#carnationpaw

“So this is…” Parsley asked as Scrubmask placed a red-brown square the size of Parsley’s paw in front of her.

“We call it pemmican,” Scrubmask explained. She sat politely next to Parsley’s nest, situated in a cozy corner of the medicine den. “Fennelspot is visiting StarClan’s Shrine tonight, and pemmican will give him enough energy for the journey and give the Clan a reliable source of food while prey returns to the territory.”

“I’m not one to insult culture,” Parsley chuckled awkwardly, poking the square, “but this looks like blood-stained tree bark.”

“Carnationpaw made it from a hare,” Scrubmask said. “You dry meat and berries, soak it in the animal’s fat, and it hardens into these blocks. I think. I don’t know, we don’t have an artisan.”

“I suppose I’ll try it,” Parsley groaned, sniffing the pemmican. She nibbled on the edge of the bar. “Huh. Ms. Scrubmask, what do you suppose that sharp flavor is?”

“Sweetness,” Scrubmask guessed. “I don’t know. I can’t taste sweet things.”

“Well, you are quite clever in making this!” Parsley said. 

“I didn’t have a paw in it,” Scrubmask sighed, staring out of the den. “Cooking seems like a waste of time to me.”

“Well I would have to politely disagree!” Parsley hummed. She took another bite of the pemmican and licked her lips. Scrubmask’s eyes drifted to Parsley’s cobweb-wrapped tail. The bleeding had stopped, thankfully, but most of the gray fur was hidden behind Fennelspot’s poultices and mixtures.

“How are you recovering?” Scrubmask asked. Parsley swallowed her pemmican and followed Scrubmask’s gaze. 

“It hurts to move it too much,” Parsley admitted. “I’m mighty grateful you and your friends brought me here. I couldn’t have treated it myself.”

“Hopefully you’ll recover soon and be on your way,” Scrubmask mumbled.

“Well, dear,” Parsley chuckled, placing her paw over Scrubmask’s, “I’ve been talking to Ms. Downstar. She’s a very nice molly, I must say. We got to talking about what I would do when I’m recovered and, well… I was wondering if I could join your little group. Officially, I mean.” Scrubmask’s droopy ears perked up.

“Do you mean that?” Scrubmask asked.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” Parsley purred. “Your leader told me how she wants to welcome more cats outside your little Clans into RippleClan, be a bit more open, a bit more diverse, all good things. I’m getting up there in moons, and I don’t want to fight off dogs and rats in a barn the rest of my days. I think I would like joining you on those patrols of yours.” For the first time since Parsley met the gloomy warrior, Scrubmask purred.

“That’s a good idea,” Scrubmask hummed. Parsley purred and munched on her sweet meal.

(Parsley: 104, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

(Scrubmask: 27, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

Duskkit sneaks out of camp and brings back some juniper after she gets stuck in a bush.

[Image ID: Duskkit has juniper berries tucked behind her ear. Underneath her, it reads + ACCESSORY: JUNIPER BERRIES]

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“How could she get around you?” Downstar yowled as she paced around Oilstripe in the dim light of the crescent moon. The young historian squirmed under her leader’s furious eyes.

“I’m sorry!” Oilstripe groaned. “I stepped away for a few seconds to get Carnationpaw, and Duskkit was running out of camp before we got back to the exit! I’ve been guarding camp all night, how was I supposed to know Duskkit planned a breakout?”

“You still let her disappear,” Downstar hissed. “If she gets hurt out there, it’s on your paws, Oilstripe!” Oilstripe shrunk, lowering her head. Carnationpaw rubbed against Downstar.

“Downstar, even Puddlespeckle is out looking for Duskkit,” Carnationpaw cooed. “She wouldn’t go far. She’ll be okay.” Downstar groaned and marched over to Parsley by the nursery. The new addition to the group had volunteered to watch over the remaining kits while the rest of RippleClan scoured the territory. Rustshade’s litter were old enough to behave themselves and stay in their nests, but as for Downstar’s little troublemakers…

“We could help look for Duskkit!” Graykit suggested, playing leap-frog over Parsley’s wounded tail. Her adult eye color had taken over her baby-blues faster than anyone else in her litter, showing off a brilliant amber color. Those amber eyes screamed of mischief as Graykit eyed the exit.

