#terracottapaw

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 60

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)

(Rapidleaf: 78, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

(Parsley: 154, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

(Leatherpaw: 8, male, warrior apprentice, confident, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

(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.

(Weedfoot: 109, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Paleseed: 26, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

(Darkkick: 120, trans female, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 48

Weedfoot and James discover that Scalekit is extremely sensitive to certain sounds and textures. He starts crying at the feeling of leather.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and James stand behind Scalekit, who is an older kit now. Under Scalekit, it says + NEW SKILL: AVID PLAY-FIGHTER, + PERMANENT CONDITION: SENSORY SENSITIVITIES. Fennelspot tells the group, “We’re a sensitive species. Some more than others.”]

(James: 124, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Weedfoot: 97, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Scalekit: 1, male, kit, lonesome, avid play-fighter)

(Fennelspot: 105, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

Rustshade tells himself he cannot let his feelings consume him, he must move on. Clammask’s grief begins to lessen. Weedfoot picks herself out of her nest and begins her day anew, a fresh conviction in her heart.

[Image ID: Rustshade, Clammask, and Weedfoot stand together. Under each of them, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

(Rustshade: 92, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Clammask: 42, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Weedfoot: 97, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Spikecrash and Darkkick have both healed, but remain scarred by their injuries.

[Image ID: Spikecrash has a small scar at the base of her tail, while Darkkick has scars wrapping his tail. Under Spikecrash, it says - CONDITION: BROKEN BACK. Under Darkkick, it says - CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL.]

(Spikecrash: 23, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Darkkick: 108, male, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

The new cleric apprentice from AshClan, Terracottapaw, comes asking for horsetail. They refuse to say why AshClan needs them but RippleClan still provides them with horsetail.

[Image ID: Paleseed tells a ginger tabby apprentice with white markings “You can talk to me if you’d like.”]

---

“I can’t believe I have another mediator to work with!” Paleseed cheered as she walked alongside Spikecrash. “I thought it would be ages before I had someone else with my training to help.”

“You can’t really call it training,” Spikecrash reminded her, features squishing together in awkward humility. “It’s just lived experience.”

“I’m just glad I’m not alone in this,” Paleseed purred, rubbing against Spikecrash. “I was worried I would ruin everything without help.”

“I’m sure you would have been fine without me,” Spikecrash sighed.

The pair approached the AshClan border near the end of a long, hot day. Bugs swarmed around Paleseed’s face and made her nose itch. A bug bute swelled in Spikecrash’s ear. The mediators almost couldn’t breathe through the thick humidity, but still they pressed on, hoping the cool night would quell some of the bugs. When the border came into view, there were already a few mediators waiting for them. There was Shellstripe, whom had offered a lot of valuable training during Gatherings and meetings. Two of Paleseed’s good friends, Frogbelly and Eveningshade, waited as well. An unfamiliar ginger apprentice lingered behind them, carefully eyeing the approaching cats.

“Ready for your first mediator meeting?” Paleseed asked, taking a deep breath.

“I think you are more nervous than I am,” Spikecrash said before pressing on. She and Paleseed stopped just a tail-length from the border, batting away gnats that tried to crawl onto their eyes.

“Good evening, Paleseed!” Frogbelly chirped, fur fluffing up at the sight of his friend. When he and the other AshClan cats spotted Spikecrash, he said “Oh, a new friend! Newtstream mentioned a potential future mediator in RippleClan!”

“Everyone, this is Spikecrash,” Paleseed explained, gently nudging Spikecrash’s chin up. “A horse broke her back, so we brought her to camp. She decided to become a mediator while she healed!”

“Recovering from a broken back is impressive, Mediator Spikecrash,” Eveningshade purred, bowing slightly. “Your clerics are skilled. StarClan must have blessed your recovery.”

“I’ll have this scar for the rest of my life,” Spikecrash sighed, showing off the deep gouge a bit above her tail, “but I can walk. The scar still aches sometimes.”

