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erm. gif jumpscare? anyway happy 20th birthday fallenclan
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RippleClan: Moon 52, Part 2
The rest of Shadowdrop’s litter earn their names.
[Image ID: Tempestshade and Mosspounce earn their names. Under Tempestshade, it says LEVEL UP! TEMPESTPAW -> TEMPESTSHADE, TROUBLESOME -> CHILDISH, LOVES TO EAT -> INCREDIBLE COOK. Under Mosspounce, it says LEVEL UP! MOSSPAW -> MOSSPOUNCE, STARES AT FIRE -> TALENTED FIRE-STARTER.]
(Tempestshade: 13, female, caretaker, childish, incredible cook)
(Mosspounce: 13, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)
Mosspounce sneaks off to the human territories to explore.
[Image ID: Mosspounce talks to Lemmy, who says, “Moss, this isn’t a game. Leave.” Achilles and Pearl walk away in the far corner.]
---
Ha! Downstar could not have picked a better day to give Mosspounce his full name. Even if he hadn’t had his vigil that night, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep. He could meet Lemmy not as a humble apprentice, but the newest caretaker of RippleClan! His paws carried him to the Great Northern River as soon as he could get away from camp.
Mosspounce and Lemmy had developed a routine since their “playful” spar by the river at the start of last summer. They met at the river around sunhigh every three days to chat and enjoy the cool breeze over the water. While Lemmy insisted they not talk about their homes for both their sakes (a statement that confused Mosspounce, although he kept his mouth shut), there was a lot they could talk about. They complained about annoying acquaintances (like how Scalekit had a creepy habit of staring at others across camp), the trials of navigating around noisy humans (Mosspounce couldn’t understand how Lemmy slept alongside them), and, truthfully, anything that came to mind. Lemmy was a standoffish molly, but Mosspounce couldn’t help but listen in awe at her intelligent words, like how she assured him that Mousesong would find peace on the “Other Side” after her death. He couldn’t help trying to make her laugh, and laughing harder when he heard her purr. He couldn’t help teasing her about her murderous friends and taking her biting comments about the Clans in return.
Mosspounce couldn’t help but like her!
He burst through the trees and preened in the river’s mist. He laid out across the river’s edge and stared at the sky, thick with clouds but bursting with a few powerful sunbeams. It would still be a minute before sunhigh, but Mosspounce could wait. Weedfoot had told him and Tempestshade that they had the day to themselves to celebrate their new positions, so Mosspounce could take all the time he wanted for his friend to arrive.
The problem was, Lemmy took a while to arrive. At least from Mosspounce’s perspective. Exhaustion from the long vigil wore at his eyes and worked with the midday weather to ease him into a nap. Yet he stayed half-awake, often sleepily lifting his head at a random noise from the other side of the river. Where was she? Had something gone wrong?
“I do have the day to myself,” Mosspounce mumbled, shaking out his damp pelt. He eyed the unknown trees beyond the river. Lemmy always made the trek to the river… why shouldn’t Mosspounce meet her halfway? He didn’t live in AshClan or SlugClan or any of the other Clans, who held a stigma against exploring beyond the land or being overly social with non-Clan cats. He was a RippleClan caretaker, and he could explore the land beyond the Clans as he pleased! Mosspounce strolled to the high stones and waded through the low water to the other side of the river. He shivered as he stepped on foreign territory. No one would yowl at him for this, yet there was an air of troublemaking to it that poured energy into his paws.
Mosspounce took off through the trees, letting his nose guide him. He knew the humans camped to the north, but he didn’t know how far that camp was. If so many loners and kittypets from the camp came toward Clan territory, it couldn’t be too far. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before the stink of horses and humans flooded Mosspounce’s nose. Then came the sound. StarClan, the camp was loud. Yowling humans, thundering horses, the creaks and groans of human gadgets. Did humans ever shut up? It was only when Mosspounce broke out of the forest, legs aching from the jog, that he laid eyes on the huge settlement.
Human dens were bigger than anything Mosspounce imagined. James, Parsley, and Rabbitjoy often talked about their days among humans, but their descriptions were nothing when compared to the hulking wood and stone structures that dappled the landscape. Smoke drifted from the ears of each structure like a foggy breath on a chilly day. Horses pulled monsters between the dens. Some humans even sat on their backs, guiding the horses down slimmer paths and around humans in strange, gawky pelts. Mosspounce had only ever seen humans from a distance, ones that James insisted were male. If that was the case, were the females the ones with the giant pelts? Why did they have such fluffy, brightly colored fur cascading around their flanks? Didn’t that make it difficult to move?
