Rattlepelt and Wildclaw are asked to take in a litter of three from AshClan.
[Image ID: Wildclaw and Rattlepelt stand above three newborns. The first, a gold spotted tom with a white belly, has the caption NEW PLAYER: SUNKIT, 0, MALE, FEARLESS. The second kit, a red tom with a few white spots, has the caption NEW PLAYER: BERRYKIT, 0, MALE, BULLYING. The last kit, a calico molly, has the caption NEW PLAYER: SKYKIT, 0, FEMALE, KNOW-IT-ALL.]
"I don't like this, Rattlepelt," Wildclaw muttered as every step sent her sinking to her belly in air-like snow. "I don't like AshClan requesting to see us both like this. I have no friends in AshClan. This can't be good."
"You are the Clan deputy," Rattlepelt reminded her mate. The tail of her fox pelt left a long line in the snow. "It's not so strange for AshClan to speak with you. They could want to discuss some new form of trade, so they invite your artisan mate along."
"Enough bad things happen to the two of us that I'm allowed to be concerned," Wildclaw huffed. "We still don't know what happened to Billowhaze, Splashtuft, and Tallowheart."
"I don't think AshClan is able to make bodies disappear so easily," Rattlepelt sighed, still managing to chuckle despite the weight of the strange tragedy.
It was a gray morning when the two mollies left camp for the AshClan border. Dovefur had returned early from his border patrol, explaining that Leathermask and Rapidleaf were waiting with a gaggle of AshClan cats who wanted to speak with Wildclaw and Rattlepelt. The weather matched the tension each RippleClan cat carried in their hearts. No one, not even the clerics who confirmed their deaths, had an answer for the strange disappearances that rocked the Clan. It barely felt like the three toms were dead, just… out on patrol. So that's all most cats could do. Patrol, and hope to fill the sudden, inexplicable hole in their lives.
At least it properly looked like winter. The snow was so ridiculously fluffy that Wildclaw could barely feel it. It was the sort of snow that kits should spend their days frolicking in and apprentice should bury themselves under to pull pranks on their poor mentors. Wildclaw wondered if Midnightpaw had memories of snow from his early moons. She hoped Valleypaw could enjoy the snow in StarClan, free fron the deadly cold.
Wildclaw and Rattlepelt spotted Leathermask and Rapidleaf before either of them could continue overthinking the situation. They waited by the border alongside Terracottafoot and one of AshClan's mediators. Wildclaw put on her deputy's mask and nodded to the AshClan representatives.
"Greetings, Terracottafoot," Wildclaw said. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"That's not the least of it," Rapidleaf pointed out. "There were two other cats here before we sent Dovefur for you. They still haven't come back."
"I'm glad you both could make it," Terracottafoot purred, licking their cold paws. "Truthfully, Paleseed has raved about how good-hearted you both are."
"Excuse me?" Rattlepelt said with a slight head tilt.
"Well, the two toms you adopted, Midnightpaw and Valleypaw," Terracottafoot stammered, tail curling as they searched for the right words. "They were your third adopted litter, right? You've taken in a lot of kits who needed love and attention."
"Shrewflame and Whiteflower weren't really litters," Wildclaw chuckled politely, "but they needed someone in the nursery with them, and we've never regretted it." Rattlepelt nodded along to her mate's assessment, touching her nose to Wildclaw's cheek.
"That's why we asked for you two specifically," Terracottafoot gulped. "I don't have a good way to ask this, but there are some cats who need your help."
"Oh stars," Leathermask muttered, catching sight of the returning AshClan cats before the smell of birth and milk reached Wildclaw's nose.
The two AshClan cats who had left before Wildclaw and Rattlepelt's arrival carried three kits with them. The first AshClan cat carried two kits at once; both stocky for their tiny forms, one was a stunning red while the other at first seemed pure white, but revealed ginger patches and a black tail when she squirmed. The other AshClan cat carried a golden spotted tom. None of them could have been older than half a moon, but were almost certainly younger than that.
"We didn't want them to wait in the cold if we didn't find a patrol," Terracottafoot explained awkwardly.
"So colorful," Wildclaw muttered. The calico, the only molly of the three, shifted her half-sealed gaze toward Wildclaw. Baby blue eyes gleamed like spots of sky against a cloudy sky.
"I didn't know you had a flair for the dramatic, Terracottafoot," Rattlepelt huffed. "You didn't think to say anything about this before you brought the kits?"
"Maybe you should just hear the story," Terracottafoot awkwardly suggested.
"Are you giving away AshClan kits?" Rapidleaf asked.
"They belonged to Caretaker Dayhaze," Terracottafoot explained. "You probably knew her best, Warrior Leathermask. She suffered complications in the birth and finally past yesterday."
"Dayhaze is mates with Bluesun," Leathermask pointed out. "Why aren't these kits with their father?"
"You misunderstand," the mediator beside Terracottafoot said. "They are Dayhaze's children, but not Bluesun's."
"Oh," Wildclaw gulped. She instinctively shifted a paw to touch Rattlepelt's. Rattlepelt returned the gesture.
"The sire was a kittypet in the human settlement," Terracottafoot continued. "The yellowcough outbreak took him shortly after Caretaker Dayhaze became pregnant. We discussed what she wanted for her kits after she passed, and she decided they would fare better in RippleClan."
"No one in AshClan would adopt them?" Wildclaw muttered. "If a nurse is what you need, Mitespark gave birth to her litter two days ago. She could help."
"If Caretaker Dayhaze did not want the kits to be adopted by an AshClan couple," the mediator beside Terracottafoot sighed, "we have to respect that. Don't look at us like we're tossing them out."
"I'm more-so surprised Eelstar agreed to it," Wildclaw scoffed.
"He didn't have to," Terracottafoot sighed, dipping their head. "I'm sad to announce that Eelstar has joined StarClan."
Good, Wildclaw thought as the faces of her Clanmates shifted with the less-than-awful news. Wildclaw stood taller. Eelstar may have changed from the lackey he was under Autumnstar, but he was still a spirit of suffering in the collective memory of RippleClan. For him to live beyond Downstar and Weedfoot was an insult to their suffering under his burnt paws.
"Barkfur has his nine lives, then?" Wildclaw grunted, the mask of diplomacy slipping with a crack in her voice.
"Elder Barkfur is as old as Eelstar," the interrupting meditator said. "He decided, for the good of the Clan, to retire and give leadership to younger blood. The reign of Lichenstar has now begun."
"My niece," Terracottafoot coughed, concealing a purr of pride. Well then! Wildclaw knew Lichenstar, once Lichenfur. She had been a codekeeper with an unmatched lust for the intricacies of trials and the balance of justice and mercy. Wildclaw made a note to tell Oilstar of this, although as the calico kitten continued to stare at her, her focus slipped.
"Lichenstar deeply values parental rights and the wellbeing of our kits," the mediator noted. "This was Dayhaze's wish, and Lichenstar respects it. As she decreed, it is better for our children to live beyond our reach than to live within and feel the claws of uncaring hearts. Bluesun… has not reacted well to the affair." Maternal fury sparked in Wildclaw's heart. Rattlepelt gently nosed Wildclaw, drawing her eyes off the kits.
"Do you remember what you told me when we found Midnightpaw and Valleypaw?" Rattlepelt said. "It felt like one of those moments StarClan designs just for us. Every time we've taken someone in, they've only made our lives brighter."
"I thought you would be hesitant," Wildclaw stammered. She shifted her back to AshClan, giving her and Rattlepelt a bit more privacy. "We lost Valleypaw just a few moons ago. I thought you'd want to mourn longer. I'm usually the one convincing you of these things."
"I'm sure I don't need to convince you of this," Rattlepelt sighed, brushing her fox pelt against Wildclaw. "You can barely look away."
"You'll take them?" Terracottafoot held their breath.
"That's what their mother wanted," Wildclaw hummed, inching close to the kits. The red kit squinted at Wildclaw, his tiny paws twitching toward her. The golden kit in the back mewled for his brother and sister, outraged at the separation.
"Thank you," Terracottafoot purred, waving the other AshClan cats closer. "Thank you both. There's just one thing we need to do. It's only right that the kits take part in one last AshClan tradition. Just sit together, right here." Terracottafoot patted the snow. Wildclaw and Rattlepelt hesitantly obeyed, sitting right at the edge of the border. Terracottafoot flicked their tail, and the two AshClan cats carrying the kits placed them at Wildclaw and Rattlepelt's paws.
