#burdockpaw

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong…why isn’t she getting better?’”

“She’s dying, Fennelspot… you have to do something different.”

“Hold her down… this is going to hurt… but I don’t know what else we can do…”

When Parsley’s fever broke, the camp was quieter than it had ever been. Usually, she could hear at least one of the kits whining in the nursery or running through the sand, kicking up trouble. Even at night, Fennelspot’s loud breathing reminded her that she wasn’t sleeping alone in an empty barn anymore. But now, as her head swam through the remnants of fever, everything was quiet. The shadows of the boat fell over her dark patched pelt and shielded her from the summer sun.

The fever may have broken, but her lower half burned and stung. Her whole flank was numb. Her back paws were so stiff that she couldn’t retract her claws. She groaned as a rippling ache wrapped around her. Ginger paws slipped into her periphery. A wet moss-ball landed by her face.

“Try to drink,” Fennelspot whispered. He brushed his tail over Parsley’s back. 

“Mr. Fennel?” Parsley groaned. She blinked the haze from her eyes as Fennelspot startled.

“That was coherent!” Fennelspot gasped. He stuck his nose into Parsley’s ear.

“Now what are you doing?” Parsley muttered, batting the cleric away.

“I’m checking your temperature,” Fennelspot explained, his tail high. “Your fever is gone! You’re going to be okay.”

“Did something happen?” Parsley groaned. She stretched her front legs and flexed her stiff paws. 

“Oh, don’t move too much!” Fennelspot gasped. “Let me get you some willow bark for the pain.” Fennelspot scurried to his vast collections of baskets and pots. He plucked the lid off a pot and grabbed a small serving bowl. He stuck the serving bowl into the pot and scooped out a clump of willow bark powder. He placed the bowl next to Parsley’s wet moss-ball. Parsley braced herself and ate the bark shavings as quickly as possible, trying to forget that she was essentially eating a tree. Fennelspot sat next to her and stared as she drank from the moss-ball.

“I’m guessing my tail’s the reason my lower half feels like I sat on a fire,” Parsley grumbled as another wave of pain ran through her back legs. Fennelspot fidgeted and pulled his tail close.

“I need you to stay calm,” he gulped. “You’ve been disoriented the last two days. The infection in your tail turned rotten. I ran out of options.” 

Parsley finally looked back at her aching lower half. Empty space filled the void where her tail should have rested. Instead, cobwebs and poultices wrapped a tiny, swollen stump at the end of Parsley’s body. Oh. So that was the source of the pain. Her stump was so exhausted, she wouldn’t wiggle it. The simple thought of doing so sent ants crawling down her spine.

“I’m sorry,” Fennelspot stammered. “I did everything I could before this. I tried every poultice and concoction I ever learned to fight infection, but it didn’t work. Maybe if you had a better cleric, they could have saved your tail. I’m sorry.” Parsley reached back and felt where her tail should have been. Her body screamed at her to lay back down, but she wasn’t one to sit around longer than she had to. 

“It seems I don’t have a tail anymore,” Parsley said meekly. There weren’t many thoughts in her head at the time. It was like she was asleep, in some ways; moving through the motions of what happened without anything settling into her mind.

“I’m sorry,” Fennelspot mumbled, looking away from Parsley.

“I don’t see why you should be,” Parsley finally said, pulling herself from her tail. “I’m alive. That’s a good job in my eyes.” Fennelspot sighed and tension seeped out of his bones.

“How’s the pain?” he asked, studying Parsley’s new stump.

“I’ll manage,” Parsley sighed. She was going to wave him off with her tail, but she quickly remembered she didn’t have a tail to wave. “Scrubmask and the others must be worried about me. Are they on patrol?”

“Actually,” Fennelspot groaned, “you and I are the only ones in camp.”

“I thought the kits aren’t allowed to leave,” Parsley huffed. She groomed life into her back legs as Fennelspot explained himself.