“Duskkit is in enough trouble as is,” Downstar huffed.

“But we know Duskkit!” Halibutkit huffed from his cozy spot at Parsley’s paws. From the way his eyes gleamed, he seemed destined to have the same eye color as Graykit, adding another factor of confusion as to who was who. “We know where she would go!”

“You don’t know the territory,” Downstar reminded her son. A dark shape slunk in the corner of Downstar’s eye. “Shadowkit, you get back here right now!”

“You never let us have any fun,” Shadowkit whined. The stocky tom marched back to his littermates, dragging his paws in the sand.

“No one else is leaving camp!” Downstar groaned. “StarClan, you’re going to take one of my lives at this rate.”

“Mom, look what I got!” a tiny, proud voice called from the entrance to camp. Downstar spun around. Duskkit trotted back into camp with something tucked behind her ear. She acted like she had done nothing wrong. Oilstripe and Carnationpaw gawked at the black molly as she strolled toward the nursery.

“Duskkit, where have you been?” Downstar yowled. She raced to her daughter’s side and scooped her close. Graykit stepped on Parsley’s tail as she scurried up to the family reunion. Parsley yelped as the rest of the litter swarmed Duskkit.

“I went exploring!” Duskkit chirped. “It was great!”

“You are in so much trouble,” Downstar growled, pressing her nose into Duskkit’s fur. “You aren’t allowed to leave camp!”

“I know,” Duskkit chuckled. “That’s why I waited until Oilstripe looked away!”

“This is not my fault,” Oilstripe huffed.

“What did you see?” Halibutkit asked.

“Did you run into any cougars?” Graykit gasped.

“What’s that?” Shadowkit asked, staring at Duskkit’s ear. A small lump of juniper berries nestled into Duskkit’s fur.

“I was exploring the forest, and I ran into a bush!” Duskkit said, showing off the burrs and leaf-buds stuck in her fur. “I was really stuck in there, but then the black kittypet showed up and got me out!”

“A kittypet?” Downstar and Graykit said at the same time, albeit with drastically different tones.

“He had dark fur, like me!” Duskkit explained. “I got out and he told me to go home. I didn’t want to, but I heard Scrubmask yelling for me. I didn’t want her to carry me back like a kit! So I came home early.”

“And with a prize!” Shadowkit cheered, sniffing the berries stuck in Duskkit’s fur.

“I’m gonna keep them,” Duskkit declared. She showed off the berries in the faint moonlight.

“Duskkit, they’ll rot on your head,” Downstar sighed. She reached down to pull the berries out, but Duskkit nipped her paws and slipped out.

“No!” Duskkit whined. She ran toward the nursery, screaming all the way back. Her littermates yowled incoherently as they ran after Duskkit. Downstar groaned and slumped into the sand.

“Carnationpaw, go find our Clanmates,” she groaned. Downstar closed her eyes as her children rampaged through the nursery. She would deal with that in a minute. She could practically feel the stress eating at her first life. 

Why was he roaming the territory?

(Downstar: 69, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Oilstripe: 14, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Carnationpaw: 12, female, caretaker apprentice, compassionate, splashes in puddles)

(Graykit: 2, female, kit, impulsive, careful listener)

(Parsley: 104, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

(Shadowkit: 2, male, kit, troublesome, careful listener)

(Halibutkit: 2, male, kit, impulsive, quick witted)

“I know you have questions, too,” Oilpaw groaned as she and Carnationpaw wandered the beach south of camp. “How can you not? How can he just show up in camp with four kits and no one is allowed to question him? We wouldn’t do anything to him!”

“I don’t know, Oilpaw,” Carnationpaw sighed. “They’re cute kits. No one’s come running up demanding their kits back. Maybe it’s not worth the fight.” 

The two apprentices got to take the lead on dusk patrol the day after the big storm. Weedfoot trailed behind them with one eye overlooking the cold ocean. The water along the shore lapped at the thick snow. It left a strange line between sand and snow in its wake. Carnationpaw’s long fur caught snow along her legs.