"We can't let them sit in the snow," Rattlepelt snapped, shuffling her fox pelt off. "Here, here, put them on this." Rattlepelt shivered violently as a soft breeze rolled over her exposed silver skin. She rubbed into Wildclaw as the gray deputy tugged the fox pelt underneath the squirming kits. The golden kit did his best to stand, but flopped onto his jaw with a silly mew of protest. The red tom and the calico molly nibbled at the fox fur, hoping to nurse. Terracottafoot sat in front of the newly formed family, clearing their throat.
"We ask our warrior ancestors to look upon these kits and offer your blessings," Terracottafoot recited, eyes to the gray morning sky. "We do not wish to strip them of their heritage, of the parents who brought them into this world. We only ask that their family grow to take on new guardians, cats to share in the responsibilities of those who came before. Warriors of StarClan, bless Wildclaw and Rattlepelt as they accept the children of Dayhaze into their family, joining her in forever guarding the hearts of the kits before them." Wildclaw nosed each kit, taking in their soft scent. She gave the calico kitten a special lick on the head; it would be nice to have a daughter for once.
"We'll keep them safe," Rattlepelt promised, heart and voice warm.
"Just one thing before you take them to RippleClan," Terracottafoot stammered. The spell of their ritual faded, replaced with their usual nervous demeanor. "Dayhaze named them, and I know it was important to her that they keep their names."
"Of course," Wildclaw huffed. "Who's who?"
"She named the red tom Berrykit," Terracottafoot explained, "after holly berries. The calico is Skykit. Dayhaze thought she looked like the sun breaking through thick clouds with those ginger patches. And this squirmy golden kit is Sunkit."
"They're wonderful," Rapidleaf purred.
"I'm sorry though, Terracottafoot," Leathermask sighed, bowing slightly to the AshClan cleric. "You seem to care for Dayhaze."
"She was a good molly, even if she wasn't faithful," Terracottafoot said, nodding as though they had to confirm their own beliefs. "I know her kits will fare well with you, Deputy Wildclaw." Wildclaw studied her new kits. Berrykit had become bored with the fox fur and now nibbled at Skykit. Skykit squealed and clumsily kicked at her brother. Sunkit continued his determined efforts to stand, despite tumbling once more onto the fox pelt.
"We'll protect them," Wildclaw promised. "They'll always be loved."
She couldn't say they'd be safe; memories of Valleypaw running out of camp, her last glimpse of her son, glimmered in her mind's eye. But to say they would be loved… that was a promise Wildclaw could keep.
(Wildclaw: 95, female, deputy, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)
(Leathermask: 51, male, warrior, confident, good fighter, eloquent speaker)
(Berrykit: 0, male, kit, bullying)
(Skykit: 0, female, kit, know-it-all)
(Sunkit: 0, male, kit, fearless)
Mitespark safely delivers her litter of six kits, although two of them pass within the first two days. She and Wolverineheart thank the spirits of StarClan who accompanied their four beautiful kits to RippleClan.
[Image ID: Mitespark and Wolverineheart watch over a litter of four. Beside Mitespark, it reads - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. The first kit is a brown, ginger, and white tortoiseshell molly. Under her, it reads NEW PLAYER: LIGHTKIT, 0, FEMALE, DAYDREAMER. The next kit, a black tom, has the caption NEW PLAYER: FUZZYKIT, 0, MALE, UNRULY. Under the next kit, a golden tom with a white patch on his back, it says NEW PLAYER: GOLDENKIT, 0, MALE, BULLYING. The last kit is black and pale ginger with the caption NEW PLAYER: SNAKEKIT, 0, FEMALE, POLITE.]
(Mitespark: 45, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)
(Wolverineheart: 35, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)
(Lightkit: 0, female, kit, daydreamer)
(Fuzzykit: 0, male, kit, unruly)
(Goldenkit: 0, male, kit, bullying)
(Snakekit: 0, female, kit, polite)
Icepaw finally becomes Icepounce and promises his sister that she too will graduate some day.
[Image ID: Icepaw, now Icepounce, tells Quickpaw, "It won't be long!" Under him, it reads LEVEL UP! ICEPAW → ICEPOUNCE, FIERCE → ADVENTUROUS, NEVER SITS STILL → FAST AS THE WIND, ODDLY OBSERVANT → NATURAL INTUITION.]
(Icepounce: 13, male, teacher, adventurous, fast as the wind, natural intuition)
(Quickpaw: 13, female, historian apprentice, ambitious, good swimmer)
Beepaw, Patchpaw, and Morningpaw are apprenticed to Puddlewhisper, Shrewflame, and Icepounce.
[Image ID: Beepaw, Patchpaw, and Morningpaw all have apprentice sprites. Under Beepaw, it says LEVEL UP! BEEKIT → BEEPAW, NOISY → BOLD, + NEW SKILL: PICKY NEST BUILDER. Under Patchpaw, it reads LEVEL UP! PATCHKIT → PATCHPAW, CHARMING → ADVENTUROUS. Under Morningpaw, it reads LEVEL UP! MORNINGKIT → MORNINGPAW, BOSSY → CONFIDENT.]
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)
Oilstripe, Carnationspeckle, and Clammask have found a way past their grief. Meanwhile, everyone poisoned by the poorly cooked rabbit recovers.
[Image ID: Oilstripe, Carnationspeckle, and Clammask sit together, with - CONDITION: GRIEVING (X3) under them. Under Drumpaw, it says - CONDITION: FOOD POISONING, SHOCK. Under Rapidleaf, it says - CONDITION: FOOD POISONING, SHOCK, WATER IN LUNGS. Honeypaw, Elmsprout, and Leatherpaw are together, with - CONDITION: FOOD POISONING (X3) under them.]
Clammask and Lemmy both announce their pregnancies.
[Image ID: Clammask and Lemmy both sit with + CONDITION: PREGNANT under them.]
---
It was a day after Lemmy’s pregnancy announcement that Clammask entered the medicine den with complaints of weight gain and nausea. Thank StarClan that Honeypaw had been out collecting herbs with the caretakers, because Clammask would not have been able to meet her son’s eyes as she later left with Troutpool’s diagnosis.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised. Halibutdusk may not have been a tom, but they had been born one. There was no reason they couldn’t get Clammask pregnant. Yet she had forgotten that, too busy finding a new beginning with playful flirting and a few fun outings (and one particular night where Clammask said goodbye to the pain and vengeance in her heart and oh StarClan was that when it happened oh no). It wasn’t supposed to be so serious. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.
It still felt like summer as Clammask squinted in the brilliance of sunhigh. Lemmy and Mosspounce had a crowd around them, eager to share tongues. While Lemmy mostly kept to Mosspounce, Splashpaw, and the codekeepers, she chatted with her Clanmates with the skill and grace of a mediator, letting everyone know that she felt well and would nest in the nursery when she was ready. Clammask had already had a litter once, why wasn’t she as confident as Lemmy? Why did she have to feel like a scared kit?
Spikecrash was one of the cats sharing tongues with Lemmy. Clammask caught bits of their conversation, mixing their old faith in the Other Side with their new home’s focus on StarClan. Clammask lingered at the edge of the crowd, searching for the right words to draw Spikecrash’s attention. She didn’t have to say anything, luckily; Spikecrash glanced around camp as Lemmy listened to Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle share pregnancy tips. Thank StarClan she saw the fear in Clammask’s silver eyes.
Spikecrash crept around her Clanmates, making her way to Clammask. No one seemed to notice the pair, much to Clammask’s relief. She flicked her ears toward the camp exit. Spikecrash nodded and led her outside.
Autumn had smacked RippleClan upside the head in the last few days. Before Clammask realized it, the trees that lined camp to the west had exploded in tortoiseshell color. The wind coming off the ocean was no longer pleasantly cool, but cold enough to make the golden molly shiver. The bugs had gone silent and heat no longer pushed against Clammask’s lungs; rather, the cold ocean air soothed her tense heart.
Not by much, however.
“I’ve lived here long enough to know when someone needs a mediator and doesn’t know what to say,” Spikecrash sighed as the pair left camp. “What do you need to talk about?”
“Let’s find somewhere we won’t be overheard first,” Clammask gulped.
Clammask and Spikecrash entered the forest. The trees and falling leaves would provide some privacy, just in case the sunhigh patrol wandered past. Spikecrash tried not to stare as they walked further and further from camp. Clammask wasn’t sure if her nausea was from her nerves or the life growing inside her. She tried to soak in the crisp, early autumn smell, but the remnants of summer and the weight in her chest made her nose-blind.
“I saw you leaving the medicine den,” Spikecrash said when they were far enough away from camp for Clammask to stop. “Did Troutpool have bad news for you?” Could she even define what was happening as “bad news”? She loved being pregnant with her sons, after all. Maybe if this was another litter with Scrubmask, she would be yowling the news across camp, celebrating with Lemmy, laughing at jokes about stealing attention from the former Witch Hunter.