“It’s been one year since the seven of us founders moved to camp,” he said. “We found Carnationpaw in the shipwreck, and we’ve lived her ever since. The rest of RippleClan is at the shore, celebrating.”

“And here we are, missing out?” Parsley groaned. “Help me up.”

“Be careful!” Fennelspot groaned as Parsley propped herself on her shaky front legs. “You haven’t left your nest in a couple days, and your balance will be incredibly impaired until you grow used to the length of your tail.”

“The beach is just outside camp,” Parsley grunted, getting one back leg up. “My damn tail kept me trapped for a whole season. I won’t waste away here while everyone else is having fun.” Parsley stood tall, her legs straining at the sudden use.

“I can’t convince you to stay?” Fennelspot moaned.

“I’m sure you want to join the celebration too,” Parsley huffed. She braced herself and stepped out of the nest. Fennelspot dove under her before she could face-plant. 

“Like I said, our tails keep us balanced,” Fennelspot explained as he got Parsley back up. 

“Good thing you’re here to support me then, Mr. Fennel,” Parsley chuckled. Fennelspot sighed, but slipped next to Parsley and helped her take her first steps as a tailless cat.

It was a good thing RippleClan had a sandy camp, as Parsley flailed about like a newborn kit. The willow bark was slowly doing its job, easing the throbbing sensation in her short tail, but she still had to stop and rest every few tail-lengths. To his credit, Fennelspot was patient and didn’t argue with Parsley’s determination. Slowly but surely, the pair limped out of camp and toward the sandy beach just north of the shipwreck. As they got closer to the festivities, the joyful sounds of Parsley’s new home grew louder.

It was a great day for some fun on the beach. The warm sun glistened over a calm, bright ocean. Downstar’s four dark kits ran through the gentle waves that licked the shore, laughing and squealing as their mother joined in. Scrubmask sat politely in a hole as Burdockkit, Locustkit, and Clamkit filled it in with sand. Only her droopy, resigned face was visible. Carnationpaw dove through the water, splashing like a fish while Weedfoot and Oilstripe raced each other along the wet sand. Rustshade and Puddlespeckle watched them all where the sand met the grass. Puddlespeckle was the first to notice Fennelspot and Parsley’s arrival.

“Look who’s not dead!” Puddlespeckle laughed. All eyes spun toward Parsley.

“Parsley!” Scrubmask gasped. She wiggled underneath the sand. “Kits, dig me out.” Locustkit ran toward Parsley, dragging his littermates along. “Kits!”

“We’ll come to you!” Parsley laughed. A minute later, RippleClan crowded around Parsley. Downstar made sure her troublesome litter stayed away from Parsley’s wound. Oilstripe unburied Scrubmask. As soon as Scrubmask was out, she was by Parsley’s side.

“You look so much better,” Weedfoot purred, touching her nose to Parsley’s. 

“She’s just going to sit here today,” Fennelspot reminded the Clan. “She needs to rest and regain her strength before she can join in on the fun.”

“At least I’m here,” Parsley chuckled. She laid in the warm sand as her new friends mewed their congratulations to her.

“I’m glad you made it,” Downstar said. “I want today to focus on everything that makes RippleClan great, and that includes our newcomers.” 

“Aw, thank you, Ms. Down,” Parsley chuckled. 

“I know I’m stealing your attention,” Downstar said as she took a few steps back, “but since I want to celebrate our Clan’s success, I want to conduct a few ceremonies. With any luck, we’ll be able to have a ceremony on every anniversary.” Carnationpaw gasped and jumped out of the crowd.

“Does that mean…” she gulped.

“Yes,” Downstar purred. “Let’s have your caretaker ceremony, Carnationpaw.”

Carnationspeckle becomes a caretaker!

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle stands in the middle of the screen. Underneath her, it says LEVEL UP! CARNATIONPAW -> CARNATIONSPECKLE, SPLASHES IN PUDDLES -> TALENTED SWIMMER.]