Mosspounce braced himself as he left the safety of the forest and stepped into camp. The humans paid him no mind, but he kept close to the tall den walls, eyeing the passersby. The yowling made his ears hurt. How did Lemmy live among them? How did any cat? He could smell traces of loners and kittypets along the streets, even see a few pawprints in the muck and mud, but he had yet to actually see anyone. How could he hope to find Lemmy in this enormous place?
“Human kits have no sense,” a voice laughed. “Our kits, they tend to understand what’s dangerous as soon as they open their eyes. But little humans? I saw one pull on a horse’s tail until the brown beast kicked them in the stomach.” The voice wasn’t Lemmy’s, but it was a voice. Pelt pressed against the stone walls of the human dens, Mosspounce jogged toward the sound.
“They can be rather sweet, though,” another voice purred. “When the humans gather in the Singing Place, the kits will wander off and give me scraps.”
“By the crows, I will take my packed den over the Singing Place any day of the moon,” yet another voice groaned. Mosspounce’s ears perked up. That was Lemmy! He picked up his pace. There was a path cut between two huge dens. The voices echoed off the stiff walls. Mosspounce turned the corner… and froze. Lemmy sat facing Mosspounce, chatting with her companions. Those companions, whose pelts were as stuck in Mosspounce’s memory as Lemmy’s, had their back to Mosspounce, thank StarClan, while they spoke with Lemmy. The wind blew their scent toward Mosspounce. Achilles and Pearl. Witch Hunters.
“But the Singing Place is only that busy a few times a moon,” Pearl reminded Lemmy. Lemmy’s gaze froze on Mosspounce. A look of half-concealed shock and horror flooded her blue eyes. Mosspounce crouched back around the corner.
“Alright, enough chatting,” Achilles chuckled, stretching his back. “There are still a few cats we have to gather for the meeting.”
“I’ll continue down this alley,” Lemmy quickly suggested. “I’ll see you both soon.” Lemmy headed in Mosspounce’s direction. Mosspounce pulled his head back, praying Achilles and Pearl could not smell him. A few moments later, Lemmy appeared. Her shock had vanished, replaced by a hard glare that stuck Mosspounce to the wall.
“Moss, this isn’t a game,” Lemmy growled, rounding on the black tom. “Leave. Now.”
“Lemmy, I was just worried about you,” Mosspounce explained, tail tucked. “You always meet with me. I wanted to make sure something hadn’t happened.” Lemmy’s tail thrashed and her eyes narrowed, even though Mosspounce didn’t think it possible for them to get any narrower. “Alright, it was also an excuse to explore where you live, but I do have something I want to share!”
“Mosspaw, we can talk about this later,” Lemmy huffed. Her fur prickled in a sudden stiff wind.
“That’s what I wanted to tell you!” Mosspounce chirped, a bit of his confidence surging back. “I’m not Mosspaw anymore. I graduated! You’re looking at Mosspounce, caretaker of RippleClan.”
“Good for you?” Lemmy said, looking Mosspounce up and down. “That doesn’t change anything. Mosspa—pounce, if the other Witch Hunters see you, they will kill you. You do understand that, right?”
“What exactly are the Witch Hunters?” Mosspounce asked. “My aunt’s seen a few others in your group by the river. Why are they interested in the Clans? Why did you ambush me all those moons ago?”
“You talk like we’ve known each other for years,” Lemmy sighed. Her shoulders stiffened and the frustration itching at her fur softened. She stayed quiet for a while, making Mosspounce shift uncomfortably. Finally, she said, “If you really want to know more, head west until you come across the stage. It’s a large wooden platform the humans built. There will be a lot of cats there, so you need to get to the roof of one of the dens behind the stage. Do not let anyone see you. When the meeting is over and everyone leaves, go home. We will talk more later.”
“What—” Mosspounce said.
“Promise me you will leave when we are done,” Lemmy snapped. Her nose was a whiskers-length from Mosspounce.
“I promise,” he said quietly. Lemmy eyed Mosspounce, testing the sincerity of his promise. Satisfied, she turned and jogged back the way Mosspounce came. Mosspounce glanced west. He braced his nose against the reek of horse dung and hurried between the crowds of bumbling humans.