“Better some aches than to be paralyzed,” Eveningshade said with a dismissive flick of her whiskers.

“We were going to talk about how we can improve relations between our Clans, what with one of our apprentices abandoning us for your ranks,” Shellstripe gulped, “but we should start by getting to know you better, Mediator Spikecrash. Perhaps soon enough, we’ll be able to drop the honorific. I am Shellstripe, and this is Eveningshade and Frogbelly.” The gray and lilac cats stood taller when their names were spoken.

“You haven’t introduced this one yet,” Paleseed said. She nodded to the ginger cat lingering behind the group. “You must be newly apprenticed. What’s your name?”

“I am Terracottapaw,” the apprentice gulped, carefully slinking between the mediators. “I am Newtstream’s apprentice.” They squeezed their eyes tight and said very quickly, as though under interrogation, “I may smell like a tom but I am not a tom and want you to think of me as something else with they and them!”

“No need to be nervous, Terracottapaw!” Paleseed said. She crouched a bit to reach the small apprentice’s level. “My sister Puddlewhisper used to be a tom too. If you ever need a friend to talk to, I’m sure she’d love to chat with you at the next Gathering. It’s not the same experience, but she could help!” Terracottapaw nodded stiffly, not meeting Paleseed’s heather eyes.

“I thought this meeting was just for mediators,” Spikecrash noted. “What is a cleric apprentice doing here?”

“I have an official request for RippleClan,” Terracottapaw mumbled. Paleseed almost couldn’t hear them.

“Why don’t you and I step to the side?” Paleseed suggested, nodding to a tree that straddled the border. “Spikecrash can get acquainted with the other mediators that way.” Spikecrash stiffened as Frogbelly suddenly bombarded her with questions. Terracottapaw slunk away. Paleseed followed on her side of the border until they stopped by the trunk of the bordering tree. She rubbed against the tree, rubbing away bugs swarming her face.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Terracottapaw,” Paleseed said as the young apprentice carefully sat, “but why is Newtstream not here with you? It’s a big task to send a new apprentice out without their mentor.”

“We need horsetail, if your Clan has any to spare,” Terracottapaw asked softly. 

“Wouldn’t it be better to ask SlugClan for horsetail?” Paleseed suggested. “Their territory is better suited to growing horsetail. They’d be more likely to have extra.”

“Do you not have some?” Terracottapaw stammered, eyes wide. “Please! Newtstream said it has to come from RippleClan for the ritual to work!”

“Ritual?” Paleseed said. “What do you mean?” Terracottapaw squeezed their muzzle shut tight. They glanced toward the mediators, who were utterly absorbed in conversation with Spikecrash. They shivered despite the heavy heat. “You can talk to me if you’d like. You look like you have a lot on your shoulders for someone so young.”

“I just need the horsetail,” Terracottapaw gulped, shaking their head.

“I can ask Fennelspot if he has any to spare,” Paleseed sighed. Before she could pry any further, Spikecrash and the AshClan mediators strolled over to her and Terracottapaw. The ginger apprentice slipped back behind Shellstripe as they looped Paleseed in on their conversation.

What was happening in AshClan?

(Paleseed: 14, female, mediator, insecure, fast runner, steady paws)

(Spikecrash: 23, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

Halibutdusk realized tom doesn’t describe how they feel anymore.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk sits in the middle of the screen. Under them, it says LEVEL UP! MALE -> NON-BINARY (THEY/THEM).]

(Halibutdusk: 40, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

Mosspaw plays with Lemmy along the border.

[Image ID: Mosspaw tells Lemmy “Maybe you’re too scared to spar with me.” Lemmy responds, “Excuse me?”]

---

Mosspaw had been on a hunting assessment when he saw Lemmy again. She was on RippleClan’s side of the river, sniffing at the current. Her whiskers twitched as the water sprayed her face with a soft mist. Her blue eyes scanned the territory but could not see Mosspaw’s dark pelt in the dappled shadows of the brush.

