#twinekit

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 88

Mitespark gets flustered when Wolverineheart compliments her woodworking skill.

[Image ID: Ravenweaver and Mitespark watch Wolverineheart go. Ravenweaver says, "You would be cute together!"]

(Ravenweaver: 23, female, artisan, nervous, den builder, very clever)

(Mitespark: 30, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)

(Wolverineheart: 20, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

Despite an awkward assessment, Shrewpaw recovers from his bruises and is named Shrewflame for his fierce confidence. Thundergale considers herself lucky to have mentored such a great cat.

[Image ID: Shrewflame is now an adult! Under him, it reads LEVEL UP! SHREWPAW → SHREWFLAME, COMPETITIVE → LOYAL, NEVER SITS STILL → FAST AS THE WIND. Thundergale watches proudly in the back.]

(Shrewflame: 12, male, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)

(Thundergale: 20, female, teacher, adventurous, good hunter, good speaker)

Halibutdusk is worried about the storm overhead, but continues on their date with Clammask anyway. As they walk along the river, a flash flood overcomes them. Halibutdusk clings to the stepping stones, but Clammask is washed to sea.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Clammask wander under a cloudy sky, where the ghosts of Twinekit, Locustseeker, Burdockcreek, and Rustshade watch and wait.]

(Halibutdusk: 80, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Clammask: 82, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Rustshade: 102, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Burdockcreek: 40, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Locustseeker: 12, nonbinary (they/them), historian apprentice, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)

(Twinekit: 2, female, kit, noisy, quick to help)

Wildclaw and Honeybuzz grieve. Honeybuzz wonders how Stormjump is doing.

[Image ID: Wildclaw talks to her littermate, with + CONDITION: GRIEVING under her. On the other side, Stormjump speaks with Downstar and Carnationspeckle. Honeybuzz watches them both, + CONDITION: GRIEVING written under him.]

---

Stars damn it all.

Honeybuzz knew it was natural for a kit to sit vigil for their parents as the latter grew old and their fur turned gray, but Honeybuzz still felt too young to lose Clammask too. And this time, there was no clear culprit he could blame. Halibutdusk wasn't like Rapidleaf, they didn't shove Clammask into the water, and they didn't run from whatever role they played in Clammask's death either. They even offered their freedom up to Venturedapple and Cobaltchaser, willing to sit through a trial and sort out the details of the incident. Not that the outcome wasn't clear, though; this was no living cat's fault. Perhaps Clammask's littermates decided to call her home. Perhaps the All-Seeing prevented any warnings from reaching the clerics' ears so their grand plan could unfold.

Whoever decided Clammask would die that day, stars damn them.

At least the Clan had a body to sit vigil for. While on patrol, hoping that Clammask found her way back to shore, Rapidleaf, Asterblaze, and Tallowheart found Clammask's body drifting along the edge of the beach. Troutpool and Oilstripe mournfully reported Clammask's spirit escorting the body to camp before departing with Twinekit, Locustseeker, and Burdockcreek. Weevilsight and Carnationspeckle dried her body and made sure she looked her best. The last child of RippleClan's first litter, departed for the stars.

Honeybuzz muttered along to Troutpool and Estherfern's ritual as he, Splashtuft, Leathermask, and Drumtooth pressed their noses into their mother's pelt one last time. To the side, Wildclaw and Halibutdusk leaned into each other, each bearing the other's grief on their backs. A long pelt covered Halibutdusk, fighting off the chill of the autumn water. Yet Honeybuzz was the one who couldn't stop shivering. Stormjump, Carnationspeckle, and Downstar built a large fire to the side of the vigil—a dash of warmth to send Clammask up to Silverpelt. It did not calm Honeybuzz's body.

Vervaincough, Potterypool, and Moontide curled up along Clammask's back. Vervaincough's breath itched at Honeybuzz's neck. Neither Clammask's sons nor her daughters wanted to be the first to leave their mother behind and embrace the night that had slowly enveloped them over the course of the vigil. Yet when Honeybuzz dared look up from Clammask's still-damp fur, he could see Oilstripe, Mosspounce, and Slushtrail patiently waiting for their turn to mourn. Honeybuzz kneaded his mother's still belly. Could he really leave her behind? Would he see her the next time he visited StarClan's Shrine? Whatever the case, Honeybuzz couldn't stay with his siblings forever. Clammask wasn't just important to them.

Honeybuzz pried himself away from Clammask's body with a pitiful moan. His cicada wing necklace left an imprint in her fur. His paws mindlessly carried him away, leaving room for Oilstripe to mourn her little sister.

"Honeybuzz, wait," Leathermask whined, lifting his head from the vigil.

"Let him go, Leather," Splashtuft sighed. "I… I think I need to leave, too." Splashtuft shoved himself up and hurried to the warrior's den. Billowhaze and Tallowheart, who quietly shared tongues outside the den, followed their fellow historian in, ready to offer whatever comfort they could manage.

"I'm not leaving," Drumtooth promised, pressing closer to Leathermask as Mosspounce found his opening to mourn.

Honeybuzz wandered toward Stormjump and the growing fire. He had no real agenda, no idea what he needed, but in the bottom of his heart, he knew Stormjump could provide it. Stormjump, to her credit, was the first to notice Honeybuzz's approach. She set a piece of kindling to the side of the flames and turned to see who joined her, Carnationspeckle, and Downstar in their work.

"Honeybuzz," Stormjump cooed. "Come warm up. You look wet." Stormjump moved aside so Honeybuzz could creep closer to the fire. His shivering eased as Carnationspeckle gently groomed his fur the wrong way.

"What do you need, Honeybuzz?" Downstar asked.

"You tell me," Honeybuzz scoffed, resting his head on the warm sand.

"It's late, but we could prepare a simple stew," Carnationspeckle suggested. "Something with heart-healing herbs to warm our bones."

"The Clan already had their evening meal," Honeybuzz sighed. "Don't waste food for the sunhigh meal."

"Take it from an older cat, Honeybuzz," Downstar sighed, eyes trailing to Clammask's body. "A loss like this is going to hurt, and you won't be the same cat you were this morning. But eventually the good memories will pad around that loss, dampen the sound of the grief. It'll be there, and it will still hurt. But you'll have more and more joy to draw strength from, if you allow yourself to hold onto it." Carnationspeckle licked her former mentor's shoulder and rested her chin on her back. Honeybuzz just closed his eyes. That little speech seemed more for Downstar than for him.