[Image ID: Mosspounce hides in the corner while Achilles steps back, declaring, “Witch Hunters! We call your attention to our leader, the defender of the Other Side, the Crow Speaker, the Witch Finder General… Madeline!” In the center of the screen is a black and white molly with blue eyes and black feathers in her tail. Under her, it says NEW PLAYER: MADELINE, 100, FEMALE, FAITHFUL, OMEN SIGHT.]
The cats Mosspounce once struggled to see now flooded the paths, heading in the same direction as Mosspounce. A few wore ribbons and collars, but many were bare-necked, worn by the loner’s life. Where had they all been a minute ago? Did they all live in the human camp? Mosspounce kept his breath steady. He had never seen these cats before. His scent would be odd, but they had no reason to think he was a Clan cat. He could get through them.
Mosspounce followed the crowd to this “stage” Lemmy mentioned. Her description was apt; the humans’ impressive woodworking allowed them to make wooden designs far bigger in scale than anyone in the Clans could hope to create. A few cats, including Pearl and Achilles, sat on the stage. Mosspounce kept his head down. There was a tall tree that reached the pointed roof of a wooden den. Mosspounce snuck to the tree and scaled the trunk. He eyed the slim point of the roof. He wiggled his flank, gauging how far he would have to jump from the farthest reaching branch. And then, he jumped.
His paws dug into the harsh point. His tail kept him balanced. Easy. Mosspounce carefully sat on the tip of the roof and watched the stage.
A short time later, Lemmy hopped onto the stage and joined a group of loners near the corner. That was interesting. Was Lemmy an important figure in her group? Or could anyone sit up there? As Lemmy got settled, Achilles strolled to the edge of the stage. A large crowd gathered below. It was like a Gathering!
“Witch Hunters!” Achilles yowled. The chatter of the crowd below died down. “We call your attention to our leader, the defender of the Other Side, the Crow Speaker, the Witch Finder General… Madeline!” Achilles stepped back as the crowd cheered. A gray and white molly took his place. Her white markings reminded Mosspounce of water dripping from a cat’s mouth and down their chest. Bright blue eyes, sparkling with life, watched the adoring crowd. A necklace of black feathers hung from her neck. More feathers decorated her flank and tail.
“Thank you!” Madeline purred, nodding to the crowd. “Thank you for the praise. And thank you all for making it. I know some of you have had to travel some ways to make it here today. You are all loyal scouts, and we thank you for your efforts.” She turned to Achilles. “I thank my second, who helps manage this mess of a community.” Achilles chuckled as Madeline turned to Pearl and the few cats gathered beside her. “We thank our Witch Finders, constantly searching for perversions to the Other Side.” Now she motioned to Lemmy’s group. “And we thank our enforcers, who assist us in our tasks. The crows say thanks to you all.” Madeline glanced up. A crow sat on a tree across from Mosspounce. The Witch Hunters stared at the bird like it was their leader, not Madeline.
“I called you all here for two reasons,” Madeline said. “The first is to celebrate two new additions to our enforcer ranks. Stella, Charon, join us onstage and claim your new positions!” The crowd cheered as two cats climbed onto the stage and joined Lemmy. They seemed comfortable with Lemmy, just like everyone else. It was nothing like the violent personas Pearl and Achilles took on when they tried to kill him.
“The other reason is another cause for celebration,” Madeline continued. “You all know of our plans to destroy the Clans of warriors that live to the south and disturb our ancestors day in, day out. The Clans who claim to speak to the dead and pull them from their peace as though it were a natural thing. Well today, dear scouts, we have struck a decisive blow against these witches. We have killed one of their clerics!” A grand yowl rose through the crowd. What? “After moons of studying the witches that call themselves SlugClan, we have killed their elder cleric, the center of their perversion!”
No. They killed Bubblemoon? He had been alive at the last Gathering! He was one of Fennelspot’s closest friends! Mosspounce looked to Lemmy, but she either did not see him on the roof or refused to look at him.
“Today, we celebrate with a feast at Pearl’s farm!” Madeline cheered. “With me, everyone!” The Witch Hunters yowled and cheered. Madeline flicked her tail and marched off the other side of the stage. Lemmy, Pearl, Achilles, and all the other cats in the clearing around the stage followed her like a massive flood. Mosspounce crouched against the roof as they swarmed past.
In the words of his sister, what just happened?