“I’m pregnant,” Clammask said, the word dying part-way out of her mouth. Spikecrash’s face did not reveal her reaction; instead, she cocked her head slightly and studied Clammask, the way her whiskers fell and her eyes looked hollow.
“This doesn’t sound like something you planned,” Spikecrash noted.
“I was still testing how I felt about Halibutdusk,” Clammask moaned, pacing around Spikecrash without realizing it. “I didn’t want to have as serious a relationship as I had with Scrubmask at the start, we started a family as soon as we became mates, I only wanted to move on! Halibutdusk talked to me when they realized they weren’t a tom, they didn’t like what it meant to be a tom, how will they feel knowing they sired kits? I haven’t told my sons I’ve been seeing them! They’ll think I’m betraying their mother! Does Halibutdusk want kits? Do I want more kits? My sons haven’t even graduated! What if I lose another kit?” Spikecrash threw out her paw and stopped Clammask’s spiral.
“One thought at a time,” Spikecrash purred. “It seems you’re nervous about a serious relationship with Halibutdusk.”
“I’m not ready for that,” Clammask whined, sitting. Her tail stirred the leaves around her. “Halibutdusk has always been there for me, but… I don’t know, this is so much more than I was expecting!”
“And you think they’ll be upset they’ve sired kits with you?” Spikecrash asked, nodding.
“When Drumpaw told me he was a tom, he went on and on about how much the idea of pregnancy made him sick. Does Halibutdusk feel that way about siring kits? Does it make them feel wrong?”
“Have you asked them?”
“I didn’t want to be serious, why would I ask them that?” Spikecrash rolled onto her back, signaling her surrender at Clammask’s suddenly curled lip. Clammask smoothed her face.
“All I’m saying is that if you haven’t asked them about that topic, you can’t know how they’ll feel,” Spikecrash explained, face upside down. “The same goes for your sons. Paleseed deals with grief more than I do, but from what I’ve seen of your kits, they’ve each found their way forward from Scrubmask’s death. They might be happy for you.”
“Maybe. I don’t know what to think right now.”
“Do you want a practical response or an emotional one?” Spikecrash got back to her feet. Clammask thought it through, fur growing hot.
“Practical,” she eventually decided.
“Do you want to have these kits or not?” Spikecrash asked. Clammask’s stomach suddenly flipped.
“Move,” she managed to gulp just before she threw up. Spikecrash skittered up a fir. Clammask shivered as the taste settled in her mouth. Her nose curled at the stench of her own bile. Spikecrash jumped from the fir to a tree behind Clammask before she risked climbing down. Leaves fluttered with Spikecrash’s fall. Spikecrash groomed Clammask’s neck as the pregnant molly shivered.
What did Clammask want? Forget Halibutdusk, forget her sons, forget Scrubmask and whatever her spirit must think of her. Did Clammask want these kits or not?
“I want these kits,” Clammask finally whimpered. “I want to be a mother again. I want my sons to have more kin. I want to raise a litter that has two parents at their graduation ceremonies.”
“Alright then,” Spikecrash purred, touching Clammask’s nose despite the stench in her mouth. “I can help you tell Halibutdusk.”
“Whether we’re actually in love or not,” Clammask gulped, forcing herself to take a deep breath, “I’m raising these kits, and I’ll help Halibut be a part of their lives. They’ll be a good influence.”
“Let’s get you some water back at camp,” Spikecrash suggested. “We can wait until you feel a bit better before you tell anyone else about this.”
“I’d like that,” Clammask said with a sniffle. She let her paw dangle near her belly.
Her four sons were big personalities in their own rights. Who would these lovely kits become?
(Clammask: 57, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)
(Lemmy: 39, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)
(Spikecrash: 38, female, mediator, good speaker, lore keeper)
Terracottafoot helps Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick dream of the Dark Forest during Harvest Moon.
[Image ID: Weedfoot, Darkkick, and Paleseed stare down Newtstream, who is a Dark Forest spirit. Newtstream says, “I just want to spend my damnation in peace, and Autumnstar wants me to help make his curse worse.”]
---
This Harvest Moon was shaping up to be a lively one. As RippleClan settled around the Leader’s Stone in the early dawn light, setting up the decor of black pelts and with the other Clans, everyone found something to start their day with. Clammask, Lemmy, and Oilstripe joined a gaggle of queens, pregnant and nursing, all bonding over nursery experiences while some of Halibutdusk’s warrior friends teased them for their sudden relationship change. Mosspounce argued with the LynxClan artisans and caretakers over how to construct a temporary stove while Tempestshade and Elmsprout eagerly brought out the massive fish Carnationspeckle and Darkkick caught the night before. Rabbitjoy and Rattlepelt reunited with their artisan friends and explained their plans for RippleClan’s show about Leatherwaste and their careless deeds. Rapidleaf explained to her old Clanmates that no, she didn’t feel comfortable returning to LynxClan when her only living kin were distant RippleClan apprentices. Downstar happily shared tongues with Gorgestar and Ospreystar while Gentlestar and Eelstar (who bore a wrap over his nose) made sure everyone was settling in for the day.
And Paleseed? She was preparing for the fight of her life.
Most of the clerics were setting up spiritual protections around the clearing, guarding the five Clans from the Spirits of Shadow that would roam the territories that day. Terracottafoot, however, stood far from the rest of the Clans with Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick.
They had a jar of black dye on one side and a pile of early autumn leaves on the other. They rubbed their paw in the dye and gently nudged Weedfoot’s chin up. Terracottafoot ran their dyed paw from the base of Weedfoot’s chin to the center of her chest, a long black stripe like burnt meat. They did the same to Paleseed and Darkkick.
“Now I just need a spark to ignite these leaves, and we’ll begin,” Terracottafoot gulped, rubbing their black paw into the grass. “When you fall asleep, your souls will be transported to the Dark Forest. As many of the spirits there wander the forest tonight, you shouldn’t encounter as many enemies as you typically would. The burning of the leaves acts as a calling ritual. When you enter the Dark Forest, Autumnstar will feel called to you, even if he doesn’t realize it. You’ll find each other eventually.” Darkkick nodded along. Did she know of this ritual from her cleric days? What sort of dark powers did clerics hold in their hearts?
“What do we do when we find Autumnstar?” Paleseed asked.
“Make him stop hurting his Clan,” Terracottafoot sighed. “Convince him, fight him, do whatever you have to do. If he’s not stopped, the older generations of AshClan will all be dead by winter’s end.” Paleseed glanced back at the AshClan delegation. Save for Eelstar and Barkfur, every AshClan cat present was no more than a few years old. Would Paleshade leave them to die? No, Paleseed couldn’t keep asking what her namesake would do. But that was easier said than done.
“If Autumnstar is powerful enough to project a curse on AshClan,” Weedfoot muttered, “he’ll be a formidable foe in the Dark Forest.”
“He might have powers,” Paleseed said, “but he’ll still think like himself, won’t he? If we can’t outstrength him, we can outsmart him.” Hmm. Paleshade wasn’t much of a trickster. She would just give some grand speech and take Autumnstar down, if Weedfoot’s stories had any truth to them. Maybe Paleseed could bring more to the battle than a helpless mediator ready to be slaughtered.
“I’ll be right back,” Terracottafoot said, nodding with more enthusiasm than Paleseed had ever seen in the young cat. They hurried toward the main crowd, who continued to bicker about the stove as the sun battered the trees and fought its way into the clearing.
“It might be selfish to say this,” Weedfoot gulped, resting her tail on Paleseed, “but I’m glad you’ll be with us. I could use your support. Just promise me you’ll run if things get too dire.” Paleseed hesitated. Leave her mother and Darkkick to fight off Spirits of Shadow?
“That isn’t a request,” Darkkick huffed. “I still think you should stay here. The Dark Forest is no place for a non-combatant.”
“I really think I can help,” Paleseed said, raising her tail with false confidence. “If StarClan saw me with you, there’s something I can do to stop Autumnstar, something the two of you can’t.” To her surprise, Paleseed found herself believing her own words.
“You put more faith in what StarClan chooses to say than I do,” Darkkick muttered, fluffing her coat against a sudden breeze, “but so be it. I don’t doubt there’s something you could bring to this patrol.” Paleseed’s heather-blue eyes brightened at the compliment. Darkkick rolled her eyes, earning a chuckle from Weedfoot. At that moment, Terracottafoot slunk around the Leader’s Stone with a glowing stick in their jaws. Out of sight of most of the crowd, they ran back to Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick. They angled the stick against the leaves. The breeze sent sparks onto the dry tinder. The orange leaves began to glow.