“One of these days, I’ll make him tell me the truth,” Oilpaw grumbled. She kicked at the snow and sent a flurry across her path. When the snow fell and left small holes in the crisp white surface, something else caught Carnationpaw’s eye.

“Oilpaw, look,” she whispered. “Paw prints!” Sure enough, a neat row of paw prints trailed away from the ocean and toward the woods beyond. Carnationpaw sniffed the prints in the snow. All she could smell was the ocean.

“Did you find something?” Weedfoot called, jogging up to the apprentices.

“A trail!” Carnationpaw explained. “I thought we were the only ones patrolling this area.”

“Follow the path,” Weedfoot suggested. “Oilpaw and I will wait for you here. Yowl if you need us.”

“Shouldn’t we join her?” Oilpaw asked. 

“It’s alright, I can handle this,” Carnationpaw promised. “I’ll be back soon!” 

Carnationpaw cut a line through the snow. She glanced back at her patrol companions. Weedfoot said something into Oilpaw’s ear, but Carnationpaw couldn’t hear her. The younger apprentice continued on and tried to build her confidence. Maybe Weedfoot was testing her? Why else would she stay behind like that? The paw prints were oddly neat, after all, like the visitor pranced through the snow rather than walked.

Carnationpaw followed the trail further into the trees. Dusk turned the snow pink and the dark tree trunks crimson. As she got out of sight of the beach, light glimmered through the trees. A small, tame fire crackled in a safe spot between the trees. A simple rock circle kept the fire contained. Downstar sat beside the fire, with her pale ginger patches turning bright ginger in the light.

“Downstar?” Carnationpaw called. Downstar perked up at the sight of her apprentice.

“You found my tracks,” Downstar chirped. “Good job, Carnationpaw. Sit with me.” Her tail patted a spot beside her. Carnationpaw glanced back at her trail, but Downstar said, “Don’t worry about your patrol. They’ll continue without you.”

“I thought you were getting Rustshade’s kits settled in,” Carnationpaw said. She slowly settled by her leader. The fire turned the snow stuck to her legs into slush.

“I have,” Downstar explained. “When I was being trained, my mentor, Shadowsun, took me out for a night of survival training. We practiced scavenging for fire starters, roasting prey, and preparing shelter. It was one of my favorite memories.” Downstar had a small pile of kindling beside her. She took a few crumbling leaves and threw them into the fire. “Tonight, we’re going to set up a camp by this fire.”

“Are you sure?” Carnationpaw asked.

“I’m pregnant, not dying,” Downstar purred. “I chose you as my apprentice, and I’m going to be a good mentor, whether I’m nursing or not.”

“Oh,” Carnationpaw said softly. The fire snapped at the fresh kindling. Heavy smoke drifted into the dark sky. Carnationpaw stared at the glowing embers eating at the leaves.

“We’ll gather materials near our camp to set up a nest,” Downstar explained, scanning the dark trees. “From there, I want you to catch some prey and prepare it for simple open-fire cooking. Then you’ll guard me as I sleep, and you can wake me up around… Carnationpaw?” Carnationpaw’s shoulders shook. She hunched over herself as she tried and failed to bite down pathetic sobs.

“This isn’t going to last,” Carnationpaw cried.

“What do you mean?” Downstar asked. She quickly wrapped her tail over Carnationpaw’s back.

“Eventually, you’ll have other cats to focus on,” Carnationpaw sobbed. ‘You, you’ll have to leave and I’ll be left alone!” Carnationpaw hiccuped as she spoke. StarClan, she sounded like a kit. “No one has time for me. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” Carnationpaw struggled to breathe. The fire’s heat suffocated her. “No one has time for me, no one has time for me!”

“Carnationpaw, you’re okay!” Downstar ran her tail down Carnationpaw’s back as she spoke softly. “We all care about you.”

“I’m not important,” Carnationpaw gulped, stuttering after each word. “I’m never the important one. I’m no one’s favorite. I, I, you took me to the Gathering last moon, and, and the WheatClan apprentices heard that you found me in the shipwreck, and, and they said no one wanted me and it’s true. I wanna be the most important person in someone’s life, but I never will be!” 