(Mosspounce: 13, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)
(Achilles: 80, male, Witch Hunter second, daring, eloquent speaker)
(Pearl: 33, female, Witch Finder, careful, explorer, clever)
(Lemmy: 28, female, Witch Hunter enforcer, cold, deep StarClan bond)
(Madeline: 100, female, Witch Hunter General, faithful, omen sight)
Tempestshade and Ripplefern head out on patrol, but misjudge the strength of the ocean. Ripplefern is swept away.
[Image ID: Tempestshade yowls at Troutpool and Weedfoot “It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault!” Underneath Weedfoot, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING.]
---
Tempestshade thought that rafts were one of the greatest things artisans and caretakers could have ever invented. They required a lot of wood to build and had to be taken care of, stored somewhere that storms and waves could not destroy them, but they allowed cats to venture farther into the ocean than ever before. Tied together with glue and twine, with flax leads that could connect swimmers to the raft, it was, in Tempestshade’s opinion, the best way to fish.
For this hunting patrol, it was Tempestshade’s job to tie Ripplefern to the tether and stay on the raft while Ripplefern collected the ocean’s bounties. Ripplefern was great at diving, maybe even better than Carnationspeckle! Every time she dove, she would come back with a new crab or clam or some other wonderful treasure. Tempestshade kept their catches safe, dozing off to the shifting waves below her.
Ripplefern climbed back onto the raft with a big gasp, jolting Tempestshade from her nap. She shook out her pelt, gray fur clinging to the tether around her torso. Tempestshade blinked hard as saltwater stung her eyes. The wind sent a small wave billowing over the raft, almost washing away Ripplefern’s catches. Tempestshade quickly pulled them close, shivering as the cold water ran over her belly.
“Do you think we have enough for the day?” Ripplefern said with a yawn. “I’m too cold to keep diving.”
“I have some fun ideas for this crab,” Tempestshade purred, batting at the crab on the top of the pile. “I’m going to boil it whole. It’ll be delicious.”
“Hopefully we can have a bite of it,” Ripplefern laughed. “I’m sure my mom will want it to go to Clammask. Help me get my tether off.”
“Wouldn’t it be funny if I clamped the crab’s claw to my ear and wore that to the next Gathering?” Tempestshade laughed. She put her face close to the dead crab. “Wouldn’t that impress the other Clans?”
“I think that might cross the line of how to treat our prey,” Ripplefern chuckled, squirming in her tether. “Now come on, this tether is starting to dig into me.”
“Alright,” Tempestshade hummed. As she groomed dripping water off her belly, a deep hum caught her ear. It was a deep, creaking, rushing sound, the sort of sound both Tempestshade and Ripplefern grew up hearing from beyond the nursery walls. A wave gathered along the edge of the ocean, growing in size and racing toward the raft.
“I don’t like the look of that,” Ripplefern gulped. “Just cut me out, Tempest.” Tempestshade nodded and searched for the sharp stone they always brought along for emergencies. Yet, when Tempestshade shuffled through the fresh-kill pile and scanned the raft, she could not find the stone. Carnationspeckle had taught her, time and time again, that when she was on the raft, using the tether, she needed the stone for moments like this.
“I can’t find it!” Tempestshade stammered. Ripplefern reached around and dug her teeth around the flax lead. She couldn’t get the right angle on the tether to pull it off. Tempestshade looked back to the approaching wave. Had it been that tall a moment ago?
“Tempest, help me,” Ripplefern snapped. “Help me, I can’t get it off!” Tempestshade grabbed the base of the tether, where the loop connected to the main lead, but she couldn’t stop shaking. It wouldn’t loosen! The tether was tied into the raft itself; Ripplefern dove at the tie and started chewing. Tempestshade joined her, fangs aching against the tight flax.
Tempestshade looked up just in time to see the wave devour the raft.
Tempestshade flew away from Ripplefern in a haze of blue and gray. Bubbles thundered past her. The screaming of the wave flooded her ears with intense pressure. She’d taken a deep breath when the wave hit, but the force of the impact knocked the air back out. She flipped head over tail as the wave carried her stars-know-where.
Suddenly, Tempestshade skittered across soaked, brown sand. The remnants of the wave nearly reached the grass. Tempestshade shivered and choked on water, eyes burning from the salt. How in StarClan’s name had she not hit one of the many pebble-lined shores? She blinked violently, trying to shake the water off, trying to breathe, to understand where she was. She stared out at the ocean, which seemed black with the sun behind the clouds.
The raft bobbed and weaved not too far from shore. The wood was dark and utterly soaked. The twine and glue had given way to the intense pressure of the sudden wave, and part of the raft was gone.
