame didn't need a codekeeper's training to see this was the work of a cat. But who?
(Shrewflame: 13, male, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)
(Thundergale: 21, female, teacher, adventurous, great hunter, good speaker)
(Yarrowclaw: 24, female, warrior, cold, fire master)
(Potterypool: 24, female, caretaker, sneaky, great singer)
Stormjump and Honeybuzz proudly announce their commitment to one another as mates before the Clan. Meanwhile, Waspdawn battles an infection in his tail stump.
[Image ID: Stormjump and Honeybuzz preen together while Cobaltchaser and Lightningrunner sit with Waspdawn in the back. Under Waspdawn, it reads + INFECTION. Under Stormjump, it reads + MATE: HONEYBUZZ. Under Honeybuzz, it reads + MATE: STORMJUMP.]
---
"It was an intentional burial," Waspdawn muttered as Troutpool rubbed an infection-fighting balm into the amputated stump of his half-tail. "Someone didn't want her body to be found. Why?"
"Waspdawn, maybe you should just rest," Cobaltchaser suggested, grooming her older brother's head. "Overthinking this isn't going to help your fever."
"But he's right, Cobaltchaser," Lightningrunner huffed. "This is bad. It's like the story with Scrubmask. This could be another war with the Witch Hunters!"
"Take it from someone who was actually there for Scrubmask's death," Troutpool sighed, finishing the last of Waspdawn's balm. "Whoever left her body there didn't care who found it. Potterypool's situation is different."
The four cats sat together in the medicine den, noses plugged with the smell of infection and herbs. Waspdawn sat with his tail stretched out of his nest. His furless tail-tip blistered red, some unknown infection creeping into the scars of his amputation. Cobaltchaser and Lightningrunner kept him company as sunhigh glared down on the noisy camp clearing. Despite the overwhelming scent of the medicine den, the smell of dried fish still managed to soak through the den walls from the meal outside.
Most of the Clan surrounded Honeybuzz and Stormjump, congratulating the pair on their official declaration of matehood. Waspdawn's daughter beamed under all the attention. Stormjump purred and laughed as cats like Wildclaw and Rabbitjoy offered their advice and jokes. Honeybuzz's brothers shoved against him, laughing at the top of their lungs. Honeybuzz's eyes carried a softness that had been absent in recent days. From the look of the crowd, it would have been hard to believe that one of their own had been found murdered the day before. Yet the signs were there in what was absent; Halibutdusk could not been seen. They were likely hiding out with Downstar in her den. Moontide and Vervaincough were also distant, moving away from the crowd as soon as they congratulated their older brother.
"At least they sound happy out there." From the other side of the medicine den, Mosspounce laid with his legs at awkward angles, shifting constantly. Clean bandages wrapped around his head, smothering any light before it reached his tattered eyes. If the cougar's claws were as vicious as the stories from last moon claimed, it was impressive Mosspounce still had a face to show off.
"If you're lonely, Mosspounce," Troutpool sighed, "I can have someone guide you through camp."
"Lemmy will be back soon," Mosspounce said with a dismissive flick of his ear. "I can congratulate the happy couple later. I want to keep listening to your theories, Waspdawn. Lemmy's been tight-jawed about the investigation."
"She hasn't been involved," Waspdawn muttered. "We're keeping the investigation to myself, Puddlewhisper, and Cobaltchaser here."
"My brother trusts me," Cobaltchaser purred, squirming with prideful satisfaction.
"More like knows you couldn't have done it," Troutpool awkwardly pointed out, cleaning the balm from her paws. "You were stuck in the dirtplace the day Potterypool vanished." Mosspounce snickered as Cobaltchaser stiffened.
"So we're really considering that someone in our Clan killed Potterypool?" Lightningrunner gulped.
"There are other suspects," Waspdawn assured her. Troutpool shuffled through her herbs as Waspdawn explained. "A Witch Hunter could have killed Potterypool and hidden the body to maintain peace between them and us. Puddlewhisper and Paleseed are going to the human settlement tomorrow to interview Pearl."
"Cobaltchaser, can you fetch a clean bowl?" Troutpool sighed, plucking a jar from her stores. "Your brother needs something to drink his red osier decoction from. It should ease his fever." Cobaltchaser quickly jogged out of the den, set on her new mission.
"Can we even punish someone if they aren't in our Clan?" Lightningrunner asked. "Would Downstar go to war over the killer if their Clan or colony didn't give them up?"
"I know I would," Mosspounce huffed. "Take it from someone who had a paw in the Clan's first war with the Witch Hunters. When our cultures are so different, you can't avoid a fight if you hope to change things. They deserved a battle for kidnapping Carnationspeckle. What sort of justice is it when a killer goes free?" Lightningrunner hung on Mosspounce's words. Waspdawn's heart spasmed, an ache traveling through his blood. The dread of murder fueled his fever and forced his head down.
"You're staying in here for a while, Waspdawn," Troutpool sighed, grooming Waspdawn's neck. "No investigations for you."
"Downstar gave me responsibility…" Waspdawn muttered. He sat up, his head swimming.
"You can share that responsibility with Puddlewhisper," Troutpool said. "Please, lay down. You need to rest."
Regardless of what Waspdawn wanted, he didn't have the energy to do anything but tumble into his nest. The hope beaming from the clearing soothed his palpatations. Lightningrunner settled between Waspdawn and Mosspounce, still eager to continue her conversation with the latter. If she wanted time with her older brother, that would have to come later. As Waspdawn let Troutpool's balm do its work, his sleepy thoughts formed images of disturbed soil behind his eyes. Shifting visions of red fur slashed about, acting as a focal point through the fog of fever.
It was Waspdawn's duty to bring the truth to light.
(Waspdawn: 55, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)
(Cobaltchaser: 19, female, codekeeper, righteous, good cook, prey cleaner)