Carnationpaw cried into the fire. It felt like the fire had reached her heart. Downstar purred as she rubbed Carnationpaw’s back. The warmth of the flame and the nagging chill of the snow overwhelmed Carnationpaw’s senses. It was all she could do to listen to Downstar’s gentle words.

“No one else can define your importance. You are important, Carnation, no matter what you do.”

(Oilpaw: 10, female, historian apprentice, charismatic, morbidly curious)

(Carnationpaw: 8, female, caretaker apprentice, compassionate, splashes in puddles)

(Weedfoot: 55, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Downstar: 65, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

Weedfoot caught yellowcough and Carnationpaw has a cold.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and Carnationpaw are in the background. Under Weedfoot, it reads + CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH. Under Carnationpaw, it says + CONDITION: COLD. Fennelspot stands in the foreground. The text box above him says “We’ve been here for six. Moons. How do we already have yellowcough?!”]

(No story with this one, folks, just the update!)

(Fennelspot: 63, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Weedfoot: 55, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

By the time the new moon arrived, Weedfoot and Oilpaw had to decide on RippleClan’s funeral traditions.

They would need a vigil for Twinekit, as all Clans did to mourn. It was Oilpaw who suggested dressing Twinekit in her namesake rather than just the death-shrouding herbs Fennelspot needed to make the small kit presentable. Carnationpaw crafted a simple necklace of cedar bark twine and placed it around Twinekit’s limp neck. Oilpaw tucked a few dry catmint leaves into the necklace too, as eternal protection against the disease that took her little sister.

Rustshade had been silent since Fennelspot stepped out of the medicine den and made his solemn announcement. He wordlessly agreed to all of the Clan’s ideas for how to properly honor a life that never truly began. When Fennelspot placed Twinekit in the center of camp, Rustshade laid beside her and did not move.

Scrubmask had to explain the situation to Burdockkit, Clamkit, and Locustkit. Burdockkit seemed not to grasp what Scrubmask meant. It took many painful questions before Burdockkit understood that no, Twinekit was not asleep, and no, she would not wake up. Clamkit went back to the nursery as soon as she could, and none of Downstar’s gentle coaxing could lure her out. Locustkit was the only one who cried, clutching a moss-ball as he laid at Rustshade’s side, head pressed into Twinekit’s fur.

Twinekit passed in the middle of the day, which meant RippleClan still had to go about their daily tasks. Oilpaw lingered as long as she could before Weedfoot, finally free of her wicked cough, took her and Carnationpaw on border patrol. Puddlespeckle joined Scrubmask on a hunt and brought back a humble mouse. Carnationpaw cooked it in the smoker and coaxed the kits to eat. She finally soothed Locustkit’s cries and sent him and his siblings to nap.

Rustshade, meanwhile, did nothing. No one could drag him away from his daughter, and no one wanted to. He stayed at her side, silent, until the last moments of dusk turned him into another red beam covering the camp. It was at that late hour, when the whole Clan rejoined Rustshade in his vigil, that Fennelspot asked an important question.

“Where do we bury our dead?”

It was a question no one had thought to ask themselves when they arrived at the shipwreck. They’d managed over half a year without any deaths, after all. RippleClan’s faces were empty of ideas. Oilpaw pretended to study the thick ceiling of clouds to hide her own lack of imagination.

“We’re the only Clan to live near the sea,” Scrubmask finally noted. “We could send the body out on the waves.” RippleClan’s empty faces filled with horror as all the adults stared at Scrubmask. Rustshade sneered at the pale ginger molly.

“We won’t disrespect her like that,” he growled. His voice was rough, as though he ate sand.

“LynxClan leaves their dead in the mountains all the time,” Scrubmask said, ignoring the outrage rippling through camp. “Twinekit’s spirit is gone. This is just her shell. We can’t disrespect her if she’s not here.”

“I think we need a different tradition,” Downstar sighed. She sat next to Rustshade and groomed his head until his face dropped and he relaxed back into Twinekit’s body.

“I have it,” Weedfoot gasped. She jogged across camp, almost knocking into Puddlespeckle. She jumped on the stones bordering the camp and flew over the brambles.