The part that Ripplefern’s tether had been attached to.
“Ripplefern!” Tempestshade screeched. She scrambled toward the sea, paws sinking into the wet sand. StarClan, where was she? Tempestshade hacked up more water, shivering in the autumn chill. Her voice burned as she screamed, “Ripplefern!”
“Tempestshade?” The call, sadly, did not come from the water. Troutpool and Weedfoot, each with leather pouches around their neck, emerged from the trees and hurried up to Tempestshade. Tempestshade spun around like she was cornered by dogs. Troutpool and Weedfoot both startled.
“It’s not my fault,” Tempestshade stammered, breathing hard. “It’s not my fault!” No. No, no, no. Tempestshade didn’t understand. She didn’t know what happened! Why couldn’t she get Ripplefern free?
“Tempestshade,” Weedfoot said, eyes catching on the broken raft. “Tempestshade, where is Ripplefern? Where is my daughter?” Fear overtook her voice at the end.
Tempestshade couldn’t breathe. She crouched on the sand, falling deeper and deeper into a whirlpool of her own mind, the image of the wave taking over her senses.
(Tempestshade: 13, female, caretaker, childish, incredible cook)
(Ripplefern: 18, female, historian, charismatic, talented swimmer, good fighter)
(Troutpool: 13, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)
(Weedfoot: 101, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)
here... they are
my loves <33 tempestpaw is an alt kid in my heart. desperately hoping for him to be transfem in future
out of all these my fav design is probably partridge's! this mean old lady has enraptured me
Moon 31.
I know you get déjà vu!
Tempestpaw
A black and white she-cat with pale blue eyes. Tempestpaw is daring and oddly observant, and is currently being trained by Stormclaw. She came across Beampaw and Burdockheart while they were on patrol, and was overjoyed to find that other Clan cats, particularly ones she knew, had survived the fire.
Tempestpaw is bold, imaginative, and strong-willed, and really struggles to be objective about things.
She's formerly from RootClan.
Tempest; Fierce ; Strong
RippleClan: Moon 45
Weedfoot announces she is expecting her second litter.
[Image ID: Weedfoot tells Palepaw and Ripplepaw, “Don’t worry, you two. I’m still your mother.” Under her, it says + CONDITION: PREGNANT.]
(Weedfoot: 94, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)
(Palepaw: 11, female, mediator apprentice, insecure, picky nest builder, never sits still)
(Ripplepaw: 11, female, historian apprentice, charismatic, avid play-fighter, splashes in puddles)
Rattlepelt confessed her feelings to Wildclaw and they have become mates.
[Image ID: Rattlepelt says to Wildclaw, “I think I’m ready… ask me again, Wildclaw.” Under Wildclaw, it says + MATE: RATTLEPELT. Under Rattlepelt, it says + MATE: WILDCLAW.]
(Wildclaw: 37, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)
(Rattlepelt: 28, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)
Interested in herbs even in her kithood, Troutpaw is eagerly apprenticed to Fennelspot.
[Image ID: Troutpaw, in her apprentice sprite, faces Fennelspot, who says, “I hope I do right by you, Troutpaw.” Under Troutpaw, it says LEVEL UP! TROUTKIT -> TROUTPAW, INSECURE -> COMPASSIONATE.]
(Fennelspot: 102, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)
(Troutpaw: 6, female, cleric apprentice, compassionate, morbid curiosity)
Shadowdrop’s kits are apprenticed. While Tempestpaw is eager to explore the territory, Mosspaw and Trumpetpaw’s thoughts are on their dead father. Their mentors are Carnationspeckle, Clammask, and Halibutdusk.
[Image ID: Tempestpaw, Mosspaw, and Trumpetpaw all have apprentice sprites. Under Tempestpaw, it says LEVEL UP! TEMPESTKIT -> TEMPESTPAW. Under Mosspaw, it says LEVEL UP! MOSSKIT -> MOSSPAW, BULLYING -> SHAMELESS. Under Trumpetpaw, it says LEVEL UP! TRUMPETKIT -> TRUMPETPAW, NERVOUS -> TROUBLESOME, + NEW SKILL: LOVER OF STORIES.]
(Tempestpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, troublesome, loves to eat)
(Mosspaw: 6, male, caretaker apprentice, shameless, stares at fire)
(Trumpetpaw: 6, female, warrior apprentice, troublesome, plays in mud, lover of stories)
Downstar stands above the Clan and proclaims Elmpaw shall be known as Elmsprout, honoring her amity.