“I, Downstar, leader of RippleClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice,” Downstar declared as the rest of RippleClan faced her. “She has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend her to you as a caretaker in her turn.” Although she did not stand upon the Shiprock to give her announcement, she still stared at Carnationpaw with the same fire and dignity in her eyes. “Carnationpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

“I do, Downstar,” Carnationpaw said, lifting her head high.

“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your caretaker name,” Downstar purred. “Carnationpaw, from this moment on, you will be known as Carnationspeckle, for the way your compassion and dedication have covered all of RippleClan. We welcome you as a full caretaker of RippleClan.” Downstar rested her head on the newly named Carnationspeckle’s head.

“Carnationspeckle!” Graykit screeched. “Carnationspeckle!” The rest of the small Clan took up the kit’s cheer. Carnationspeckle purred and soaked in the joy.

“You won’t have to start your vigil until nightfall,” Downstar hummed, grooming her former apprentice’s head. “For now, enjoy the day.”

“Thank you, Downstar,” Carnationspeckle crooned, rubbing under Downstar’s chin.

“So back to games?” Duskkit asked.

“Not quite,” Downstar said as Carnationspeckle joined Oilstripe and Puddlespeckle to the side. “There’s another ceremony we have to conduct. Burdockkit, Locustkit, Clamkit, come up here please.”

“Are we six moons old?” Clamkit gasped. Rustshade nodded, and his children’s eyes sparkled. They shook sand out of their pelts and gathered around Downstar.

Burdockpaw, Locustpaw, and Clampaw become apprentices to Oilstripe, Weedfoot, and Downstar respectively.

[Image ID: Burdockpaw, Locustpaw, and Clampaw in a lineup. Under Burdockpaw, it says LEVEL UP! BURDOCKKIT -> BURDOCKPAW, BOSSY -> LOYAL. Under Locustpaw, it says LEVEL UP! LOCUSTKIT -> LOCUSTPAW, MALE -> NONBINARY (THEY/THEM). Under Clampaw, it says LEVEL UP! CLAMKIT -> CLAMPAW.]

“Burdockkit, Locustkit, Clamkit,” Downstar said, “you have reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. Burdockkit, Locustkit, you wish to be historians, correct?” 

“Yeah!” Burdockkit chirped with an enthusiastic nod from Locustkit.

“And Clamkit wants to be a caretaker,” Downstar continued. “From this day on, until you receive your full names, you will be known as Burdockpaw, Locustpaw, and Clampaw. Oilstripe, you will mentor Burdockpaw, and I expect you to pass all your knowledge onto him.”

“Are siblings allowed to mentor each other?” Oilstripe asked, strolling up to Burdockpaw.

“We don’t have much choice,” Downstar huffed, waving her tail over the crowd.

“Fair enough,” Oilstripe hummed. She touched noses with Burdockpaw. 

“Weedfoot, you’ll take up Locustpaw’s training,” Downstar explained. “May your charisma and strength guide him to be a great historian.”

“Uh, one moment,” Locustpaw gulped as Weedfoot stepped forward. He smoothed out his fur and looked over his Clan. “I was talking to Parsley after the last Gathering, and she told me about this apprentice in WheatClan named Fogpaw. They aren’t a tom or a molly. I’ve been thinking lately, and I think I’m the same. There’s another option, right? What’s it called?”

“There’s no proper word for it,” Weedfoot explained, “but many consider it the ‘outside’ option. Something beyond or mixing with tom and molly.”

“I’m that outside option,” Locustpaw said, chest puffed up and chin high. “I want to use they and them, like Fogpaw does!”

“Then we’ll do just that,” Downstar purred. “Weedfoot, may your charisma and strength guide them to be a great historian.” Weedfoot proudly touched her new apprentice’s nose. “Finally, I will mentor Clampaw in the ways of a caretaker.” Clampaw gasped softly as Downstar touched her nose to Clampaw’s.