He never told her. Honeybuzz never told Clammask the truth about Scrubmask and Rapidleaf. She knew now, finally reunited with her first mate. She knew about Honeybuzz's silence. Did she understand his intentions? Did she see the chaos the truth would bring? Or did she only see her son, the liar, the secret keeper, the cat who let a killer share the same den as his brothers and sisters without so much as a meow of protest?

"It's alright to cry, Honeybuzz," Stormjump sighed, nuzzling Honeybuzz's neck. Honeybuzz didn't realize his breath had begun to hitch. "Maybe you should get some sleep. Want me to walk you to the medicine den?" Honeybuzz swallowed hard and nodded. He forced himself up, but this time, Stormjump was there, leaning against Honeybuzz, catching his weight. The pair sank into the sand. Honeybuzz didn't care to wipe it off his paws when he entered his den.

He tumbled into his nest with a pitiful mew. Stormjump gently grabbed the leather cord of his cicada wing necklace and lifted it off his neck. She placed the necklace beside his nest.

"I'll make sure I'm in charge of the sunhigh meal tomorrow," Stormjump promised. "I'll make Clammask's favorite meal. Herb-pelted bird fillets. Sleep well, Honeybuzz. I'm sorry about today." Stormjump's tail waved gently as she turned out of the den.

Honeybuzz couldn't stop himself from falling asleep, a weight settling over his back. Yet as he did so, he could have sworn he heard one last thing as Stormjump left.

"I love you."

(Honeybuzz: 36, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Wildclaw: 80, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Halibutdusk: 80, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Leathermask: 36, male, warrior, nervous, good fighter, eloquent speaker)

(Splashtuft: 36, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Drumtooth: 36, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Stormjump: 19, female, caretaker, charismatic, incredible cook)

(Downstar: 147, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Carnationspeckle: 90, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

While participating in a battle training holiday with other warriors and caretakers in LynxClan territory, Mosspounce, Yarrowclaw, and Brightreed come across a cougar’s den; the same cougar that once decimated LynxClan. The trio lead the celebrating warriors to kill the cougar once and for all, with Mosspounce delivering a deadly blow, but his eyes are clawed up as a result.

[Image ID: Mosspounce, Brightreed, and Yarrowclaw follow bloody pawprints. Under Mosspounce, it says + CONDITION: DAMAGED EYES.]

(Mosspounce: 49, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Brightreed: 20, male, warrior, righteous, student of art)

(Yarrowclaw: 23, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

[need1etail]

Chapter Eight of Honeytail's Loss is up!

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 83

With soup for getting food and water to Currentsmoke’s stomach and ointment to fight the infection growing in his jaw, Troutpool wracks her mind for anything else that might help her patient. At least Yellowburst’s yellowcough is gone.

[Image ID: Troutpool treats Currentsmoke with Robinkit's ghost standing behind the latter. Under Troutpool, it reads LEVEL UP! GHOST SENSE → GHOST SIGHT. Under Currentsmoke, it reads + INFECTION. Yellowburst walks away, with - CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH under her.]

"I know it stings," Troutpool cooed as she rubbed ointment along Currentsmoke's fracture, "but this will help kill the infection." Currentsmoke whined softly, but did not speak. There wasn't much he could say clearly; ever since Yarrowclaw carried him into camp after the accident, the clerics kept his muzzle wrapped in bandages and soft leather, preventing it from moving. Currentsmoke had to keep his mouth still if he didn't want to live with a crooked jaw the rest of his life.

Troutpool should have been able to prevent the infection. Currentsmoke hardly left the medicine den, had never thought of leaving camp. Troutpool and her denmates groomed the large gash across his face well, they kept track of what treatments they gave him. How did he develop an infection? What did Troutpool do wrong?

Pawsteps trapsed through the sand outside just as Troutpool smeared the last of the infection-kiling ointment. Yellowburst entered the otherwise empty den, carefully carrying a bowl of soup. Steam gently flew off the broth's glistening surface.

"I strained the solid bits out, just like you asked," Yellowburst said, placing the bowl in front of Currentsmoke's nest.

"You're wonderful, Yellowburst," Troutpool purred. She rubbed the remaining ointment on her paws off onto a scrap of leather. "When you're finished with your meal, can you ask my mother which caretakers are free? I have a bundle of bandages and leather that need washed."

"I'll pass it along," Yellowburst promised. "Are you feeling any better, Currentsmoke?"

"Tryn' tuh," Currentsmoke said, teeth locked together.

"I guess that's all we can ask for," Yellowburst chuckled awkwardly. "I'll see if Sandhollow would tell you any stories to pass the time later. Stay strong!" Yellowburst gently touched Currentsmoke's forehead and retreated from the den.

"Let me know when you're ready to eat," Troutpool sighed, placing her ointment back on the den's vast shelves. "I know it hurts, but if I help you open your mouth, we can make sure you don't make things worse." The fur on Troutpool's neck tingled. She paused, tail rising. She recognized that feeling, the sort that had lingered since her first days as a cleric, that eery sign of StarClan at work. She felt it at the ritual to weaken the Spirits of Shadow, she felt it when Oilstripe spoke to ghosts of friends passed, and she felt it every time she visited StarClan's Shrine. This time was different, though. This time, Troutpool heard a voice.

"I'll try to lower your pain, Current," the newcomer said. "Mom and I will get you through this, whatever happens." Troutpool turned slowly. A sparkling figure stood behind Currentsmoke, the spirit's transparent tail dancing over Currentsmoke's flank. He was dark red, with deep blue eyes and a splash of white wrapping around his chest and back. Troutpool recognized him. She would never forget the face of a kit she couldn't save.

"Robinkit?" Troutpool muttered. Robinkit jumped, attention wrenched away from Currentsmoke.

"How do you see me?" Robinkit yelped. "You're not supposed to see me!"

"I'm sorry?" Troutpool gulped, thoughts spinning.

"Saah-ry fah what?" Currentsmoke sighed with a slow, soft shake of his head. "Yah're doehng great."

"Oh, no," Troutpool stammered, shaking out her pelt, "sorry, Currentsmoke, I wasn't talking to you, I… I'll be back soon." Troutpool scurried out of the medicine den, fur burning. The camp was packed for the mid-day meal, basking in the late spring haze. Troutpool kept her eyes down, trying to look as sane as possible.

"You can see me!" Robinkit ran after Troutpool with silent paws. "I'm supposed to be invisible!"

"Don't look at me!" Troutpool hissed under her breath, sparing a quick glance back at her ghostly pursuer. "I'm not trying to disturb you!"