[Image ID: Elmsprout is in her full, long-furred, adult sprite. Under her, it says LEVEL UP! ELMPAW -> ELMSPROUT, CAREFUL LISTENER -> HELPFUL INSIGHT.]
(Elmsprout: 12, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)
Downstar, Rustshade, and Puddlepaw find a wounded loner with a mangled tail.
[Image ID: Downstar, Rustshade, and Puddlepaw stand in the back while Fennelspot talks to a black bengal tom with a white underside. Under the black tom, it says NEW PLAYER: DARKKICK, 105, MALE, LONESOME, TALENTED SWIMMER, UNDERSTANDS NATURE, + CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL.]
---
The black and white tom wasn’t trained to fight. He’d only gotten into a few scrapes in his many moons wandering the wilds surrounding his old home, learning what he could from the friends he made. He’d never been in a fight like this. He was never meant to be in a fight like this. Never meant to be in a fight at all.
He wasn’t about to join his ancestors that day, however. He was still too mad at them.
The brown tom chased the loner all the way from the northern human settlement. It was like he had been waiting for the loner, following rumors of a starkly colored tom offering medical treatment to any strays who needed it. You’d have to be mousebrained to get mad at someone for that, but considering how the loner’s feathery tail was now coated in blood, he wouldn’t argue with the maniac.
The loner’s paws skidded against the edge of the river. It still had its freezing winter chill to it, despite the coming of spring. Thick Clan scent flooded the loner’s nose. Oh, to go home… but he knew full well that he was not welcome there anymore. If he crossed the river, he would suffer their wrath. Yet with how vicious his attacker was…
The loner could hear his pursuer getting closer, stomping over new growth in his mad dash. The loner could handle a random Clan patrol. He steadied his paws against the stones and dirt leading into the water and plunged in.
The loner’s blood drifted in the current. His long fur weighed him down, but he kicked with the flow like he was running on water. He arched over stones and curved his body like an otter, letting the river do most of his work for him. He threw his head over the surface of the water for a deep, shaking breath. He looked back. The brown tom stood by the river, glaring at the loner. The loner dove back into the water.
He kept swimming until his muscles began to ache and his lungs started to burn. The current pushed him toward a wall of stone, where the river pushed on only a paw deep. The loner splashed onto the shallow rocks. He laid in the low flow, gathering his breath. He’d go treat his tail soon. He just… needed a moment to rest. He wasn’t as young as he used to be.
“Stay there!” someone yowled. Wonderful, more company. The loner’s eyes were blurry from water, strain, and pain, but he squinted at the figure approaching from the southern side of the river. He saw gray spots against a well-muscled body and blue eyes studying his drenched pelt.
“Puddlespeckle?” the loner coughed, water dripping from his nose. His eyes cleared a bit; no, not Puddlespeckle. Puddlespeckle had no white blaze on his face.
“That’s my grandfather’s name,” the lookalike gasped. “I’m his granddaughter, Puddlepaw. How do you know my grandfather?”
“Puddlepaw, who have you found?” Two more figures approached the river. The loner’s vision was clear, and there was no mistaking the two cats coming closer.
“Rustshade and Downdapple,” the loner laughed softly, shaking his dripping head. “I heard RippleClan became a reality, but I wasn’t sure if you were part of it.”
“Darkkick?” Rustshade muttered. The ginger tom and tortoiseshell molly shared the same shocked look. Puddlepaw slipped back to Rustshade’s side. The loner, Darkkick, pulled himself out of the river and shook out his pelt. His tail burned and he couldn’t help but hiss.
“The one and only,” Darkkick huffed, grooming his tail.
“You’ve misnamed Downstar,” Puddlepaw said, glancing up at her leader. “Downstar, is this the same Darkkick from the stories?”
“I should have guessed you tell stories about me,” Darkkick scoffed. “I suppose you paint me as Autumnstar’s victim, then? Thrown out for doing what StarClan asked?”
“We’re sorry that happened to you,” Downstar said, bowing her head. “We thought you left the territories long ago.”
“I traveled for a few moons,” Darkkick sighed. “My better nature got the better of me though. Couldn’t let loners die when I know how to help them.” Darkkick spat out a chunk of wet black fur. “I would have thought you’d pick Paleshade as leader.”
“She didn’t live to see RippleClan’s founding,” Puddlepaw muttered.