“Burdockpaw! Locustpaw! Clampaw!” Rustshade yowled. He led the Clan in triumphant cheers as a large wave crashed onto the beach.

“Now let’s celebrate the founding of our Clan!” Downstar cheered.

(Parsley: 106, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

(Fennelspot: 69, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Puddlespeckle: 138, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

(Scrubmask: 29, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Weedfoot: 61, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Downstar: 71, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

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

(Graykit: 4, female, kit, impulsive, careful listener)

(Carnationspeckle: 14, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Burdockpaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, loyal, interested in Clan history)

(Locustpaw: 6, nonbinary (they/them), historian apprentice, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)

(Clampaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, lonesome, interested in Clan history)

(Oilstripe: 16, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

Fennelspot gives Puddlespeckle some forget-me-not flowers.

[Image ID: Fennelspot faces Puddlespeckle, who has forget-me-not flowers behind his ear. Fennelspot says “Scrubmask and I were on patrol, and I found these flowers.” Underneath Puddlespeckle, it says + NEW ACCESSORY: FORGET-ME-NOTS.]

---

“Puddlespeckle?” Fennelspot called into the shadows of the elder’s den. A deep groan rumbled through the den. Puddlespeckle’s deep blue eyes glimmered from the dark.

“What are you doing?” Puddlespeckle grumbled. Fennelspot entered the den. He carried a small bundle of blue flowers. He placed them beside Puddlespeckle.

“At the celebration yesterday,” Fennelspot explained, “I overheard you talking about AshClan traditions with Locustpaw. You talked about how forget-me-nots are a major symbol for AshClan, since they’re always trying to remember their past. Scrubmask and I were on patrol, and I found these flowers.” Fennelspot nudged the flowers closer. Puddlespeckle leaned out of his nest and sniffed the flowers.

“These are forget-me-nots, alright,” he sighed. 

“I know living in RippleClan isn’t easy for you,” Fennelspot gulped, “but I wanted you to know that we respect everything you’ve done. I hope you like the gift.” Fennelspot nodded awkwardly, as though assuring himself of his success, and hurried back out.

Puddlespeckle nudged the flowers. They were starting to wilt in the summer heat, but they still had their color. Puddlespeckle cupped the fragile flowers and gently wove them into his fur. He always carried AshClan with him, but now that weight would be visible to all.

(Fennelspot: 69, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Puddlespeckle: 138, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

Halibutkit and Graykit ask Puddlespeckle what it’s like to be so old.

[Image ID: Halibutkit and Graykit face Puddlespeckle. Under Halibutkit, it says + NEW TRAIT: LOVER OF STORIES. Above Graykit, it says LEVEL UP! IMPULSIVE -> BULLYING.]

(Halibutkit: 4, male, kit, impulsive, quick witted)

(Graykit: 4, female, kit, bullying, careful listener)

(Puddlespeckle: 138, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

A snake sneaks into the nursery and bites Duskkit, killing her.

[Image ID: Oilstripe faces Twinekit and Duskkit, both StarClan cats. Oilstripe says “No. Please, no.”]

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Oilstripe had a WheatClan melody stuck in her head as she returned from her sunset walk around the territory. She’d overheard the song at the last Gathering and now she couldn’t get the tune off her mind. She found herself humming the song as she wandered back to camp. She even spotted Moonpaw, creepily wandering the territory, and shared the song with her. Ghosts weren’t so scary now that Oilstripe understood they were just paying the living world a visit. The Gathering was full of ghosts, to the point that Oilstripe struggled to pick out the living from the dead. They could be odd, sure, they had powers the living could never imagine on Earth, but they were still themselves for the most part. She probably would have been a good cleric, if she had any interest in medicine or interpreting prophecies. No, she was fine with Fennelspot’s lessons on StarClan and the occasional talk with a ghost.