Near the entrance of camp, not far from the apprentice's den, Oilstripe sat alone, sunbathing. Except Troutpool realized her mother wasn't alone. Two ghosts Troutpool did not recognize sat around Oilstripe. One was a brown tabby who spoke animatedly, tail and paws flying about. The other was a light brown kit who laid on their back, watching the other ghost upside-down.

"So I tell Silverpaw, being dead isn't so bad!" the brown tabby chuckled. "you can fly now! And never aging, that's going to feel great!"

"Says the adult ghost," the kit scoffed. Oilstripe chuckled, hiding her humor under her paw.

"Mom," Troutpool called, unable to smooth her pelt. Oilstripe quickly picked up on her daughter's fear scent.

"What's wrong?" Oilstripe asked, hurrying up. "Is it Currentsmoke?"

"No, it's me," Troutpool whispered, trying and failing to ground her thoughts. "Mom, do you, um… please tell me you see Robinkit behind me."

"Hi, Oilstripe," Robinkit sighed. Troutpool closed her eyes and prayed the kit's ghost would go away. This wasn't how clerics communicated with StarClan. It bypassed all the rules Fennelspot taught her, invaded their divine privacy. How could Troutpool respect the traditions of her profession if she saw ghosts?

"Do you see Robinkit?" Oilstripe asked.

"Better question, do you see me?" the brown tabby huffed. Troutpool risked opening one eye. The brown tabby ghost stared at her with giant eyes. They gasped dramatically and cried, "She looked at me, she looked at me!" Troutpool shut her eyes again.

"Troutpool, you're alright," Oilstripe promised. "I see them."

"I'm not supposed to," Troutpool gulped. "I have to respect them. I can't go around the rules."

"Do you think I'm doing something wrong?" Oilstripe scoffed. She gently groomed her daughter's cheek. "Because if you think you're disobeying the code, then I must be. Call the codekeepers, put me on trial." Troutpool risked another look at the brown tabby. Their face was soft, free of judgment or divine wrath.

"I'm Applepelt," the brown tabby said with a friendly twitch of her whiskers. "I'm a friend of your mother's. And I don't think you're disrespecting anyone just by seeing us."

"But how do you see us?" the unknown kit huffed, pacing around Troutpool.

"Twinekit raises a good point," Oilstripe muttered. "If anyone were to inherit my sight, I would have expected Tallowheart or Slushtrail, but Carnationspeckle gave birth to me."

"Does that make you less of a mother?" Applepelt scoffed, slipping beside Troutpool and Oilstripe. Her transparent paw batted Oilstripe's head, but it phased through as though going through air. Oilstripe still flinched, unable to fight back a purr. "If this is something the All-Seeing did, do you think they would care about blood? We aren't talking about pelt patterns."

"It's still important that I respect your work when you visit us," Troutpool gulped, giving Applepelt some room. "I'm afraid I interuppted…" Troutpool looked back to where Robinkit had been, but the dead kit was gone.

"You'll get used to that," Oilstripe promised, nuzzling her daughter's neck. Troutpool sighed, relaxing into Oilstripe.

"Now, if you're finished panicking," Applepelt chuckled, splaying their paws about wildly as they fell on their belly, "I can tell you some of the embarassing things your mother got up to when she was younger."

"You can't embarass me," Oilstripe said, eyes narrowing in a challenge. Applepelt stared at Oilstripe like a victorious hunter.

"Does the phrase 'holy balls' mean anything to you?" Applepelt cooed. Troutpool choked on a laugh.

"You weren't even here for that!" Oilstripe gasped, swatting at Applepelt's ghost. "How do you know about that?"

"StarClan sees all," Applepelt said in a wobbley, dramatic voice. This time, Troutpool set her laughter (and her insecurities) free.

(Troutpool: 44, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sight)

(Currentsmoke: 18, male, caretaker, loving, good climber, skilled toolsmith)

(Yellowburst: 14, female, caretaker, adventurous, good mediator)

(Robinkit: 5, male, kit, unruly, avid play-fighter)

(Applepelt: 31, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Twinekit: 2, female, kit, noisy, quick to help)

(Oilstripe: 87, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Yarrowclaw stays out all day and brings back one piece of fresh-kill for each main prey species in the territory. Even though Rabbitjoy notes that they may not be able to work through all that prey before it rots, Yarrowclaw insists the hunt was an important ritual to safeguard the Clan.

[Image ID: Rabbitjoy, Halibutdusk, and Elmsprout stare at Yarrowclaw, who yowls "Eat, eat!"]

(Yarrowclaw: 18, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

(Rabbitjoy: 120, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver

(Halibutdusk: 75, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Elmsprout: 50, female, caretaker, charismatic, trusted advisor)

[rippleclan]

So who are Rippleclans Celestials so far and what are their roles?

I'm going to organize this chronologically. This list includes all those who have died before Moon 90. I'm not including Moonpaw in this list because she is the StarClan Guide, and therefore has a greater presence than Celestials.

Twinekit: Celestial of RippleClan Kits

Role: Fetcher

As the first RippleClan cat to enter StarClan, Twinekit left a permanent impact on the culture of RippleClan. RippleClan queens ask Twinekit to help their kits grow safely and happily.

Locustseeker: Celestial of Young Martyrs

Role: Jobless

While apprentices have died for their Clan many times before, RippleClan felt particularly emotional about Locustseeker's death and deeply honored their bravery. Without them, RippleClan might not have been recognized as a Clan by AshClan. As such, apprentices pray to Locustseeker to give them the strength to do dangerous tasks, while adults pray to them to save the lives of their apprentices who lay close to death from those tasks.

Puddlespeckle: Celestial of RippleClan and AshClan Relations

Role: Judge

Puddlespeckle may have been the first elder of RippleClan, but he is better remembered as a figure of AshClan culture within the developing society of RippleClan. His influence gave the Clan an odd number of AshClan traditions. Mediators, artisans, and other diplomats ask for Puddlespeckle's guidance when negotiating with AshClan.

Fennelspot: Celestial of RippleClan Clerics

Role: Blessed One

As the first cleric of RippleClan and one of the guiding voices of its founding, every cleric looks toward Fennelspot's legacy to guide their paws in both medicine and spiritual matters. As they reach graduation, clerics may pray to Fennelspot for his blessing. Honeybuzz and Weevilsight have both reported Fennelspot visiting them in their dreams at StarClan's Shrine after they got their names, so it is believed that you must be visited by Fennelspot to be accepted as a full cleric. If you are not, you must continue your training.