“Lay down, quickly!” Terracottafoot ordered, setting down the stick.
“Wait,” Weedfoot huffed as smoke drifted from the leaves. “How are we supposed to get out of the Dark Forest once our job is done?”
“Do you know how you wake yourself up from a bad dream?” Terracottafoot grunted, nudging Paleseed’s flank down. “It’s just like that. Hurry, the leaves won’t burn long!” The three RippleClan cats laid around the smoldering leaves. Terracottafoot sat beside the tiny fire, eyes closed tight. It was hard to imagine falling asleep with the fire in her blood, but Paleseed closed her eyes as well, praying that the Ashes in the Water were standing beside her, guarding her spirit as it shifted from one world to another.
Paleseed thought she would feel the transition. She was literally traveling to another level of existence, why would she not notice when she left the clearing and entered the Place of No Stars itself? But she still felt the small warmth of the burning leaves. She still heard the happy crowd, just beginning to play a few instruments to welcome in the festive day. She could even smell Carnationspeckle’s fish! So how would she know when she arrived?
“Open your eyes, Paleseed,” Weedfoot whispered. “We’re here.”
When Paleseed obeyed her mother, the warmth and music and scent of freshly-caught fish evaporated. The sound of the Harvest Moon still rang in her ears, as though occurring deep within the ocean. Yet the grass was gray, like life and light had been sucked out from the roots. Paleseed looked up. Barren branches criss-crossed over a black sky. A huge, yellow full moon watched the land like a vengeful eye. There were no stars in that black ocean, no glow to the world but the harsh, biting moonlight that refracted off the fog. Said fog clung to the ground, nipping at Paleseed’s paws as she stood. The scent of wood-rot and fungus filled her lungs.
The Dark Forest was indeed that; dark, cold, absent of all the good in the world. Not a single conifer needle or leaf clung to the trees around the three RippleClan cats; instead, every branch poked and prodded at its neighbor for more room. There wasn’t even leaf litter to show there had ever been a summer in that barren land. Instead, mushrooms claimed the trees as their territory; flat, wide things of white and tan and brown. Even more mushrooms whose names Paleseed could not hope to guess sprouted from mounds poking out of the fog. Those mushrooms were the only life in the land. Bramble bushes speckled the shadowy landscape, thorns reaching out like fangs. Paleseed’s claws dug into the dry, red earth as a caterwaul echoed from somewhere deep within the forest.
“The stories were right about this place,” Darkkick scoffed, shaking out the mist and dust collecting on her fur. Paleseed instinctively pressed into Weedfoot. All three cats gathered around each other, taking in the cursed trees and the sharp shadows. Autumnstar was out there, somewhere, instinctively drawn toward the living cats, unaware of the fate that awaited him.
“Where do we start?” Paleseed gulped.
“You could start by leaving, if you’re smart.” Weedfoot and Darkkick jumped between Paleseed and the stranger’s voice. Paleseed followed the sound up into a dead pine. A black, mud-like ooze dripped from the ginger molly lounging on the branches overhead. A solid, glistening layer of ice covered her extremities and dulled her monotone fur.
“Newtstream,” Darkkick growled. She soothed her bristling fur and huffed, “It’s alright. She’ll pose no threat to us.”
“Terracottafoot sent you here, didn’t they?” Newtstream huffed. She jumped out of the tree and landed beside Darkkick. “The black marks on your chests, the sudden arrival on Harvest Moon… yes, it’s like I taught them. Why send RippleClan cats, however?”
“We’re here to stop Autumnstar’s curse,” Weedfoot explained, eyes stuck on Newtstream’s black goop.
“You were trying to save your Clanmates when you were alive,” Paleseed gulped, taking a risky step closer to the Dark Forest spirit. “There’s no reason for you to stop us.”
“What makes you think I’m trying to stop you?” Newtstream scoffed. “I’m just trying to spare you. It may be Harvest Moon, but deadly things still wander these woods.”
“We won’t be here any longer than we have to be,” Weedfoot said. “We’ll take care of Autumnstar and go.”
“I can’t say I’m too surprised to see you here,” Darkkick couldn’t help but grumble. “You did spit in StarClan’s face, after all.”
“I didn’t do enough to forgive myself, apparently,” Newtstream sighed, looking at the starless sky. “I just want to spend my damnation in peace, and Autumnstar wants me to help make his curse worse. The only thing keeping him from becoming as terrible as the worst Spirits of Shadow is his hurt ego. He feels his Clanmates, that StarClan himself, gave up on him and the virtues he tried to uphold. He could have led AshClan for many more moons if he let himself be wrong about your Clan. Instead, he spreads his frost across the Dark Forest and curses his Clanmates’ names. He’ll turn you into ice when he finds you.” As Newtstream monologued, Paleseed examined the dry grass around her. The entire forest looked like the aftermath of a great fire, destroying everything green in the world.
“Frost…” Paleseed muttered, looking back at the icy death wounds covering Newtstream’s extremities. “Autumnstar’s frostbite scars were some of his most famous characteristics. That’s why his curse is some form of eternal frostbite. The power of the Dark Forest exacerbates that legend. But frost has a big weakness. If… yes, if we don’t draw the attention of Spirits of Shadow…” Paleseed ran her paw against the harsh, rugged bark of a dead tree.
“What are you thinking, Paleseed?” Weedfoot asked. Paleseed turned back to the group, her eyes the brightest thing in the land.
“I have a plan to take care of Autumnstar,” Paleseed said.
(Darkkick: 123, trans female, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)
[Image ID: Downstar (now in an elder sprite), Rattlepelt, and Splashpaw look at Gentlestar, a brown tabby with a maple seed accessory, who introduces Asterpaw, a gray apprentice. Gentlestar says, “We’ve decided that if Asterpaw is going to give prey to every loner and kittypet he comes across, he would do better in the Clan that’s more supportive of that behavior.” Under Asterpaw, it says NEW PLAYER: ASTERPAW, 10, MALE, THOUGHTFUL, HAS LOTS OF IDEAS.]
---
As Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick dreamed unbeknownst to all but a trusted few, Downstar cheered with the rest of the Clans as WheatClan finished their performance on Shardlings, the broken pieces of destroyed souls fulfilling dark desires on loop. The young apprentices were a great decision to play the part of the Shardlings, even if they lacked an artisan’s acting skills. For who could get mad at excited youths performing with their friends and kin?
“Maybe we should have asked you to help with our Leatherwaste performance, huh Splashpaw?” Rattlepelt, who sat near Downstar, laughed to the purple-ribboned apprentice.
“I suppose you should have,” Splashpaw laughed, “but I’m almost a historian. I don’t think I would have the same effect as the six moon old apprentices.” Someone on the other side of the swarm of Clan cats called for a race. Suddenly, dozens of furry forms shoved past Downstar, ignorant of her position.
“A lot of energy, considering how close we are to sunhigh,” Downstar chuckled, smoothing out her disturbed pelt. “I’m ready for the feast.”
“It smells amazing,” Splashpaw purred, tasting the air. “We have this every Harvest Moon?”
“Hopefully you’ll have a lot more of these feasts in the years to come,” Rattlepelt chirped, picking up her fox pelt from where the excited crowd had shoved it off her back.
“Downstar! A moment, if you would!” Gentlestar weaved through the excited crowd, her maple seed necklace bouncing on her chest. The bright sun made her brown pelt look yellow. A small gray tom followed her, staring at Downstar.
“Your Clan put on an excellent show, Gentlestar,” Downstar purred as the WheatClan leader approached.
“So did yours,” Gentlestar chirped, touching noses with the RippleClan leader. “Hopefully we can share tongues some more later today. First, though, I wanted to introduce you to Asterpaw.” The gray apprentice stood beside Gentlestar, studying the three RippleClan cats before him. His fur was choppy, with a few small tabby markings along his face and tail. He was sleek compared to most WheatClan cats, who enjoyed the extra fat from their various herbs and crops in the bountiful moons.
“Greetings,” he said quietly, nodding to each RippleClan cat in turn.
“Are you a new apprentice?” Splashpaw asked. Asterpaw shifted back.
“He’s been an apprentice for over a season now,” Gentlestar explained, “but he hasn’t been allowed at Gatherings. I heard you used to be a troublemaker in your youth, Downstar. Asterpaw would want to challenge you for that title. He’s been the subject of three trials in the span of four moons.”
“What in StarClan’s name have you been doing?” Rattlepelt gasped as Asterpaw straightened up against the shocked expressions of those around him.
“I’ve been helping cats,” he huffed.