Downstar warned the Clan to keep an eye out for the attackers. Clammask warned Mosspaw to get backup if he saw any of the three cats again. Yet this tortoiseshell intrigued him. Were her friends waiting for a signal to attack? Was she looking for someone to kill? Hmm…

“If you’re looking to plan an ambush,” Mosspaw called, stalking out of the undergrowth, “you’ve picked a bad spot to wait.” Lenny’s eyes tightened. Her claws slipped out. Her tail thrashed about as she readied herself for the approaching attacker.

“You don’t have to be here,” Lemmy growled. “I’m not looking for a fight.”

“And yet you and your friends tried to kill me,” Mosspaw scoffed, taking a cocky step forward. “Can you explain why?” Lemmy fluffed herself up, trying to appear bigger than she was.

“You’re young,” she said. “You can leave this Clan and respect your ancestors rather than insult their rest with rituals and shrines.”

“I think you have an odd perspective on the Clans,” Mosspaw laughed. “But if you’re not going to kill me, might as well let you know my name. I’m Mosspaw. I overheard your friends call you Lemmy.”

“Go,” Lemmy hissed. “My fight’s not with you.” She turned back to the river. 

“Maybe you’re too scared to spar with me,” Mosspaw chuckled. He risked a few steps closer.

“Excuse me?” Lemmy faced Mosspaw again, lips curled. 

“You’re here to learn more about the Clans, aren’t you?” Mosspaw laughed, wiggling his flank. “Why not see how a Clan cat fights? A friendly spar between would-be killer and would-be victim.”

“You are an imbecile,” Lemmy snapped with a violent slash of her tail.

“You could say I have my father’s charm,” Mosspaw purred. “I’m just a tom who sees a pretty molly and wants to get to know her.”

“You want to spar?” Lemmy huffed. She crouched, claws sliding out and eyes sharp. “Fine then. Let’s spar.”

“This will be fun!” Mosspaw laughed as Lemmy pounced.

(Mosspaw: 9, male, caretaker apprentice, shameless, stares at fire)

(Lemmy: 24, female, rogue(?), cold, deep StarClan bond)

Mousesong scents AshClan on the territory, despite the good relations between Clans.

[Image ID: Mousesong looks up at a big tree, calling “Terracottapaw? Is that you?” Behind her, a massive dog pounces.]

---

As a codekeeper, it was Mousesong’s responsibility to enforce the code on her Clan, and that meant following up on the occasional rumor. She’d overheard an odd rumor one sleepless night in the warrior’s den that Elmsprout’s reason for joining RippleClan could have been to smuggle oceanic resources to her home under the guise of sanctuary. Now, Mousesong did not believe the rumor. Eelstar looked frustrated enough at Gatherings to make her think Elmsprout’s asylum was legitimate (although he had been oddly absent from the last Gathering, replaced instead by his deputy Barkfur). Still, it was worth setting up a stakeout by the AshClan border in the wee glimmers of the morning, bugs dancing around her ears and nipping at her scalp.

Mousesong didn’t have many places to hide with her bright white fur. She wasn’t much of a climber, which meant she couldn’t really hide in the trees. Would she have to smear her pelt with mud and crawl under a bush? Maybe there would be a thick enough shrub or something with white flowers to keep her camouflaged…

A strong fear scent slammed into Mousesong’s nose, making her stumble. StarClan was it thick! And fresh too, only minutes old. It certainly wasn’t RippleClan scent. No, the smell was AshClan through and through. What was an AshClan cat doing in RippleClan? Mousesong thought they were trying to stay friendly, despite the issue with Elmsprout. Why did they smell so terrified?

The odd scent was far more important than a rumor Mousesong already didn’t believe in. Her eyes traced an unseen trail further into RippleClan territory. Ears sharp and alert for sounds of an ambush, Mousesong followed the trail. She didn’t have to go far, however. Her tense ears picked up a hard sobbing sound from somewhere overhead. 