“Ah,” Darkkick said softly. The fur along his spine bristled. It would have been easy for Autumnstar to kill the brave molly without Darkkick around. He’d covered for Paleshade and Weedfoot so many times as cleric…
“Fennelspot would want to see you,” Downstar said. “He could help you with your tail.” Darkkick studied his tail. The wounds were big, and it would take Darkkick a while to set up a temporary medicine den, especially with the maniac from the human settlement looking for him.
“Let’s see how that tom’s been taking care of you,” Darkkick sighed, padding away from the river. “Now what part of the coastline has your little group mangled into a camp?”
Rustshade and Puddlepaw took position on either side of Darkkick (codekeepers, always so wary) while Downstar escorted the long-lost cleric to RippleClan’s camp. Darkkick had heard stories of the shipwreck by the sea, had even seen it from a distance on day-long patrols to collect resources from the ocean, but he would never have imagined it safe for cats to camp in. Even if you ignored the old stories (which apparently no one was telling the younger generation from the look on Puddlepaw’s face during Darkkick’s musings) of terrifying wraiths wandering the shipwreck, how long would the wood last and keep the Clan sheltered? Somehow, though, the shipwreck was still standing strong, protecting the blossoming Clan under its wind-worn wood.
Although Darkkick knew better than to needlessly flame anyone’s pride, he could admit to himself at the very least that RippleClan was doing well. Young apprentices proudly joined their mentors. Elders rested in the shade (although… was one of them wearing a ribbon collar? Did Fennelspot forget how a collar could choke a wild cat? Was this some odd new tradition the RippleClan founders invented?). It was, by every definition Darkkick knew, a true Clan.
A familiar ginger tom sat by a large rock near the shipwreck, slowly sharing a meal with a long-furred cream and white molly. Fennelspot’s gaze drifted over the returning patrol. At first, he glazed over Darkkick. Then he choked on his prey.
“Fennelspot!” the young molly yelped. She patted Fennelspot’s back as the cleric collected his breath.
“Don’t kill yourself on my behalf,” Darkkick purred as his escorts led him toward his old colleague.
“Darkkick…” Fennelspot coughed.
“Troutpaw, can you leave us be for a moment?” Downstar asked the cream-colored apprentice.
“You’re Darkkick?” Troutpaw gasped. “The exiled cleric?”
“I haven’t been a cleric in many moons,” Darkkick sighed. He couldn’t stop himself from purring at Troutpaw’s wide-eyed expression. “Don’t tell me I’m famous.”
“You play a role in some of my mother’s stories about AshClan,” Puddlepaw said, shrinking slightly beside the black tom.
“He flopped out of the river with a mangled tail,” Rustshade sighed.
“Yes, Troutpaw, get a spot ready for our new patient,” Fennelspot gulped, taking the last bite of the roasted mouse.
“Yes, sir,” Troutpaw said before dutifully bounding off to what Darkkick assumed was the medicine den.
“Come here and share tongues with me, you old fool,” Darkkick chuckled. Fennelspot touched noses with Darkkick.
“If I’m old, then so are you,” Fennelspot chuckled softly. He began to share tongues with Darkkick, grooming the remaining water from his fur. He licked blood off Darkkick’s tail as best he could. In between that grooming, he asked, “You must have so many questions! So do I. Where have you been? Why come back after all these moons?”
“It’s more of a visit than a homecoming, Fennel,” Darkkick huffed. “I could use some help with these wounds I got.”
“You’re going to leave again?” Fennelspot gulped, meeting Darkkick’s eyes.
“Do you really think Autumnstar will be pleased if you announce my arrival at the next Gathering?” Darkkick scoffed.
“Autumnstar has passed on,” Downstar explained, touching her tail to Darkkick’s shoulder. “And we don’t care what AshClan thinks of us. They chose to exile you. We’d be happy to take you in.”
“Your nest is ready, Darkkick,” Troutpaw called, sticking her head out of the medicine den.
“Let’s see how well you’ve fared in all this sand, Fennelspot,” Darkkick muttered, trying to shake wet sand off his paws. His entourage followed him to the medicine den. His eyes took a minute to adjust to the shadows in the overturned boat. The familiar scent of concoctions and ointments and dried herbs threw him into the past, to days when he had an eager ginger apprentice and the respect of both AshClan and StarClan. Now he lacked both.
“Father?” The voice brought Darkkick back to the present. A brown molly, her back covered and restrained in a tight splint, stared at Darkkick with huge, owl-like amber eyes. Another gray spotted molly, this one almost the perfect reflection of Weedfoot, sat by her side, her conversation suddenly interrupted.