“Asterpaw has been caught numerous times stealing WheatClan resources and giving them to the southern farm cats,” Gentlestar said. A curt glare from the brown leader shut Asterpaw up. His yellow eyes screamed to talk back. “No matter how many times we’ve explained to Asterpaw that our prey and tools belong to us, he’ll still give what he can away.”
“That’s not something a leader would usually admit to another,” Downstar noted as Asterpaw grew stiff as wood, fighting back the urge to defend himself. “That sort of theft is a serious issue, Asterpaw.” The flood inside of the gray WheatClan tom broke free.
“I don’t always take things from camp!” he cried. “I make some of my own stuff, too. The farm cats have their own society to the south, and they don’t have our freedom to act with humans constantly watching them. If they’re struggling to hunt for themselves, I give them a spare mouse or my share of a meal. I only want to take care of them!”
“Except you’re supposed to take care of your Clanmates, not those outside WheatClan,” Gentlestar reminded him. This time, Asterpaw did not back down, glaring back at Gentlestar with righteous strength. Gentlestar simply sighed, looked back to Downstar, and said, “We’ve decided that if Asterpaw is going to give prey to every loner and kittypet he comes across, he would do better in the Clan that’s more supportive of that behavior.”
“Wait,” Rattlepelt said, “do you mean you want Asterpaw to join RippleClan?”
“He’s shown WheatClan that he cannot be trusted,” Gentlestar sighed. “The only other option after so many repeated offenses in so little time was exile.”
“RippleClan loves to help outsiders, right?” Asterpaw said, stepping away from Gentlestar. “You’ve invited a dozen loners to join your ranks at this point. You understand what I’m trying to do.”
“We’re kind to loners, yes,” Downstar said, glancing toward Lemmy in the gaggle of queens, “but we’re still wise with our resources. There’s a border between helping others and hurting your Clan. If you want to be a RippleClan cat, you need to understand that.”
“If you can teach him that lesson, WheatClan will be impressed,” Gentlestar said. “Beyond his issues, Asterpaw is a good caretaker and minds the camp well. While we will miss him, he and the Clan all agree this is for the best.” Asterpaw nodded along.
“Another caretaker apprentice from another Clan…” Downstar hummed. She couldn’t help but chuckle at history repeating itself. “I trained Elmsprout when she left AshClan. It seems only fair that I train another caretaker.”
“So I can join?” Asterpaw asked, standing as tall as he could despite his short stature.
“You can’t be stealing from us, though,” Rattlepelt noted. “I’ll know if you steal my leather.” She adjusted her fox pelt, rubbing her face into the red fur lining the outer side.
“If you’re as troublesome as Gentlestar claims you are,” Downstar chuckled, touching noses with Asterpaw, “you need a more experienced paw to guide you. If this is what you want, you can return to RippleClan with us at the end of Harvest Moon.” Asterpaw hooked his tail high, purring at his new leader.
A hiss slipped through the happy noise of the Harvest Moon. A sharp yelp spun Downstar’s head around. Far away from the rest of the crowd, Weedfoot, Paleseed, and Darkkick slept beside one another. Terracottafoot looped around them, using them as a wall between themself and Waspdawn, whose shortened tail thrashed violently and who bared his teeth like a dog.
“What did you do to Paleseed?” Waspdawn yowled. He tried to get around the sleeping cats and strike Terracottafoot, but the nimble cleric led the codekeeper on a loop, staying far from Waspdawn’s angry claws.
“Please, you can’t disturb them!” Terracottafoot begged. “This is more important than you realize!” Downstar ran toward Waspdawn and Terracottafoot, but Troutpool beat her there.
“Waspdawn, you can’t attack a cleric!” Troutpool yowled, grabbing Waspdawn by the scruff and pulling him back. Waspdawn squirmed out of Troutpool’s weak grasp.
“They did something to them!” Waspdawn hissed. Cats slipped away from the excitement of the distant race and formed a crowd of onlookers, all eyes on Waspdawn. “None of them will wake up!” Terracottafoot crouched by Darkkick, who did not wake up despite the chaos around her. Eelstar shoved his way to the front of the crowd. He shivered as he stood, even though the coming sunhigh made it feel almost like summer again.
“Terracottafoot, what is going on?” Eelstar huffed. Terracottafoot rose, gray eyes hardening as they stood down their leader.
“I did what your pride wouldn’t let you do,” they snapped. “I got help!” Downstar slipped beside Weedfoot. She nudged her deputy’s shoulder. Weedfoot did not stir. Downstar put her ear to Weedfoot’s mouth. She was still breathing. Downstar shook her again, harder, but to the same result.
“What’s on their chests?” Rattlepelt called from the crowd. Troutpool joined Downstar and Weedfoot. She lifted Weedfoot’s heavy head. Black dye smeared the bottom of her chin, a trail running down her chest. Darkkick and Paleseed had the same marks. Troutpool gasped and dropped Weedfoot’s head. Her whiskers pushed back and her wide eyes stared at Terracottafoot.
“I know this ritual,” Troutpool muttered as Rattlepelt joined her little sister, offering a comforting weight at her side. “Every cleric learns it, even though it’s incredibly taboo. Terracottafoot… why did you send them to the Dark Forest?” Fearful gasps and yowls rippled around the Leader’s Stone. Codekeepers instantly fought to keep RippleClan and AshClan cats alike from swarming the scene, pushing and smacking them back with sheathed claws. Downstar shivered just like Eelstar.
“Because they’re going to save my Clan,” said Terracottafoot, whose characteristic insecurity vanished like morning mist against the outrage of the five Clans, whose gray eyes continued to stare down Eelstar, almost taunting him to speak against his only cleric.
(Downstar: 122, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)
[Image ID: Darkkick and Weedfoot face down Autumnstar, a Dark Forest soul. Weedfoot says, “You couldn’t rest in peace, could you Autumnstar?”]
---
Paleseed would be the one to spring the trap. It was her idea, after all, and it would keep her out of the fight. Newtstream had wandered off, unable (or perhaps unwilling) to assist anymore than she had. That left Weedfoot and Darkkick standing among the trees. Waiting. Watching. Holding their breath at the slightest shift in wind.
“Are we sure Autumnstar will come this way?” Weedfoot asked.
“Terracottafoot’s performance of the ritual was sound,” Darkkick huffed. “Autumnstar’s spirit is being pulled our direction as we speak.” Weedfoot peered into the moonlit fog. The trees grew hazy the farther she looked. A distant howl filled the silence between the pair.
“Darkkick,” Weedfoot said softly, “if I don’t wake up, make sure my family knows why I did this.”
“If I don’t,” Darkkick said, “tell Spikecrash I’ve enjoyed growing closer to her.”
“I’ll tell her you loved her,” Weedfoot purred.
The moonlight in the distance glinted against yellow eyes. Weedfoot froze, and not just out of fear. A thin coat of frost crawled under the fog, lurching from the shadows. It stung at Weedfoot’s pads and forced her back. Darkkick shivered through it. Ginger and white paws, sticky with goo and shimmering with frost, stepped out of the haze. Ice ate at his scar tissue. The face that came into view was not one of malice, but shock.
“Is that you, Weedfoot?” Autumnstar gasped. The frost grew thicker and thicker where he stood. The frost collected over Weedfoot’s paws, trying to glue her to the dead grass. Weedfoot kept moving, shifting her stance and breaking the ice. “You’re not a cat I expected to see here. Especially not alive. And Darkkick, of all cats! I never expected to see your face again. So you’ve joined up with Weedfoot and her kin. Did you send the pair of you here?” Darkkick raised her hackles, hissing.
“You couldn’t rest in peace, could you Autumnstar?” Weedfoot growled. “Do you even realize you’re hurting your Clan? Your Clanmates are dying, you’ve cursed them. You need to undo it.”
“I wondered if my anger held the power so many artisans and historians claimed it did in this place,” Autumnstar muttered, lifting a paw and allowing his cursed goop to drip onto the dead grass. “If that is how their betrayal manifests, so be it. May StarClan judge their foxhearted ways just as they judged me.”
“I would have thought you’d curse RippleClan,” Darkkick scoffed.
“You may not believe me, but I know the truth about your Clan now,” Autumnstar snapped. A flick of his tail sent ice sprinkling onto the side of a withered oak. “Our ancestors decided five Clans can exist around StarClan’s Shrine. My fight is not with RippleClan.”
“AshClan is full of your friends, your kin,” Weedfoot yowled. “I remember how much you cared for them. Why hurt them?”
“Why do you care?” Autumnstar groaned like an impatient apprentice. “You’re not AshClan anymore. The culture and traditions I fought to uphold mean nothing to you now.”