Mousesong scanned the trees, searching for odd colors amidst the low-lit green leaves. The fear scent slipped up a thick, round beech tree. A bright ginger pelt clung to a branch far overhead, shaking so violently that leaves tumbled off the twigs. Mousesong recognized the apprentice from the last Gathering a few days ago.

“Terracottapaw?” Mousesong called. “Is that you?” Terracottapaw gasped, silver eyes locking onto Mousesong like she was a bear.

“It’s after me,” Terracottapaw whined. “Autumnstar sent it after me!” They buried their face against the thick branch.

“What’s happening?” Mousesong huffed, looking about for a threat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Terracottapaw cried, refusing to lift their head. “Run, please!”

“I’m taking you back to AshClan,” Mousesong said. “I’ll keep you safe.” Her words began to falter as the sound of heavy paws grew closer. She could hear the thick panting well before she turned around. Claws at the ready, she arched her back and hissed at the approaching beast.

It was just like her sister described it from her own encounter as an apprentice; a massive dog, bigger than any dog she’d ever seen before. Tall, pointed ears, sharp as claws. Wild eyes. Hungry jaws.

Terracottapaw was gone by the time a patrol found Mousesong’s body.

(Mousesong: 25, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 52, Part 1

Downstar and Rustshade broke up.

[Image ID: Downstar says to Rustshade, “Have we ever acted like mates? All I’ve done is lean on you. It’s not fair.” Under Downstar, it says - MATE: RUSTSHADE. Under Rustshade, it says - MATE: DOWNSTAR.]

(Rustshade: 96, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Downstar: 111, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

Clammask suckles a litter of four kits in the nursery with Scrubmask watching over her, purring so hard her body vibrates.

[Image ID: Four newborn kits sit in nests with introductory text under them. The first, a white tom with a golden head and tail, reads NEW PLAYER: HONEYKIT, 0, MALE, NOISY. Next is a white splashed golden tom with the text NEW PLAYER: SPLASHKIT, 0, MALE, NOISY. Above him is a brown masked tom with a white underside who reads NEW PLAYER: LEATHERKIT, 0, MALE, IMPULSIVE. Lastly, there is a black tabby molly, with the words NEW PLAYER: DRUMKIT, 0, FEMALE, QUIET underneath.]

---

There were originally five kits in Clammask’s litter.

The fifth kit was a golden molly who looked like the perfect blend of Clammask and Scrubmask, despite her loner sire. She had seemed so strong next to her brothers and sister. Clammask wanted to give her a strong, powerful name when the quarter moon came. Troutpaw predicted that she would be a mighty warrior, as strong as a cougar.

She passed on the third night of her short little life.

Clammask, like most Clan cats, believed in the idea that young deaths like these were not the deaths of unique souls, but rather StarClan spirits who journeyed back to guide the newborns into the world, only to return soon after. That didn’t mean the little kit’s passing did not hurt, however. That did not mean Clammask did not mourn what could have been, or that Scrubmask’s typical gloomy attitude did not grow darker as the quarter moon passed. Troutpaw outright avoided the nursery after her prediction proved false.

Scalekit looked a lot like the child Clammask lost. It made it hard for her to share a den with the pale-colored kit. At least he would be an apprentice that time next moon. For now, Clammask would focus on her kits while he was in the nursery, and her kits alone.

Two of them looked just like Clammask and Scrubmask. Just like their lost sister. The oldest tom looked like he had dipped his white body into a pot of honey, leaving just his head and tail colored. The other had his birth mother’s fur and his other mother’s white markings. The youngest tom was different, more of a golden-brown color, but Clammask could still see the familial resemblance. She had no idea why her only surviving daughter was black, though. The magic of StarClan’s Blessed Ones, she supposed.