Rustshade: Celestial of RippleClan Codekeepers

Role: Jobless

Even though Rustshade prefers to enjoy his afterlife and truthfully wasn't the greatest codekeeper in the world, he was still RippleClan's first, and every founder shall be remembered as a Celestial in RippleClan's heritage. Like Fennelspot, codekeeper apprentices pray to Rustshade to pass their assessments and guide their training.

Scrubmask: Celestial of RippleClan Warriors

Role: Judge

Scrubmask was everything a good warrior should be, in the eyes of RippleClan historians. Warriors pray to her to develop their skills in battle and protect their Clan as best they can. She is another figure that apprentices ask blessings of before assessments.

Parsley: Celestial of RippleClan Loners

Role: Judge

Parsley was the first loner accepted into RippleClan, establishing a precedent that continues with cats like Estherfern. She was such a vibrant personality within the Clan that no one wanted her memory to fade. The Clan asks for Parsley's advice on accepting outsiders, while outsiders are told that if they want to connect to RippleClan's spiritual heritage, they should pray to Parsley. She shows that you don't need kin in the Clan to be remembered and valued.

Tempestshade: Celestial of Cursed Demise

Role: Fetcher

Tempestshade couldn't help the dark energy that sunk into them at birth, the curse that endangered others when they were alone with them. Their tale is somewhat tragic, but Tempestshade was still a happy cat. By praying to them, it is said you can ward off the effects of a deadly curse.

Weedfoot: Celestial of RippleClan Deputies

Role: Fetcher

Did anyone doubt Weedfoot would be a Celestial alongside her first and second mates? She reflects all a deputy should strive to be. Oilstripe will make certain that all RippleClan deputies think on Weedfoot's legacy and search for her blessing.

Foampaw: Celestial of Protection From Autumnfrosts

Role: Jobless

With the introduction of a new common Spirit of Shadow, the Autumnfrost, the Clans looked for a figure they could pray to for protection. Who better than the first cat documented to die at the ghostly fangs of this spirit?

James: Celestial of RippleClan Elders

Role: Jobless

What, do you think James is going to work in the afterlife? Ha! This tom was born to be an elder with his natural laziness. As such, as RippleClan gets older and goes to the elder's den, they'll ask James to help them rest and give them a peaceful retirement.

[rippleclan]

Apparently I never gave Twinekit a picrew. This must be resolved. Behold the Celestial of RippleClan Kits!

I’m using a new picrew, so as the moons pass, you’ll slowly see a mix of the old one and this style.

[rippleclan]

Since they never got to grow up, I wanted to show you guys what Duskkit and Twinekit would have looked like, had they lived. I'll be doing this with future kit/apprentice deaths as well.

Meet Duskcloud and Twinegrowl.

(P.S, if Locustseeker hadn't died, they would have been Locustnose)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 56, Part 2

Mosspounce takes Scalepaw battle training while Lavendertwist recovers.

[Image ID: Mosspounce says to Scalepaw, “Half of glory is believing you deserve it.”]

“Get back up!” Mosspounce yowled, wiggling his flank as Scalepaw shook sand out of his long fur. “You can do this, keep going!” Mosspounce dug his paws deeper into the wet sand lining the shore. Scalepaw’s panting mixed with the gentle waves. 

Since Lavendertwist could barely talk with the stitches in his neck, let alone train his apprentice, Mosspounce volunteered to take Scalepaw battle training. It had taken a generation or two to give the grass-touched northern beach a name, but now every mentor and apprentice practiced their battle moves on Battle Beach. Sure, Mosspounce wasn’t a proper mentor yet (and he doubted he would get to train Clammask’s kits, since a lot of the Clan was still upset with him about Lemmy), but training Scalepaw made him forget that for a while. They were training with the sunrise, working up an appetite for the sunhigh meal Tempestshade was spending the whole morning on. Scalepaw’s white spots, which took over more and more of his fur every day, looked like stars against his gold fur.

“Charge me!” Mosspounce cheered. “Don’t give up until I’m running away or I can’t stand up!” Scalepaw grit his teeth. Sand exploded behind him. Mosspounce was going to shove the apprentice away, but he was bigger than Mosspounce expected. Scalepaw’s sheer weight knocked him down. He knocked the air out of Mosspounce. Sand filled his nose. He squirmed and tried to push Scalepaw off, but he couldn’t move the heavy tom. It seemed Scalepaw took Mosspounce’s orders literally. He was a great fighter!

Yet despite that, Scalepaw shivered violently and scrambled off Mosspounce. Mosspounce coughed up sand. He shook out his pelt and stared at Scalepaw. The round tom squirmed. His paws danced over the sand like he was walking on fire. He groaned and itched at his neck.

“Why’d you jump off?” Mosspounce asked. “You had me. I wasn’t going anywhere.” Scalepaw groaned again. His mouth opened and closed, trying to form an explanation. He squeezed his eyes tight. He bolted toward the trees, tail low. With the lack of foliage, Mosspounce could see Scalepaw’s thick cream fur far into the scrub. “Scalepaw, where are you going?” 

This was just like his first Gathering; Tempestshade managed to bring him back eventually, so perhaps Mosspounce could do the same? Perhaps solving Scalepaw’s crisis would Downstar that Mosspounce was mentor material; if not with Clammask’s litter, then the next. As dreams of grandeur filled Mosspounce’s mind, he jogged up to the tree line. It wouldn’t be hard to track Scalepaw down. Even if he wasn’t easy to see, even a kit would be able to track his thick scent. Maybe Downstar would agree to let Mosspounce finish Scalepaw’s training, even though they were of different roles? 

Mosspounce stopped and batted at his own ear. No, what was he thinking? Scalepaw wasn’t a stepping stone to being a mentor or deputy. He was an apprentice who was obviously struggling with something. Mosspounce needed to treat him like a tom, not a tool. Now if he could just remember what Tempestshade did for the young apprentice…

Scalepaw stopped beside the base of a pine and curled into a ball. Mosspounce slowed to a stalk. Scalepaw glanced at Mosspounce before burying his face under his paws with a groan.

“Should I fetch Spikecrash?” Mosspounce asked. Spikecrash often accompanied Lavendertwist and Scalepaw out to train, helping Scalepaw through his unique sensitivities. Perhaps this was a job for a mediator.

“I’m too embarrassed,” Scalepaw mumbled. Mosspounce hid his surprise. Usually when Scalepaw got upset, no one could get a word out of him for ages. Was he improving? Perhaps it was all a part of growing up.