“I did care!” Darkkick yowled, marching closer. A flash of frost shot out from around Autumnstar. It struck at Darkkick’s legs, leaving crystals on her long fur. She hissed, gritting her teeth as her legs buckled. “I cared about AshClan up to the moment you exiled me for following StarClan’s decree! How is that ‘upholding tradition’?”
“I exiled you because I thought you were lying,” Autumnstar growled. “Why would I believe StarClan would suddenly side with the cats sewing discord into my Clan, working against so many of the values I held dear? I thought it was a conspiracy, that you had been won over. I stopped the war when I learned the truth. I respected RippleClan’s land, became civil to Downstar. And what did I get for changing my ways? StarClan struck me down. The friends and kin I spent my life defending began to curse my name. Of course I cursed them back!” Weedfoot couldn’t feel her paws. Her skin burned from the cold. Ice pinned her fur to her skin. It grew thicker and thicker. Pulling away grew harder and harder until all Weedfoot and Darkkick could do was squirm in their crystal chrysalis. “I fight for my Clan, only to be spat on for my efforts. If they’ll call me a curse on their Clan, that’s just what I’ll be!”
“Paleseed!” Weedfoot yowled. Her eyes turned to the treetops over Autumnstar. Flames danced in front of the giant moon. It licked at the end of a pointy gray branch. Paleseed stood defiant in the lifeless tree, holding the stick high, teeth dug tight into the bark. The fire brightened her spotted fur and burned her heather eyes.
Paleseed set the flame to the tree. The fire eagerly jumped to the dry tinder. Brilliant orange light exploded against the fog. Paleseed ran and jumped from one tree to another, setting each aflame.
“Are you mad?” Autumnstar roared. “You’ll kill yourselves before you kill me!” Blood pooled in Weedfoot’s paws in response to the sudden heat. Frost turned to dew. Darkkick lifted herself from the grass, shaking the quickly melting ice off her long black fur like dust. In the shining firelight, Autumnstar seemed like any other opponent Weedfoot had overcome before.
Darkkick attacked first. She head-butted Autumnstar, knocking him toward the flames, now leaping to other trees of its own merit. Weedfoot struck Autumnstar upside the head before he could collect himself. They rolled through the fog, two against one. Weedfoot’s pelt grew soaked as she fell on her back, saved only by Darkkick dragging Autumnstar away.
“It’s done!” Paleseed cried. In between flashes of fur and fang, fire consumed every exit. The heat replaced Autumnstar’s supernatural chill entirely. Paleseed stood on the other side of the fire, coughing, eyes watering at the smoke that now ate at the moon.
“You’ve weakened him!” Weedfoot cheered as she freed Darkkick from Autumnstar’s strong hold. “There’s nothing else you can do here, Paleseed. You need to wake up.”
“I don’t know how!” Paleseed yowled. “This doesn’t feel like a dream!”
“You can see, but your eyes feel closed, don’t they?” Darkkick snapped, dodging Autumnstar’s strike. “You can still hear Harvest Moon in the distance. That’s how it is for us. Force your eyes open! Listen to the crowd!”
“I love you both!” Paleseed cried. Her wide gaze held Weedfoot’s attention, even as she scratched and clawed at Autumnstar. The fire blossomed, rising like the tide and receding just as fast. Paleseed was gone. Paleseed was safe.
A lucky blow; Weedfoot kicked her leg back, only for Autumnstar to lock his fangs deep into her ankle. He was a rattlesnake, injecting cold poison into Weedfoot’s blood. The deputy yowled and shivered as Autumnstar’s icy claws continued to spread his mouth’s icy venom. That close to the flesh, the fire could do nothing to stop his dark power. Weedfoot dug into Autumnstar’s face, even as her leg remained stuck in the dead leader’s vicious bite.
Darkkick slid on her back, appearing under Autumnstar’s stomach. She pushed up, hard as she could. Autumnstar’s fangs lifted from Weedfoot’s ankle with a vibrant spurt of blood. Weedfoot’s spasming muscles kicked Autumnstar away.
Here are the fallen Ashes in the Water, the AshClan cats who stood against their Clanmates and asked for a different life; Lavenderleaf, Redcloud, Sprucespring, Wasppaw, Finstrike, Burdockstream, and Paleshade. StarClan knew of their mission and accepted their cause, welcoming the group into StarClan despite how they turned against their Clan. This is for them!
Weedfoot slashed at Autumnstar’s eyes. Autumnstar shrieked, trying to blink the blood away. Darkkick fulfilled her namesake; she kicked, hard, right against Autumnstar’s side, sending the suddenly blinded leader stumbling into Paleseed’s flames.
The effect was nearly instant. As Autumnstar caterwauled, form flailing in the fire, sharp-angled shadows bounced off his silhouette. Shardlings. The living shadows, with too pointy ears and fang-tips for tails, the broken remnants of a Dark Forest soul, dead twice-over. They scattered with the smoke, mimicking their host’s fading screams. Autumnstar grew smaller and smaller in the fire’s glow.
Weedfoot turned to Darkkick, wondering, praying, screaming inside, still absorbing the pain in her leg and everything unfolding around her. But Darkkick was gone. Darkkick was safe.
But Weedfoot bore witness. She was still a historian. This was her duty.
The last shadow of Autumnstar shifted and danced in the fire, with only its ears and tail suggesting a feline shape. But this Shardling did not bounce into the Dark Forest to search for its broken kin. No, this Shardling stared at Weedfoot. Bright yellow eyes glared at her with more hatred than any soul, dead or alive, could muster. It screeched with a sound like screaming wind. Flames reaching out to restrain it, the Shardling launched at Weedfoot.
Weedfoot was not safe.
[Image ID: Darkkick, Paleseed, and Weedfoot sit together as Rattlepelt tells Weedfoot, “I’ve got you, Weedfoot!” Under Weedfoot, it says + CONDITION: MANGLED LEG. Under Rattlepelt, it says LEVEL UP! FIERCE -> BLOODTHIRSTY.]
Weedfoot screamed. She spasmed against the gray… no. The green grass. The grass was green again. The voices that once whispered far in the distance were now up close and yowling. The sun. The sun had returned, dancing directly over the Leader’s Stone. A huge crowd surrounded Weedfoot, gasping and yowling in response to her sudden panic.
“I’ve got you, Weedfoot!” Rattlepelt sat at Weedfoot’s side. She wrapped her prized fox pelt around Weedfoot’s burning leg. It was still bleeding, even though Weedfoot’s body never entered that cursed forest. “Troutpool and the other clerics are making emergency bandages.” Rattlepelt pressed both front paws into Weedfoot’s wounds. A bit of blood stained her gray skin.
“We weren’t putting on a show here.” Darkkick! She and Paleseed sat with Terracottafoot, cleaning the black dye off their chests with wet moss rather than groom it and get sick.
“I did try to send them away,” Terracottafoot gulped.
“Move, that’s our mother!” Weedfoot’s four other kits pushed through the crowd, Waspdawn in the lead. The golden tom ran into Weedfoot. Puddlewhisper and Lavendertwist wrapped around their mother. Even Scaleripple, sensitive as he was, laid his head on Weedfoot’s tail, purring. Paleseed left Darkkick and Terracottafoot to join her family. Waspdawn tackled his sister, trying to hold both kin close. James trailed after them, lucious tail tucked under his legs.
“Where are you hurt?” James asked. He noticed Rattlepelt’s bloody paws and groaned, closing his eyes. “No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to look. I’m just grateful you’re awake.” Weedfoot couldn’t help but laugh; even as she awoke from a battle in the Dark Forest, James was still the snob she knew and love. James pressed into Weedfoot’s neck.
“Weedfoot.” Weedfoot’s family shifted to reveal Downstar, standing with Eelstar at the front of the crowd. “Terracottafoot told us of their vision and your quest. You should have told me about this.”
“This wasn’t your problem to solve,” Eelstar said. His voice lacked its usual bite as he stared at the fox pelt around her leg.
“I’m sorry, Downstar,” Weedfoot gulped, voice shaky from the experience, “but this was too important to let you stop us. StarClan said we were the best ones to handle Autumnstar.”
“It was terrifying to see,” Lavendertwist gulped. “Mom, you and Darkkick were just laying there, shivering! And then all these scratches and bruises began to appear, even though no one was touching you! And then your leg opened up, it was… I don’t even know what to say! What happened in the Dark Forest?”
Yes… what had happened? The Shardling had had its jaw around Weedfoot’s throat. It should have killed her. It wasn’t a thinking being, it was a bundle of lost emotion and instinct, a small piece of what used to be Autumnstar. It didn’t have the capacity to spare. So why did it? All five Clans stared at Weedfoot, awaiting her answer. What could she say? Only the truth.