Although she was still sore from her kitting, when the faintest shimmer of light graced camp on the seventh day, Clammask crept out of the nursery and toward the entrance. Scrubmask had been on guard duty most nights since the kitting. 

Scrubmask stared ahead when Clammask stepped out. Only a twitch of her whiskers let Clammask know her mate saw her.

“Come to the nursery,” Clammask whispered. “It’s time to name them.” Scrubmask stiffened. Her gaze drifted to the side. “Scrubmask, this is the family you asked for. Don’t let the kit that didn’t make it keep you from the rest.”

“I won’t,” Scrubmask promised, bristling. “It’s just hard to see them when… when there should be five.”

“I know,” Clammask said. She rubbed against Scrubmask. “Our four are healthy and beautiful, though. I want you to help choose names.” Scrubmask swallowed hard. She touched noses with Clammask, and entered camp.

The four kits were still asleep as Clammask and Scrubmask crept in. Weedfoot and Scalekit, sleeping closer to the front of the nursery, left when they saw the couple arrive. Clammask curled back around the four kits. Scrubmask wrapped herself around Clammask, head resting on her back.

“I already have a name for this one,” Clammask said, nosing the gold-dipped tom. “Honeykit.”

“Cute,” Scrubmask hummed. She studied the other golden tom, whose fluffier fur predicted a pelt as long as Scrubmask’s some day. “…Goldenkit. No. Fuzzykit. Too cute. No one will treat him seriously. Dandelionkit. No, I don’t like flowers.” Clammask nuzzled her mate, hiding a laugh. “Alright, this is the last name. Splashkit.”

“Splashkit it is,” Clammask purred. Her tail brushed against the soft pelts lining the floor of the nursery. She flipped over the corner of a rabbit pelt and studied the brown leather on the other side. “I like Leatherkit for the brown tom. Now you get to name our daughter.”

“Drumkit,” Scrubmask said quickly.

“Where did that name come from?” Clammask asked.

“It just feels right,” Scrubmask said. She reached a paw over Clammask to gently touch Drumkit’s head. It was not enough to wake the sleepy kit up. Scrubmask sighed and laid back down beside Clammask, purring.

“I’m glad I get to be a mother with you,” Clammask hummed, resting her head.

“So am I,” Scrubmask purred.

(Clammask: 46, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Honeykit: 0, male, kit, noisy)

(Splashkit: 0, male, kit, noisy)

(Leatherkit: 0, male, kit, impulsive)

(Drumkit: 0, female, kit, quiet)

(Scrubmask: 69, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

Having reached the end of her apprenticeship, the newly named cleric, Troutpool, feels there is so much left to learn, and frets about whether or not she is ready. With twitching whiskers, Fennelspot assures her that StarClan will always be there to guide her.

[Image ID: Terracottapaw and Fennelspot cheer “Troutpool! Troutpool!” From the corners. Troutpaw, now Troutpool, sits as a long-furred adult. Under her, it says LEVEL UP! TROUTPAW -> TROUTPOOL, COMPASSIONATE -> INSECURE, MORBID CURIOSITY -> GHOST SENSE.]

(Troutpool: 13, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Fennelspot: 109, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

Paleseed visits AshClan, but only makes things worse between the Clans.

[Image ID: Eelstar stands in front of Terracottapaw as Paleseed watches them both.]

---

Fennelspot had dreamed of a glowing ash tree during his visit to StarClan’s Shrine, apparently, with Mousesong standing underneath. In his eyes, that meant they needed to speak to AshClan. In Downstar’s eyes, that meant Paleseed had to speak to AshClan. They weren’t about to send Spikecrash into AshClan territory, not when they were carefully concealing her relation to Darkkick. Paleseed was the only one who could do it, but she refused to go alone. Not when she was a spitting image of her mother, named after the cat that Eelstar… that Eelstar…

“Paleseed,” Waspdawn said. He gently batted Paleseed’s ear, drawing her back to the present. The pair sat at the edge of AshClan territory. Morning sun beamed through the colored leaves and tinted everything red and orange. Despite the warm colors, Paleseed felt cold.