“Why?” Mosspounce scoffed, scooting closer. “You were great! You’ll be an amazing warrior some day.”

“I can’t touch you,” Scalepaw said. He risked a glance under his paws. “I can’t touch anyone. I hate it. It feels like too much. Fur makes me cry. I can’t be a warrior.” Scalepaw shivered and hid his face again.

“Not with that attitude,” Mosspounce chuckled. Scalepaw sat up slowly. His deep blue eyes glared at Mosspounce, a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “I mean it! You have a great instinct. My sister was telling me about the patrol. You fought with just as much skill as every other warrior out there. If touching others is as bad as you make it seem, you didn’t show it to those Witch Hunters.” Scalepaw bristled and stared at his paws. “Here, I’m going to put my paw on your tail, try to stand it for a minute.” Mosspounce sat next to Scalepaw. The apprentice didn’t move away, so Mosspounce made his move. He set a paw on Scalepaw’s fluffy tail. Scalepaw shivered and his tail flinched, but he stayed still.

“I think you’re going to be the sort of warrior who learns every advanced combat move the Clans have ever made,” Mosspounce said. “You just have to be proud enough to step up and work through your issues. Half of glory is believing you deserve it. And trust me, kit, you deserve it.” For a few minutes, Mosspounce wasn’t sure if Scalepaw really heard him. Then, slowly but surely, Scalepaw turned his head and touched his nose to Mosspounce’s shoulder. Mosspounce purred and gave Scalepaw a friendly nuzzle.

“Stop touching me now please,” Scalepaw said. Mosspounce quickly stepped back. Scalepaw shook out his pelt, but he stood tall. 

“Ready to get back to training?” Mosspounce asked, cocking his head back toward the beach.

“I want to learn moves where I don’t have to touch someone for long,” Scalepaw said, stretching his neck to try and seem taller. “New claw strikes. Special kicks. What do you know?” Mosspounce cocked his tail and purred.

“Let’s go have some fun,” he laughed. He jogged back toward the beach. Scalepaw ran past him like a beam of light, a newfound eagerness leading his young paws to a fresh start.

(Mosspounce: 17, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Scalepaw: 9, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, avid play-fighter)

Fennelspot heads out alone to collect juniper. Oilstripe, Weedfoot, Downstar, and Scrubmask come across him just as he plummets from the tree.

[Image ID: Downstar, Oilstripe, Weedfoot, and Scrubmask watch something offscreen that gives off a loud CRACK. Downstar yowls “Fennel!” Under her, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

---

Oilstripe needed to be out and about. Downstar may not have wanted her near the border for fear of the Witch Hunters, but she still had a vast territory to patrol. She needed to keep her mind busy. She couldn’t obsess over what the Witch Hunters were doing to Carnationspeckle. She had to work.

Weedfoot, Downstar, and Scrubmask agreed to join her on a hunt. Oilstripe was a bit surprised Downstar agreed to it, especially when she let Oilstripe take the lead on the patrol. She supposed the old hostility that used to plague her interactions with the leader had faded over the moons. She lingered with Scrubmask in the back while Weedfoot walked alongside Oilstripe. A late winter snowfall blanketed the territory. It was a thin snow, the sort that Oilstripe’s paws sunk into and left a layer of ice underneath. Oilstripe had to unseathe her claws a few times to keep from slipping. 

“I’ll be glad when we see the end of this,” Weedfoot sighed, her tail flicking the snow. “The hunting has been so poor this winter.” Oilstripe bit her tongue. She had planned to catch some prey with Carnationspeckle when they were finished in the human settlement; the squirrels and mice were likely sheltering in the warm human dens. The Witch Hunters likely weren’t feeding Carnationspeckle; how much was she suffering? Was she warm? Was she bleeding?

The death cry of a mouse snapped Oilstripe out of her thoughts. Scrubmask carried a mouse in her jaws; small, but good to add to soup at dusk. Oilstripe made a silent promise to share a bowl with Rattlepelt and Troutpool; her daughters were suffering just as much as she was. Oilstripe dug a small hole for Scrubmask’s catch. She licked her numb paws as Scrubmask buried the mouse for later.

“Should you go back early?” Scrubmask asked, nodding at Oilstripe’s paws.

“I just need to warm up,” Oilstripe said, breath fogging around her. As she groomed warmth back into her legs, she picked up a familiar scent in the approaching wind. “Huh. I thought Fennelspot was still in camp. I can smell him a ways ahead of us.”

“He snuck out while you were making dirt,” Downstar explained. “I believe he wanted to collect some juniper.”

“Let’s go see if he needs any help,” Oilstripe suggested. “Maybe he’s seen some squirrels.”

“Lead the way,” Weedfoot purred. With feeling restored to her feet, Oilstripe marched on through the snow. She rubbed against Weedfoot, who gave her a comforting lick on the ear. Things felt at least close to being alright when Oilstripe was on patrol with her mentor. The wind continued to blow Fennelspot’s scent into Oilstripe’s face. Thank StarClan he was better; Oilstripe needed her old friend.

There were a few tall junipers that grew in the southwest portion of the territory. Oilstripe had helped Fennelspot collect juniper berries and leaves many a time before, so she knew just where to go. She even spotted a squirrel digging at one of Fennelspot’s pawprints halfway there (Weedfoot beat her to the catch, sparking some playful teasing that further eased her heart). Oilstripe even pranced within Fennelspot’s pawprints, making Weedfoot laugh. For once, Downstar said nothing of the mischief.

The junipers grew in a few bundles overlooking a thick patch of maples, ashes, and rowans. While some juniper trees were only a few fox-lengths tall, a few glared down at the patrol, fluffing up like thick manes against the cold. Snow sat on ice-covered branches. Oilstripe squinted through the leaves of each tree, but didn’t see Fennelspot.

A sharp, sudden yowl drew Oilstripe’s attention. Fennelspot’s bright orange body tumbled from the branches of the tallest juniper. Oilstripe gasped, back arching. Fennelspot landed with all four paws flat on the ground, the perfect example of a cat’s natural agility. The snow splashed around him. He froze with his back curved and tail puffed and held high. He panted, shivering slightly. Oilstripe couldn’t help but laugh. Did Fennelspot just fall out of a tree? Oh she was sure to make fun of him for that. 

Oilstripe was going to tease him. She was going to make sure he was alright, that he didn’t fall too far. She was going to playfully find wherever he set his basket and offer to carry it home for him. She was going to cherish the moment, right up until a massive crack echoed across the territory and a huge, ice-covered branch tumbled off the juniper and slammed into Fennelspot’s head at high speed. 