Drumpaw realizes he’s really a tom and Lemmy recovers from her yellowcough.
[Image ID: The image features Drumpaw and Lemmy. Under Drumpaw, it says LEVEL UP! FEMALE -> TRANS MALE. Under Lemmy, it reads - CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH.]
(Drumpaw: 8, trans male, caretaker apprentice, loyal, moss-ball hunter)
(Lemmy: 36, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)
Trumpetspore notices Rapidleaf sulking around camp again.
[Image ID: Parsley, Trumpetspore, and Leatherpaw watch Rapidleaf. Under Leatherpaw, it says LEVEL UP! VENGEFUL -> CONFIDENT.]
---
Something about Rapidleaf unnerved Trumpetspore.
Perhaps it was her unusual arrival, interrupting her own cousin’s vigil in a daze. Perhaps it was her refusal to be escorted back to LynxClan, even though she could make the journey and recover at home. Perhaps it was her silence, despite question after question from Puddlewhisper and Waspdawn. Trumpetspore’s best guess? It was her eyes, blue and haunted, as she crouched near the back of the medicine den and sculked to the dirtplace.
“Ms. Downstar and Weedfoot would never dream of forcing Ms. Rapidleaf out, not after what’s happened,” Parsley said as Trumpetspore and Leatherpaw shared some broth with her before the Gathering. “But I don’t like how shifty she’s been.”
“Could LynxClan be planning an attack?” Leatherpaw wondered.
“And they drowned one of their warriors as what, a threat?” Parsley scoffed. Leatherpaw dipped his head back into the bowl, drowning his embarrassment in food.
“There she is,” Trumpetspore whispered, eyes locked on the medicine den. Rapidleaf stepped into the setting sun. She let out a watery cough and slowly crossed camp. It was the furthest Trumpetspore had seen her from the medicine den since the vigil. Rapidleaf approached the stove, where Rabbitjoy and Tempestshade were giving everyone their share of broth. Rapidleaf spoke quietly to the pair, too quiet for Trumpetspore to hear. Soon though, she had a bowl of her own, which she carried back to the medicine den.
“She doesn’t seem that odd,” Leatherpaw noted.
“I just don’t like how she showed up,” Parsley huffed. “Like she’s replacing my old friend.”
“No one’s going to replace Scrubmask,” Trumpetspore promised, her paw touching Parsley’s. “Oilstripe is already calling her the Celestial of RippleClan Warriors!”
“All cats old enough to catch their own prey, gather below the Shiprock for a Clan meeting!” Trumpetspore had a few more licks of broth as the Clan gathered below Downstar, who looked far stronger than she had been in recent moons. Soon, Trumpetspore, Parsley, Leatherpaw, and many of their Clanmates were on their way to the Gathering, welcoming in the warm summer.
Trumpetspore helped carry a pot she sculpted at the end of spring, the perfect sort for boiling. She wasn’t an artisan, of course, but she’d developed some friendships through trading at Gatherings and other holidays, so she could trade the pot with WheatClan for good picks of their early summer crops. She carefully carried the pot on her back, strapped down with some of Rattlepelt and Rabbitjoy’s well-crafted leather straps. Trumpetspore’s back ached from the long walk to the Leader’s Stone, but it would be worth sampling some of WheatClan’s wonderful delicacies.
As the RippleClan delegation neared the cliff leading to the Leader’s Stone, Trumpetspore noted that the crowd above seemed quieter than usual. It was only noticeable to more attentive cats, but Trumpetspore was sure of it; the Clans weren’t as chatty as they typically were. RippleClan was almost always the last Clan to arrive, considering their distance, so surely all the other Clans were there. Trumpetspore kept her ears perked as she carefully followed the trail up, eyeing her pot.
The answer became clear when Trumpetspore broke through the thick summer growth and into the fire-lit clearing. LynxClan typically sat on the far western side of the clearing, closer to their own borders. To Trumpetspore’s surprise, there were only a few cats sitting over there. The other three Clans kept glancing LynxClan’s way, muttering amongst themselves, but no one had the courage to ask their burning questions yet. The mystery deepened when Trumpetspore turned her attention to the Leader’s Stone itself. A white tom with green-yellow eyes and a few small brown spots sat below Eelstar (who looked shockingly frostbitten, despite the season), Gorgestar, and Gentlestar (Sanderlingstar had passed moons ago), his stance tall despite his position on the bottom level of the rock. Trumpetspore recognized him; it was Ospreytongue! He was a LynxClan mediator. Trumpetspore had gotten to know him a few times while escorting Rabbitjoy or Spikecrash to meetings. What was he doing on the Leader’s Stone? He wasn’t deputy, and Trumpetspore was certain Mistlestar still had a few lives left. Yet Fluttertooth, a LynxClan warrior, sat with the other deputies (Barkfur, Lettucecloud, and Ratbreeze).
“I don’t like the look of this,” Parsley grumbled as RippleClan set out their goods and took their spot on the far eastern side of the clearing. Downstar climbed to the top of the Leader’s Stone, sitting just below Gorgestar. She glanced up at her old friend and former leader, but Gorgestar looked as confused as everyone else.
“I say we don’t waste time on proper introductions tonight,” Eelstar barked once Downstar was settled. “Ospreytongue, where in the Dark Forest are your leader and deputy? Where’s the rest of your Clan?”
“It’s Ospreystar now,” the white tom sighed. Every cat in the clearing tensed as they awaited whatever awful news the new leader had in store. The few faces from LynxClan cast their heads down. “Esteemed members of the five Clans, I am afraid a deep and unspeakable tragedy has befallen LynxClan, the likes of which has not been seen in many moons.” Eelstar shifted uncomfortably. “Less than a moon ago, a cougar appeared in LynxClan territory. It broke into our camp and decimated our numbers. Kits, elders, every rank of our Clan felt a hard loss. Our deputy was the first to die. Mistlestar gave the rest of their lives to drive the beast away. The…” Ospreystar’s voice broke for a moment. “The cats you see here represent half of our remaining population.”
Mournful wails and gasps broke through the crowd. Half? That couldn’t be! The LynxClan delegation was smaller than RippleClan’s caretakers and codekeepers alone! Only that many cats survived? Their Clan had been so big before…
“You’re hardly a year old yourself, Ospreystar,” Gentlestar whined, her long brown fur blowing in the sudden cold wind. “How did a young mediator end up the new leader of LynxClan?”
“Our only remaining cleric, Curlglow, interpreted StarClan’s will,” Ospreystar explained. “Our ancestors believe I am the best fit to help LynxClan recover from this tragedy. We ask for whatever aid you can provide us in the coming moons. Medicine, food, we’ll take all the help we’re offered.”
“SlugClan shall do what it can,” Gorgestar promised.
“So will RippleClan,” Downstar said. “Words can’t describe the horror you’ve gone through, Ospreystar. I can only hope my Clan can offer a shred of good news. One of your warriors, Rapidleaf, is still alive and recovering in RippleClan’s camp.” The LynxClan cats lit up like blazing fires. Hope sparked in their eyes as they got to their paws, itching to yowl their questions.
“How long has she been there?” Ospreystar gasped, lips curled. “Why didn’t you tell LynxClan prior to tonight?”
“We tried, Ospreystar,” Downstar groaned. “I sent two different patrols to your border, and both times they returned empty-mouthed. They never encountered your warriors.” Ospreystar shrunk slightly, giving his chest an embarrassed lick.
“Our patrols have been sporadic while we’ve regained our footing,” he explained.
“How exactly did a LynxClan warrior make it all the way to RippleClan?” Gentlestar hummed. “It’s far from a simple journey.”
“She had water in her lungs when she stumbled into our camp,” Downstar said. “She was half-drowned and delirious. She’s still recovering under the care of Troutpool and Honeypaw.”
“Most of LynxClan’s border with the Great Northern River is lined with cliffs,” Ospreystar mumbled, eyes searching through his memory. “It’s the only real water source she could have drowned in. Last we saw of Rapidleaf, she joined Mistlestar’s patrol to chase out the cougar. No one made it home. What has she told you?”
“She won’t explain herself,” Downstar huffed.
“May I make an educated guess as to what happened?” Gentlestar asked. “It seems to me that in the battle against the cougar, Rapidleaf must have fallen into the Great Northern River and been swept all the way to RippleClan. The trauma of the situation combined with her near-death experience would be enough to rattle anyone’s memory. It’s possible she won’t explain the situation because she has no answers for you.”
“When can she return home?” Ospreystar asked Downstar. “We need all the paws we can.” LynxClan yowled their agreement, sharing the joy of a lost friend’s homecoming with the other Clans. Trumpetspore and Leatherpaw glanced at each other awkwardly.