“Father?” Puddlepaw, Troutpaw, and the lookalike gasped.
“Spike,” Darkkick muttered. For a moment, he checked his daughter’s pelt for stars, wondering if she was some ghostly vision.
“Darkkick is your father?” Downstar asked, moving between the pair.
“You broke your oath,” Fennelspot mumbled, his tall tail falling.
“That oath became meaningless the moment I was exiled,” Darkkick snapped, sneering. Fennelspot quickly bowed his head. Darkkick collected himself, his half-wet fur weighing him down, and looked back at his long lost daughter. “Last I saw your mother, she told me you were dead.”
“I would have been without RippleClan,” the brown molly admitted. “It’s Spikecrash now though, Father. I’ve joined their ranks as a mediator. Palepaw here has been sharing some of her lessons with me.”
“Why am I not surprised that’s the name of one of Weedfoot’s kits,” Darkkick sighed, purring as Palepaw’s shocked expression grew. “Don’t be so stunned. The relation is more obvious than a dog in a tree.”
“Puddlepaw, Palepaw, come outside with me,” Rustshade sighed with a twitch of his tail. “I can better explain what’s happening.” Palepaw hesitantly slunk between Darkkick and Fennelspot as she joined her sister outside. The two littermates followed Rustshade to a quiet spot to talk.
“Your mother thought you had died,” Darkkick said, risking a step closer to Spikecrash. “She… she was not well when I last saw her.”
“We went to find her shortly after Spikecrash officially joined the Clan,” Downstar explained. “She’s being cared for by humans.”
“Yes, thanks to me,” Darkkick huffed, glaring at Downstar. “I took her. I couldn’t stay to care for her.” Darkkick hissed as a sharp sting ran down his tail. Fennelspot had snuck behind him and rubbed an ointment on his tail.
“You aren’t sitting down, and we can’t let you bleed all over the medicine den,” Fennelspot huffed, dipping his paw back into a small jar of ointment and continuing the process.
“Part of me is glad things happened this way,” Spikecrash admitted, her eyes softening as she watched Darkkick squirm. “Fennelspot says my back is healing well. Mom is living with beings who can better care for her. I know we haven’t spent much time together, Father, but we could grow closer as part of a Clan! You could meet Cinderella’s kits, they’ve just been apprenticed.” Darkkick didn’t answer. The medicine den felt too small. How could he stand under the gaze of his ancestors again when StarClan…
“Stay.” Fennelspot walked in front of Darkkick, placing his tail on Spinecrash’s splint. “If not for her, then for us. RippleClan could use your knowledge in the medicine den.”
“I’m not a cleric anymore,” Darkkick huffed, his gut tensing at the very thought. He didn’t want to look at the disappointment covering everyone’s faces. He grit his teeth. He spoke to the ground. “If you find yourselves overwhelmed, I can help treat patients, as I have been for years now. But if I join RippleClan, I am just a warrior. I cannot bear the cleric’s name.” He locked eyes with Fennelspot (the shine in his old friend’s eyes made him want to groan from the sheer overwhelming sentimentality). “Is that understood?”
“We can make it work,” Fennelspot promised. He once again touched noses with Darkkick. Troutpaw purred in the back at the sweet display.
“Now tell me,” Darkkick grunted, taking a seat in front of the daughter he thought dead as the others settled around him, “what in the name of the four— er, five Clans has happened while I’ve been away?”
(Darkkick: 105, male, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)
(Puddlepaw: 11, trans female, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)
(Rustshade: 89, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)
(Downstar: 104, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)
(Fennelspot: 102, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)
(Troutpaw: 6, female, cleric apprentice, compassionate, morbid curiosity)
(Spikecrash: 20, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)
(Palepaw: 11, female, mediator apprentice, insecure, picky nest builder, never sits still)
Moon 0
Tempestpaw tests the wind, and he identifies correctly that, because of the wind, they'd need to approach the thrush from the side. Harestar purrs, and compliments him on how much he's learned.
While leading a patrol with Vixenwander, Dustlight hears pawsteps nearby. The patrol follows the sound, intent on finding the intruder. They come upon a kittypet sniffing around; but when the kittypet notices them, she turns around to make a hasty getaway. Dustlight decides not to pursue her; she's off the territory now anyway.
Moon 2 & 3
Havenspark tripped over a small trunk, but didn't bruise anything.
Tempestpaw took his warrior assessment one moon early!