Blood sprayed across the trunk of the juniper. Fennelspot crumbled like a newborn kit. His eyes froze in the half-shocked, half-embarrassed glimmer they held before everything went wrong. The snow turned red. The dried petals that covered Fennelspot’s back slipped out of his fur.

“Fennel!” Downstar shrieked. She shoved past Oilstripe and Weedfoot. She skidded across the snow and ice to crouch at Fennelspot’s side. She looped around Fennelspot. Downstar whimpered as she caught sight of the back of his head. She looked sick. 

Scrubmask trailed slowly up to her dear friend. She placed a paw on Fennelspot’s shoulder. A shiver ran down her fur. A mournful mew broke out of Scrubmask’s chest. 

“Not like this,” Weedfoot moaned softly. Downstar wailed with the fury of the crashing sea. Birds scattered from the trees. Weedfoot hurried to her leader’s side. Her eyes shook at the sight of Fennelspot’s wound. Oilstripe could not bring herself to look at it. She couldn’t move at all. Her paws were once again numb, but not from the cold. Had that really just happened? Just like that, a careless branch….

Fennelspot’s pelt began to sparkle. Little lights danced within his rosette markings. A glow outlined his body. Reality broke apart in Oilstripe’s eyes as Fennelspot blinked with open eyes. Another muzzle shifted from his face. New legs pushed a new body up from the snow. A second Fennelspot, translucent and shimmering, stood on top of his own body, paws going through the white vested pelt.

“Owww…” Fennelspot groaned, squeezing his eyes tight. “That is an awful headache.” When Fennelspot opened his eyes, he saw the three mollies gathered around his body, wailing and crying, prodding his fur. He looked down at his own dead body. He yelped and jumped away, dancing over the snow without a single paw print. That was when he met Oilstripe’s eyes and recognized that her gaze did not pass through him.

“That’s it?” Fennelspot said, looking back at his body. “I… died? That can’t be it. I need to help Rustshade with his yellowcough. Lavendertwist needs help. Oilstripe? What do I do now?” Oilstripe tried to find the words, but her mouth was as numb as the rest of her. 

“Fennelspot!” a young voice cried. Starlight glimmered in the corner of Oilstripe’s eyes. Twinekit stood in the snow, gazing joyfully at Fennelspot. Fennelspot’s tense eyes melted at the sight of the ticked tabby kit. He crouched to Twinekit’s level. Twinekit ran full speed at Fennelspot. She smacked into his face and rubbed against Fennelspot. 

“You came to fetch me, then?” Fennelspot sighed, placing a paw on Twinekit’s tiny back. 

“Actually, we all came this time!” Twinekit chirped. Oilstripe’s spine tingled. She looked behind her. She couldn’t breathe.

The spirits of old friends waited between the trees. Locustseeker and Burdockcreek laughed at their little sister’s antics. Duskkit and Shadowdrop lounged on top of one another while Mousesong sat beside them. Puddlespeckle and Ripplefern looked at Fennelspot with pride while Applepelt bounced about, purring. Even more cats stood behind them, cats Oilstripe couldn’t recognize. SlugClan warriors?

“Why are you all here?” Fennelspot gasped. Twinekit led him toward the horde of StarClan warriors. 

“Because we wanted to thank you,” Locustseeker laughed. “Thank you for all the hard work you’ve done for RippleClan. We wouldn’t be what we are without you.”

“You are RippleClan’s first cleric,” Burdockcreek reminded him. “We thought you deserved a more personal escort to StarClan. Everyone you’ve ever taken care of is here. We all want a chance to share tongues with you.”

“I don’t think I deserve that,” Fennelspot gulped, eyes bulging as he tried to get a good glimpse of all the dead souls in front of him.

“Of course you deserve it!” A white molly pushed her way through the crowd. 

“Moonpaw,” Oilstripe muttered softly. She bowed her head to the long-dead apprentice. “Fennelspot, this—”

“Moonpaw has visited me before,” Fennelspot said with a flick of his ear. Twinekit nuzzled his leg as Fennelspot bowed his head as well.

“You don’t need to do that,” Moonpaw insisted. She trotted up to Fennelspot and nosed his head back up. “I should bow to you! Fennelspot, you helped found an incredible Clan that will last for moons upon moons. Your name will be remembered across all five Clans!”

“I’m not the skilled cleric you think I am,” Fennelspot said. Moonpaw batted his ear. Fennelspot stared wide-eyed as the more youthful souls of StarClan laughed.

“Listen here, young tom,” Moonpaw huffed. “I’m allowed to call you that since I’m actually hundreds of moons old. But do you remember what you were like in SlugClan? You weren’t happy. You were always doubting yourself, and it certainly didn’t help when Gorgestar got hurt. But once you came to RippleClan? Wow, Fennelspot! You became a kind, understanding, and clever cleric that every cleric after you will spend their lives trying to emulate!” Fennelspot’s eyes rippled. He cleared the emotion from his throat. 

“We all love you, Fennelspot,” Twinekit purred. “We can’t wait to welcome you home.” Fennelspot licked Twinekit’s head. He glanced back at Downstar, Scrubmask, and Weedfoot. They were still huddled over his body, shaking.

“You can always come back and see them,” Oilstripe reminded him, moving closer to the ghost. “I expect you to visit me a lot, too.” StarClan surrounded Fennelspot. Locustseeker bunted against the cleric. Duskkit joined Twinekit and leaned against Fennelspot’s leg. Moonpaw touched Fennelspot’s nose. The glow of a hundred warriors blinded Oilstripe. It was all she could do to shield her eyes.

“I promise,” Fennelspot purred. 

When Oilstripe’s vision returned, Fennelspot and the spirits of StarClan were gone.

(Oilstripe: 60, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Weedfoot: 105, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Scrubmask: 73, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Downstar: 115, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Fennelspot: 113, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Twinekit: 2, female, kit, noisy, quick to help)

(Locustseeker: 12, nonbinary (they/them), historian apprentice, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)

(Burdockcreek: 40, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Duskkit: 4, female, kit, troublesome, quick witted)

(Shadowdrop: 34, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

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

(Puddlespeckle: 156, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

(Ripplefern: 18, female, historian, charismatic, talented swimmer, good fighter)

(Applepelt: 31, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Moonpaw: 10, female, mediator apprentice, childish, good hunter)

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 22

Rustshade tried to confess his feelings to Fennelspot, but got rejected.