“Sorry, Waspdawn,” she gulped, rubbing her face. “Were you saying something?”

“I just want you to pay attention,” Waspdawn reminded his sister. “It’s not safe to be absent minded around AshClan right now. I don’t like how thin their numbers have been at recent Gatherings.”

“I suppose that’s all the more reason to check in on them,” Paleseed said. The wind carried fresh AshClan scent to Paleseed’s nose. A moment later, a small AshClan patrol slipped between the thinning shrubbery. “Hello! Excuse us!” Bright eyes stared at the two littermates. It was Frogbelly, Eveningshade, and Brackenpaw (one of Terracottapaw’s littermates, if Paleseed recalled correctly).

“Oh, Paleseed!” Frogbelly gasped. “Hello! You check the borders for visitors so often, sometimes you forget to see if anyone is really there!” He led Eveningshade and Brackenpaw to the border. 

“Hi, Frogbelly,” Paleseed sighed. “I’m afraid I have an official request. Would you take me to your camp?” Frogbelly’s cheerful expression stiffened, trying to stick around despite the sudden chill in the air.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea at the moment,” Eveningshade said. “There is a lot of disease in camp right now. We wouldn’t want RippleClan to get sick.”

“I’m sorry, but we have to be blunt about it,” Waspdawn huffed, angling himself in front of Paleseed. “Fennelspot received a vision that may link your Clan to the death of one of our codekeepers.”

“What, Mousesong?” Eveningshade scoffed. “Didn’t your leader say she was killed by a dog?”

“StarClan sent Fennelspot a vision, and it’s our job to follow up on it,” Paleseed gulped. “Please, Frogbelly?” Frogbelly squirmed under Paleseed’s pleading gaze.

“Maybe we can take you to camp for a short visit?” Frogbelly suggested, staring at Eveningshade. Eveningshade sighed, but flicked her tail for Paleseed and Waspdawn to cross the border.

There was an eerie familiarity to AshClan territory that Paleseed could not get over. Maybe it was all in her head, a fusion of the many stories her mother told her of her old life, but the way the trees grew thicker and seemingly every tree bore marks of harvest… Paleseed wondered if her namesake walked at her side, quietly giving her the strength to step into the camp where Weedfoot nearly died.

AshClan’s camp was surrounded by thickly woven walls, a symbol of AshClan’s determination to carve a new place in the land after the great fire that forced them into creation. Two cats sat tall on either side of the tight entrance. Paleseed and Waspdawn had to walk single-file between the AshClan mediators as they made their way into camp. Paleseed instantly understood why the plan to break Weedfoot out of the camp had been so difficult to undertake. Each den in camp was constructed from branches, twigs, bark, and any other chunk of wood the Clan managed to find, tied and stuck together to form giant dens. Each den had its own lovely decor dangling from the walls; dried flowers and necklaces and other beautiful things. There weren’t many cats wandering around that morning, but those that did basked in the dappled light of the thick canopy overhead. Those cats turned their heads at the sight of RippleClan cats entering their quiet camp.

“I’m hoping to discuss the vision with Newtstream or Eelstar,” Paleseed said, her voice struggling to break free.

“I’m afraid they’re both busy,” Eveningshade said. “Deputy Barkfur is in camp, however. Brackenpaw, please fetch him.”

“Yes, Eveningshade,” Brackenpaw gulped, bowing to Eveningshade. He skittered off into one of the strange, human-like dens. 

“Paleseed,” Waspdawn whispered into her ear. “Take a look at the cats around camp.” There were a few small groups of cats scattered about. A gaggle of apprentices watched Paleseed and Waspdawn from what Paleseed assumed was the apprentice’s den. Newly named warriors groomed squirmy kits. A young caretaker stoked the flames of a huge oven in the center of camp.

“What’s wrong?” Paleseed whispered back.