As she broke through the treeline and saw the shipwreck in the distance, a glittering shape bounded past her. It was Twinekit! Her pale pelt matched the pale lines in the sunset. She was so small when she died, just old enough to eat prey.

“Someone’s busy,” Oilstripe chuckled. Twinekit spun around. Her back half stuck through a tree.

“Hi, Oilstripe!” Twinekit chirped. “It’s so weird that you can see me. How is Burdockpaw’s training?”

“He’s a quick study,” Oilstripe purred, settling down. “Are you exploring the territory?”

“I’m on StarClan business,” Twinekit huffed, lifting her head. “I’m a Fetcher now. I’m supposed to bring Duskkit to StarClan, but she insists on seeing the territory before she goes.” Oilstripe’s heart plummeted.

“Did you say…” she gulped. Another figure hurried up to Twinekit. She was twice Twinekit’s size, but lacked the same confidence in her starry step. The juniper berries in her fur were as bright and ripe as they were after the first frost. Oilstripe couldn’t feel her skin as Duskkit stumbled up to Twinekit.

“Duskkit, did you know Oilstripe can see us?” Twinekit said, nudging Duskkit’s transparent body. Duskkit’s eyes shone like sunlit ice as Oilstripe’s heart spasmed. 

“Can you tell my mom I’m sorry I made her so mad?” Duskkit asked in the meekest voice Oilstripe had ever heard from her.

“No,” Oilstripe gulped. “Please, no.” She ran toward the shipwreck, wondering for a moment if the visions she thought were ghosts were just hallucinations. She begged StarClan that she was only crazy. She couldn’t look back at the ghostly kits, for doing so would make them all too real. Yet as Oilstripe got closer to camp, the weeping became more apparent.

Juniper sprigs covered Duskkit’s lanky body in the center of camp. Graykit, Halibutkit, and Shadowkit cuddled beside their older sister, quieter than they had ever been. Shockingly, it wasn’t Downstar whose sobs bounced off the shipwreck, but Carnationspeckle’s. Downstar leaned against Rustshade as Carnationspeckle cried beside her, back hunched and tail frizzed. 

“I didn’t hear it,” Carnationspeckle cried. “I’m sorry, Downstar, I didn’t hear it!”

“I don’t blame you, Carnation,” Downstar insisted, nose pressed into Carnationspeckle’s cheek. “I don’t blame you.” Fennelspot left the medicine den with another juniper sprig and placed it on Duskkit’s body. He spotted Oilstripe by the entrance and hurried to her.

“The kits were playing,” he said softly, “and suddenly, Duskkit yelled about a rattlesnake, and—”

“I know,” Oilstripe grumbled, pushing past Fennelspot. There was no debating whether Oilstripe saw ghosts now. 

A snake bite wrapped around Duskkit’s leg. Oilstripe stared at Downstar. She had to say something to her, but what? She couldn’t make this tragedy about herself and her strange ability. But Downstar deserved to know her daughter’s last words. Or were they first words from beyond the confines of her body? 

Downstar noticed Oilstripe staring and said “I’m fine. I’ll… I’ll be fine.”

“Was anyone else hurt?” Oilstripe gulped, looking around for rattlesnakes.

“Duskkit was really brave,” Halibutkit mumbled. “She grabbed the snake before it bit me.” Halibutkit nuzzled closer to Duskkit’s body.

“I…” Oilstripe gulped. Her paws shifted in the sand, looking between Duskkit and Downstar. “I guess she, uh… wanted to make her mom proud.” 

Oilstripe settled on Downstar, and she instantly knew she had said the wrong thing. The pain of the moment collected in Downstar’s eyes as a rage sharp enough to tear Oilstripe in half. Oilstripe took a step back, the fur along her back bristling. She ran into the warrior’s den before anyone could say a thing about it.

(Oilstripe: 16, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

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

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

(Carnationspeckle: 14, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Downstar: 71, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Fennelspot: 69, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)