[Image ID: Fennelspot leaves Rustshade in the upper right corner. Graythroat stands behind Rustshade and says, “Too bad, Rusty.” Under her, it says LEVEL UP! VALUABLE INSIGHT -> TRUSTED ADVISOR.]

Rustshade was not the nervous sort. He could only remember three times where he was truly, distinctly nervous. First, when he admitted to WheatClan that he was one of the Ripple followers. Second, when Twinekit got sick. Third, when Locustseeker went on their mission and never came back. In each of those moments, Rustshade’s future hung in the balance. Was this one of those moments? Hard to say. But if things went well, the future he imagined looked pretty good.

There weren’t many cats in camp that late afternoon. Shadowdrop was out of camp with a few others, investigating a new monster-path the humans started following on the edges of the territory, beyond any of the Clans. Carnationspeckle was with Rattlekit, trying to convince the furless molly that she needed to keep her leather pelts draped over her if she wanted to stay warm and safe from the sun. Puddlespeckle was thankfully out on a begrudging walk with his daughter (he was the last cat Rustshade wanted around when he put his plan into action). The only other cats in camp were Fennelspot and Graythroat, huddled around the cleric’s grillstone. 

The cleric’s grillstone was built in an offshoot of the camp where the heat wouldn’t endanger the shipwreck. It was a tamed fire built underneath a long, flat stone. When Rustshade approached, Fennelspot and Graythroat sat staring into a pot placed on the hot stone.. There was another pot sitting in the bigger pot that contained a dark bubbling mixture. Water filled the bigger pot and steam drifted overhead.

“What’s this?” Rustshade asked. 

“We’re making wax,” Graythroat hummed with a playful twitch of her whiskers. “I found a big hive and all us caretakers agreed we could harvest it. I only got stung twice!” Sure enough, there were a couple spots on her flank covered in one of Fennelspot’s ointments.

“You’re lucky you aren’t one of those poor souls who die when they’re stung,” Fennelspot sighed. “Do you need anything, Rustshade?”

“I can wait until this is done,” Rustshade promised, taking a seat a couple tail-lengths away. A minute later, the pair seemed satisfied with their work. Graythroat kicked sand over the fire until nothing remained but smothered smoke. 

“Once that cools,” Fennelspot explained, “we need to strain the beeswax through a filter Rabbitjoy weaved for me. That will collect the thick elements we don’t want. Then we will let the wax cool and I can melt it as needed.” He paused, thinking for a few moments, before adding, “In SlugClan, one of our artisans invented a way to craft leather so we could shield our mouths from heat and take pots off the grillstone immediately. Remind me when Rabbitjoy comes back that I want to speak to SlugClan about that.”

“Anything else?” Graythroat asked, stretching.

“I plan to cook some infusions later, so if you’ll help me prepare for that, I would be grateful,” Fennelspot said. He turned his focus to Rustshade, and once more the younger tom seemed caught by how Fennelspot’s eyes blended with the color of his fur to form a gorgeous pattern of ginger and white. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” Graythroat had been about to leave, but her ears stayed pointed toward the two, even as she pretended she was minding her own business. Oh well. It wasn’t like Rustshade wanted to hide his emotions.

“It’s not a medical issue, if you’re concerned,” Rustshade said with an awkward flick of his tail. “It’s a personal question. It’s about something us founders agreed on when we started RippleClan.” Fennelspot nodded, eyes serious and focused as he sat in front of Rustshade. “One of the big issues we wanted to change in this Clan was how clerics, like yourself, were forced to abstain from romance and parenthood due to a misguided belief about your connection to StarClan. RippleClan won’t follow that part of the Code of Clerics. As such, I was hoping you and I could give a relationship a chance.” Graythroat suffocated a poorly hidden gasp, masking it as a cough. Rustshade glared at her with enough fire in his eyes that Graythroat stepped away.

“A…” Fennelspot gulped, ears twitching rapidly.

“I haven’t won someone’s heart in a while,” Rustshade chuckled, whiskers twitching, “but we could take it slow. Perhaps a walk or two?” Fennelspot tensed. His eyes looked everywhere but at Rustshade. As the moments stretched on, Rustshade slowly realized that this wouldn’t end the way he hoped.

“It’s important to me that future clerics have the chance to be mates and parents,” Fennelspot said, “but I… swearing to that part of the Code of Clerics was important to me. It’s my choice to keep that oath. I wouldn’t be comfortable taking a mate, even with our Clan’s laws.” Rustshade nodded softly. His whiskers stilled and his face, as it so often did, betrayed nothing. Fennelspot shifted awkwardly, glancing for a way out. “I’m sorry, Rustshade. I’m going to prepare some herbs.” Fennelspot shuffled back toward the medicine den. Rustshade’s gaze stayed on him until he slipped into the shadows of the small boat.

“Too bad, Rusty,” Graythroat hummed. She had somehow slipped behind Rustshade during the conversation. “Don’t hold it against him. Knowing Fennelspot, he’ll probably try extra hard to not make you feel bad about it.”

“I don’t want your advice, Graythroat,” Rustshade muttered, walking past her. He headed for the empty warrior’s den. It was fine. It was a disappointment, but it was fine. He could live without Fennelspot. It was fine.

(Rustshade: 66, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Graythroat: 14, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Fennelspot: 79, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

Puddlespeckle scares Rattlekit with a story.

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle and Rattlekit stand together, facing Puddlespeckle. Carnationspeckle snaps, “Puddlespeckle!” To which Puddlespeckle says, “It’s good for her!”]

---

“It is said,” Puddlespeckle purred as Rattlekit sat in front of him, “that the Harvest Moon is the most dangerous day of the year. There is a reason the Clans gather for the whole day, Rattlekit. Without the protection of every star-fearing warrior, we would get pulled into the machinations of the Spirits of Shadow.” 

“Is this a real story?” Rattlekit gulped, “or one of those stories Rabbitjoy makes up?”

“Maybe a little of both,” Puddlespeckle said. The pair lurked in the quiet elder’s den while the rest of RippleClan shared tongues outside. Rattlekit had discarded the leather pelt Carnationspeckle always made her wear to the side. Although Puddlespeckle’s joints creaked as he told the tale, there was a certain look of wonder in the furless kit’s eyes that kept him going. 

“Carnationspeckle has told you about the Dark Forest, hasn’t she? That those cursed by StarClan spend their days there, chased by the memories of all they did wrong?” Rattlekit nodded. “Well, some of these cats grow to hate the living Clans and seek to meddle in the affairs of the living. They make up a number of what we call the Spirits of Shadow. They are forces beyond our living reality that seek to harm us and spread chaos. There are many, but when the Harvest Moon approaches, their powers grow with the coming of the autumn chill.”