“We’ll discuss that in private,” Downstar assured the young leader. “RippleClan will give what we can to help LynxClan rebuild itself.”
The rest of the Gathering continued on in some vague semblance of normalcy, but Trumpetspore couldn’t stop thinking; from the way Rapidleaf acted, she remembered something about how she arrived in RippleClan. Was her silence a way to avoid returning to a home filled with tragedy and mourning?
(Trumpetspore: 21, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)
(Downstar: 119, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)
Lavendertwist wants to better remember lost friends, and decides to quietly become a historian.
[Image ID: Lavendertwist stands proud on screen.]
(Lavendertwist: 26, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)
Terracottafoot asks to speak with Weedfoot, Darkkick, and Paleseed privately.
[Image ID: Terracottafoot, now an adult, says to Weedfoot, Paleseed, and Darkkick (now in an elder sprite), “I’m not going to reject help just because it doesn’t come from AshClan.”]
---
“Paleseed, do you have any idea what this meeting is about?” Weedfoot hummed as she, Darkkick, and Paleseed made their way to the AshClan border, following the setting sun.
“I know as much as you do, Mom,” Paleseed sighed. “Terracottafoot is a good kit. Whatever they want to talk about, they mean no harm.”
“I would have thought their mentor would have poisoned them against me,” Darkkick muttered. Old age had smacked her across the face like a tidal wave; it seemed she sprouted a Gathering’s worth of gray hairs in a single night.
“Maybe we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Paleseed suggested. The announcement about Newtstream’s death had slipped through the chaos of the Gathering as the Clans all gathered together to support poor LynxClan. After all, it seemed AshClan had a notice of death to give every other moon, so why would Newtstream’s death be anything of note?
While the Clans busied themselves after the announcements with comforting words and plans for LynxClan, Terracottafoot had slipped away from the other clerics and asked Paleseed to bring herself, her mother, and Darkkick to the AshClan border the following sunset. They hadn’t said anything more before other AshClan cats pushed by them, still focused on LynxClan. A day later, as the three RippleClan cats made their way to the border, Paleseed had a theory. She kept quiet for now, waiting to see what Terracottafoot actually thought.
The ginger cat was waiting for the group when they arrived. Terracottafoot paced the border, fur raised, meowing under their breath. Their head and tail shot up when they heard the RippleClan cats approach. Their worry escaped in a loud sigh.
“You came!” Terracottafoot gasped. “Thank you, thank you! We need to be quick about this. Eelstar and Barkfur will be furious if they find out I’m meeting you.”
“I’ve never had a chance to speak with you,” Darkkick muttered, eyes narrowed at the young cleric, “but you were Newtstream’s apprentice. How could someone who trained under her do something she would have despised?”
“Because I love my Clan, Warrior Darkkick,” Terracottafoot gulped, standing as tall as they could, “and StarClan’s told me you can help. I’m not going to reject help just because it doesn’t come from AshClan.”
“We’re listening,” Weedfoot said, taking a seat by the border. Paleseed sat beside her mother, but Darkkick remained standing.
“This is about what Waspdawn and I saw, isn’t it?” Paleseed asked softly. “The early autumn frostbite. Eelstar’s absences from Gatherings. All the deaths of the last year.” Terracottafoot, despite having their name for a few moons by then, still looked like the nervous, tiny apprentice Paleseed met by the border a year ago. It took them a minute to find their words.
“I don’t want things to be like this,” Terracottafoot finally grunted. “I don’t want to be caring for my entire Clan all the time! You might not believe this, but I’m actually a rather well-spoken and confident cat most of the time. I would like to be like that more of the time. I just… I can’t be that cat while Autumnstar is haunting us!” Weedfoot and Darkkick moved in closer. Paleseed shrunk into herself slightly at the old leader’s mention. He never harmed you personally, Paleseed, remember that, you’re reacting in empathy with your mother and all she lost.
“It would be best to start from the beginning,” Weedfoot huffed. Terracottafoot nodded, almost shaking their head off.
“Autumnstar got sick during my kithood,” Terracottafoot explained. “He kept losing lives, and he would have these fits where he couldn’t leave his den for days. Eelstar and Newtstream kept it secret, no one else knew about it. Newtstream tried performing a ritual with some rosemary blessed carvings, but it didn’t work. He still died. Newtstream said StarClan punished him for being angry toward RippleClan. She said he couldn’t fight you anymore knowing you had StarClan’s guidance, but he got mad at everyone else instead.” Terracottafoot could have been a historian in another life, Paleseed noted as her heartbeat filled her ears.
“After he died, Newtstream thought that was the end of it,” Terracottafoot gulped. “But then cats started shivering, and they couldn’t stop. It was like they were freezing to death, no matter how many pelts we put on them or how big our fire was. Newtstream asked StarClan what was happening and… they said it was Autumnstar. He was in the Dark Forest, and he was angry at his Clan and punishing them.”
“Good,” Darkkick snapped, making the other three cats jump. “As soon as Autumnstar denied StarClan’s vision of RippleClan, I knew he was too absorbed in his own image of Clan stability to make it to StarClan some day.” Paleseed’s pelt burned at the thought of praising someone’s imprisonment in the Dark Forest. Weedfoot stayed still.
“StarClan gave Newtstream a ritual to perform with items representing things Autumnstar hated,” Terracottafoot said. “That’s when I met you, Paleseed. We needed RippleClan horsetail to represent his hate of RippleClan. It would work for a bit to slow down symptoms or cure cats for a bit, but they would eventually freeze again. It hit Eelstar the worst. He… no, I shouldn’t say that.” He’d lost more than one life. Paleseed was certain that was the hidden message. “The curse only targets cats who were alive during the war with your Clan, so I’ve been immune. I’ve been working myself to death helping with the ritual and treating cats, and I can only do so much. My Clan is dying.”
“Why did you ask for our help, then?” Weedfoot asked.
“Newtstream passed not long ago,” Terracottafoot said, voice dropping. “I didn’t know what to do without her. At the last half-moon meeting, I met someone in StarClan. Celestial Paleshade.” A shiver creeped up Paleseed’s spine. “She showed me a vision. I saw the three of you running through a frost-covered forest as leaves fell around you. When you passed a tree, the frost melted off the bark. I believe you three are what my Clan needs to stop Autumnstar.”
“But Autumnstar’s dead, Terracottafoot,” Paleseed gulped. “We can’t fight him. We aren’t clerics. We don’t have your connection to StarClan. He isn’t even in StarClan.” Terracottafoot glanced at the sky, where the first few stars showed their face. Paleseed felt a hundred eyes on her pelt.
“There is a way,” Terracottafoot whispered. “It’s forbidden except in the most hopeless of situations, but if Celestial Paleshade showed me this vision, I believe we have StarClan’s approval. When Harvest Moon arrives, the border between the living world and the Dark Forest is at its weakest. I can put the three of you to sleep and send your souls to the Dark Forest. From there, you can find Autumnstar and stop this.” Paleseed couldn’t stop shaking. The Dark Forest? Where the worst souls of the Clans stalked the trees? Where Spirits of Shadow lurked around every bush?
“My daughter is a mediator,” Weedfoot growled, pushing against Paleseed. “She doesn’t fight. It would be mouse-brained to send her there.”
“But she bears Celestial Paleshade’s name!” Terracottafoot whined. “And the two of you were two of his greatest enemies. I believe you have a spiritual power against him that no AshClan cat could match. If I sent anyone else there, they wouldn’t wake up again, I know it. StarClan wants it to be you three. You have to save my Clan.”
Paleseed glanced at Weedfoot and Darkkick. Both seemed moons away, eyes unseeing. Darkkick’s tail thrashed. Weedfoot licked Paleseed’s shoulder.
“You would want to do this during Harvest Moon?” Weedfoot said. “When the Spirits of Shadow are strongest?”
“They focus their attention on the living world, not their own,” Terracottafoot stuttered. “Visiting them in the Dark Forest would… well, there would be fewer spirits to contend with, to begin.”
“We need some time to think about this,” Weedfoot huffed. “You can’t expect us to agree to such a dangerous mission for the sake of a Clan that tried to kill us. Not immediately, at the very least.” Darkkick growled under her breath, shaking her head.
“You have a whole season to decide,” Terracottafoot said. They glanced behind them and said, “I need to return to camp. I have a lot of cats to care for. I… I pray you say yes, Deputy Weedfoot. I don’t know what AshClan would do without you.” They met Paleseed’s eyes. The hope and fear in their gaze slashed at Paleseed like claws. With that, Terracottafoot ran into AshClan territory, leaving the three RippleClan cats with their new burden.