“Where are the elders?” Waspdawn asked. “Where are the senior warriors? Paleseed, I don’t think anyone we see is more than a few moons older than us.” Paleseed looked about a third time and realized her brother was right. Yes, a lot of cats would be out of camp at this time of day, but the elders would be relaxing on the warm boulder that acted as the back wall of one of the dens. The queens would be grooming the kits, not the young cats Paleseed saw.

Barkfur broke the pattern as Brackenpaw led him out of one of the dens near the camp wall. From Weedfoot’s stories, Barkfur had been one of Autumnstar’s most loyal warriors and bestowed the killing blow on Sprucespring, one of the Ashes in the Water. Paleseed quietly thanked StarClan that she didn’t have to talk to Eelstar.

“Mediator Paleseed,” Barkfur said with a short bow. “Codekeeper Waspdawn. Brackenpaw told me you’re following up on a vision.” He dismissed the young apprentice with a quick flick of his tail. Brackenpaw hurried over to the other apprentices.

“During the half-moon meeting, Fennelspot dreamed of Mousesong, one of our dead Clanmates, standing under a glowing ash tree,” Paleseed explained, her training taking over her insecurities. “Although we confirmed she was killed by a dog, the arrival of the vision has given us cause for concern. Do you know something about Mousesong’s death?” Barkfur stared at Paleseed, as though deciding how much to say. Paleseed’s jaw tightened. She couldn’t look at Barkfur like someone who killed her mother’s friend. She had to approach him like a reasonable tom who wanted the best for his Clan. “This isn’t an accusation of anything, sir. We just want the truth. If StarClan thought it apt to direct us here, surely they want us to know the truth.”

“I don’t know the full story,” Barkfur admitted. He leaned a bit closer and whispered, “Your Clanmate died on the first moon of summer, yes?”

“We found her under a beech tree, sir,” Paleseed gulped. 

“Then you’ll need to speak to Cleric Apprentice Terracottapaw,” Barkfur sighed, standing straight.

“Aren’t they a bit, uh, busy, Deputy Barkfur?” Frogbelly stammered. Paleseed had almost forgotten he and Eveningshade were still there.

“They can take the time to speak to our guests,” Barkfur said. There was a weight to his words that made Paleseed cold. She often took the opportunity to speak with Terracottapaw at Gatherings, and even saw them during a special mediator/cleric Gathering the moon prior. Every time she saw the young apprentice again, they seemed just as nervous as the first time the pair met. “Take our guests to the meeting den, and I’ll fetch Cleric Apprentice Terracottapaw.” Frogbelly and Eveningshade bowed to Barkfur, then nudged Paleseed and Waspdawn across camp.

As the group made their way to a small den, half bush and half wood, they passed by the mouth of a larger den. Paleseed glanced inside. AshClan cats sat huddled in their nests, shivering. Many had wrappings over their ears and noses and leather thrown over their backs. The very air within the den made Paleseed shiver. She ducked her head and tried to pretend she had seen nothing.

The meeting den was small, but there were a few leather pelts for the siblings to lounge on while they waited for Terracottapaw. Paleseed tucked her paws under herself and sat on a soft vole pelt.

“We’ll be nearby if you need anything,” Frogbelly promised. He gave a quick, awkward bow to the pair while Eveningshade left, then hurried to catch up to his friend. When they were gone, Waspdawn turned to Paleseed, eyes wide.

“Did you see all those sick cats?” Waspdawn hissed.

“They seemed more injured than sick,” Paleseed groaned.

“With bandaging on their extremities…” Waspdawn mumbled. “If I didn’t know better, I would say it was frostbite. But that many cats, at this time of the year?” Waspdawn sat next to Paleseed.

“Something is very wrong here,” Paleseed whined. “We… Downstar and Fennelspot should know about this.”