“What can they do?” Rattlekit asked.

“Many things,” Puddlespeckle explained. His tail waved dramatically as he spoke. “The souls of the Dark Forest try to reach out to the living to further their own twisted plots. A skin ‘n bones will suck your stomach dry until you are so hungry, you eat your fellow cats. A wraith… well I don’t know if you can handle hearing about them.” With the mention of each dark spirit, Rattlekit’s copper eyes grew bigger and bigger.

“Rattlekit?” Carnationspeckle called from the clearing. “Where did you go?”

“I’m in here, Carnation!” Rattlekit yowled. Puddlespeckle grumbled and laid down. A few moments later, Carnationspeckle entered the den.

“Why are you making that face, Rattlekit?” Carnationspeckle asked, cocking her head as she spotted her adopted daughter’s huge eyes.

“Puddlespeckle says there’s a monster that makes you eat your friends,” Rattlekit gulped.

“Puddlespeckle!” Carnationspeckle snapped, drawing her tail around Rattlekit.

“It’s good for her!” Puddlespeckle insisted. “She’ll be an apprentice in less than a moon. She can handle some scary stories.”

“You never entertained me with stories as a kit,” Carnationspeckle muttered. She studied Puddlespeckle carefully, but the old tom couldn’t care less what she thought.

“Well I didn’t entertain anyone when you were a kit,” Puddlespeckle huffed. “Maybe a few moons in RippleClan have softened me up a bit.” Carnationspeckle draped Rattlekit’s leather back over her.

“It’s almost time to sleep,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “Hopefully you don’t have any nightmares tonight.” Carnationspeckle nudged Rattlekit out of the den. Rattlekit looked helplessly at Puddlespeckle, but a simple nod from the elder seemed to assuage her worries. The two mollies left Puddlespeckle alone in the elder’s den once more. 

Oh well, he thought as he settled deeper into his nest. That was the life of the Clan elder, he supposed.

(Puddlespeckle: 148, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

(Rattlekit: 5, female, kit, insecure, plays with prey)

(Carnationspeckle: 24, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

Applepelt ventures out on patrol soon before a massive flood.

[Image ID: Oilstripe faces Applepelt, who is now a StarClan cat. Applepelt says, “Oh… I didn’t get out, did I?”]

---

It had been a brutal storm. The waves crashed so high that they nearly reached the shipwreck. Downstar evacuated the dens closest to the water, which included the nursery. Oilstripe huddled beside Carnationspeckle and Rattlekit in the packed apprentice’s den as rain pummeled the sand outside. Fennelspot kept worrying that the rain would leak through the shipwreck and ruin his stores. Scrubmask practically had to hold him back to stop him from running to the medicine den. 

When the storm finally passed, a tree not far from camp laid on its side, budding branches reaching toward camp. Weedfoot and Downstar split the Clan into teams; one to clean up the camp and the other to take care of the tree. After all, everyone in RippleClan had been in camp during the storm.

Everyone but Applepelt.

Oilstripe paced around the trees as the rest of her team harvested the fallen tree for resources; after all, why let a tree go to waste when it had bark and buds and other things to support RippleClan? Oilstripe couldn’t focus, though. Fennelspot stood nearby as she gazed out, searching for signs of brown fur.

“Fennelspot, what if she’s hurt?” Oilstripe groaned. “We should go out and look for her.”

“The storm hasn’t been over long,” Fennelspot reminded her, glancing at the dark clouds. “She could still be sheltered somewhere.”

“I hate waiting,” Oilstripe muttered, sitting on the soaked grass. Fennelspot sat next to her and groomed her ear. 

“Oilstripe!” a familiar voice called. Oilstripe shot up. A moment later, a brown figure hurried through the trees.

“Applepelt!” Oilstripe gasped. “There you are! What were you thinking, staying out in a storm like that?” Oilstripe and Applepelt met halfway. Applepelt panted and shook out their fur.

“I didn’t think the storm would be that bad,” they laughed. “Oh, you should have been there, Oilstripe. I was at the Great Northern River when the storm hit. It was beautiful, in a frightening way. The waters surged up and rumbled toward the ocean. I was so caught up in watching it, I fell right in!” Applepelt must have noticed the look of horror on Oilstripe’s face, as they quickly stammered, “Oh, don’t worry! It was terrifying for a while, and I think I passed out, but I woke up on the shore! I feel great! I can’t believe I got out! Do you think Rattlekit will be impressed?”

“Let’s have Fennelspot look you over first,” Oilstripe sighed. “Fennelspot…” She looked back at Fennelspot and the words faded before they formed. He watched her with big, pitiful eyes. His wet fur sagged and his ears drifted to the side.

“Oilstripe, I don’t see her,” he gulped. A cold weight settled on Oilstripe’s chest. She turned back to Applepelt. Her fur was too dry to have just come out of the river. As she looked, she realized that she could see the grass through Applepelt’s body. 

“Oh…” Applepelt said softly, “I didn’t get out, did I?” Stardust climbed up their legs. Their fur glittered in the dull light and their eyes shone like stars. In a few moments, they looked like every other StarClan spirit that wandered through RippleClan’s camp.

“Apple…” Oilstripe gasped. A gentle twinkle filled her ears. Twinekit slipped out from behind a tree beside Oilstripe and Applepelt.

“It’s alright, Applepelt,” Twinekit promised. “I’m here to take you to StarClan.”

“So you are real,” Applepelt muttered. Her voice had never been so dull before.

“We won’t hold it against you,” Twinekit chuckled.

“I…” Applepelt gulped. She cleared her throat and braced herself to meet Oilstripe’s eyes. “Looks like I’m off, then. Take care of Rattlekit for me, I… I was hoping to mentor that little freak of nature.” She had to clear her throat again before her grief overtook her voice. “I’m sorry we didn’t spend much time together. Uh, if it helps, I remember those stories you told me, about StarClan watching over us. I’ll be doing that.”

“It’ll be like you never left,” Oilstripe said quietly. Applepelt hesitated, glancing between Oilstripe and Twinekit.

“On to the next adventure,” they said, unable to hide a crack in their voice. Twinekit trotted deeper into the forest. Applepelt closed their eyes and raced after Oilstripe’s long-dead sister. 

Oilstripe blinked, and they were gone.

(Oilstripe: 26, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Fennelspot: 79, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Applepelt: 31, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Twinekit: 2, female, kit, noisy, quick to help)