“I agree, but Paleseed, you have to remember, we aren’t here to fix AshClan’s problems for them.” Waspdawn examined the wooden walls, sneering. “The only reason we should be concerned about them is if they’re threatening our family.” Waspdawn was about to say more, but at that moment, Terracottapaw entered the den. They would have been taller than Paleseed if they would stand straight. They walked in a constant crouch that made Paleseed’s spine hurt.

“Hello, Mediator Paleseed,” Terracottapaw gulped.

“You don’t have to be formal with me,” Paleseed insisted. “We just have a few questions about a vision Fennelspot had at the half-moon meeting.”

“Terracottapaw,” Waspdawn said. His voice was taut and hard. Terracottapaw struggled not to sink deeper under his gray gaze. “Do you know something about Mousesong?” Terracottapaw dug their gaze into the leather-lined floor.

“I was collecting herbs when a dog came at me,” Terracottapaw muttered, fur prickling. “It chased me up a tree in RippleClan territory. Mousesong scented me. I swear, I tried to get her to run, but…” Their words died out. 

“Why did you leave, Terracottapaw?” Paleseed asked softly. She tried to meet the apprentice’s eyes, belly almost flat to the ground in an effort to look up at Terracottapaw’s downward gaze. “You weren’t there when the patrol found her. Why didn’t you explain yourself?”

“I was scared,” Terracottapaw mumbled. “It was my fault.” The sentence ended quickly as Terracottapaw stopped themself from going too far.

“I believe you,” Paleseed said, “but I think there’s something else happening. Terracotta, why are so many cats sick? Why has Eelstar missed so many Gatherings? Why can’t your mentor meet us?”

“Paleseed,” Waspdawn snapped quietly, ears tilting back. “What did we talk about?”

“I can’t let this go, Wasp,” Paleseed groaned, eyes shifting between Terracottapaw and Waspdawn. “Look how ragged they are! What if StarClan sent us here to help?”

“Another of StarClan’s messages Newtstream would ignore, if what Darkkick told us is true,” Waspdawn grumbled. Terracottapaw lifted their head. They looked out of the den, studying the figures on the other side of camp. They glanced at Waspdawn, shrinking again under his glare. Then they crept up to Paleseed and whispered in her ear.

“You can’t tell anyone else,” Terracottapaw said. “We’ve been cursed. Cats keep freezing, even in summer. Newtstream performs rituals to help us, and cats start to recover, but then they’ll get sick again. Eelstar’s lost a few lives already. We can’t stop it.” The hopeless fear in the apprentice’s voice stilled Paleseed’s breath and froze her paws.

“Cleric Apprentice Terracottapaw.” A thin figure stood in the den entrance. The old burn scars covering his paws were now coated in another layer of fresh wounds; blistering skin, eaten by a chill only he felt. He held his black tail low and, with only a hard gaze, drew Terracottapaw to his side.

“Eelstar,” Paleseed gulped. “Barkfur told us you were occupied.”

“I became unoccupied,” Eelstar growled. Terracottapaw bowed to their leader and crept back and out of the den. “What happened with your codekeeper was a horrible accident, but one that occurred as a result of an apprentice fleeing for their life. Does that satisfy your inquiry?” Paleseed tried to answer, but found her voice die well before she could make a sound.

“It does,” Waspdawn said, nodding deeply to the burnt leader.

“In that case,” Eelstar said, “I’ll have a patrol escort you back to RippleClan.” He stepped to the side so Paleseed and Waspdawn could leave. Paleseed squirmed. She pushed against her brother, who returned the gesture with a comforting lick. Waspdawn nudged Paleseed on. Paleseed slunk past Eelstar. She could only stare at his injured paws. 

Terracottapaw lurked beside one of the dens when Paleseed and Waspdawn emerged. Their eyes dripped with sympathy, but despite the chill that seemed to envelop the camp, Terracottapaw said nothing as Paleseed and Waspdawn left AshClan’s camp.

(Paleseed: 18, female, mediator, insecure, fast runner, steady paws)

(Waspdawn: 18, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)