“Weedfoot, what are you doing?” Oilpaw called. A few minutes later, Weedfoot trotted through the entrance with a stone in her mouth. She dropped it at her paws.

“Our territory is full of stones and planks,” Weedfoot explained. “When someone joins StarClan, we can mark their resting place with this.” She patted the stone. “None of the other Clans do this. It would be a pure RippleClan tradition.” Rustshade stood. His joints groaned as he did so. He slowly approached Weedfoot and her stone. The rock was wet and glistened with salt. 

“Can we have a few more?” Rustshade asked.

“Of course,” Weedfoot said. “I’ll be back.” She touched noses with Rustshade and hurried back out of camp.

“I suppose I’ll need to find a spot to bury her,” Puddlespeckle groaned, stretching.

“What?” Downstar scoffed. “No. I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable with our elders burying the dead. I don’t think it’s good for your health.”

“It’s perfect for my health,” Puddlespeckle grumbled, turning on the pregnant leader. “You wanna know why AshClan elders bury their dead? Because we’re the furthest on our path to StarClan. When you’re the one putting a body to rest, it makes death a little less scary. We know what’s coming. So if we’re brainstorming traditions, that’s what I want RippleClan to do. Am I part of this Clan or not?” Downstar sighed. Her paw drifted over her swollen belly. Eventually, she nodded.

“Puddlespeckle,” Downstar declared, “it is your responsibility to put Twinekit to rest and choose a place for RippleClan to bury their dead.” She waddled to Puddlespeckle and touched her nose to his forehead. “Thank you.” For the first time Oilpaw could remember, Puddlespeckle’s eyes were soft as he bowed before Downstar.

Soon after, Oilpaw joined Rustshade, Fennelspot, and Puddlespeckle on a long walk through RippleClan territory. Puddlespeckle carried Twinekit by the scruff while Fennelspot carried a basket of stones. Oilpaw kept slipping on slick snow clinging to steep slopes, but the others were sturdy on their path. Puddlespeckle took the lead, as though he had buried the dead dozens of times.

“Here,” Puddlespeckle finally said through Twinekit’s scruff. He stopped at the top of a slope overlooking a more open field. The trees were fewer and farther apart below the slope. Oilpaw could imagine plenty of herbs and tall grasses growing there come the new year. If Oilpaw focused, she could see human dens far in the distance, toward WheatClan’s land. 

The old tom led the group down the slope and into the field. He stopped at a spot where the snow was thin, merely speckling the dead grass. He set Twinekit’s body down and began to dig.

“Why here?” Oilpaw asked as Rustshade joined Puddlespeckle.

“It’s a corner of the territory you’re almost certain not to lose in any conflicts with other Clans,” Puddlespeckle huffed as dirt piled behind him. “This way, she’ll never be defiled.” 

Puddlespeckle and Rustshade finished digging soon after. Fennelspot set his basket down and muttered a gentle prayer. Oilpaw picked up a few words and mumbled along. Puddlespeckle grabbed Twinekit’s scruff and set her in the hole. Rustshade stepped back as Puddlespeckle filled the hole back in. Oilpaw kept her eyes on the basket until Puddlespeckle was finished. 

“Grab a stone, everyone,” Fennelspot sighed. He plucked a sea-worn stone from the basket and set it on the mound. Puddlespeckle and Oilpaw placed their stones beside Fennelspot’s. Rustshade crowned the pile with his stone, carefully placed on top. 

“Hold on,” Oilpaw muttered, glancing back into the basket. “What’s this?” Oilpaw pulled a worn moss-ball out of the basket.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Fennelspot sighed. “Before we left, Locustkit gave me his moss-ball. He wants Twinekit to have it. He said it would give her something to do in StarClan.” Rustshade groaned in a voice so soft that Oilpaw mistook it for wind at first. She put the moss-ball next to the rock pile.

“Let’s put this in a place of honor,” Puddlespeckle sighed. He moved the moss-ball on top of the rocks. “There we go. Rustshade, what do you think?” Rustshade nodded silently. He sat at the edge of the mound and rested his chin on the disturbed dirt.

“I’m gonna stay here with him,” Oilpaw whispered to Fennelspot. “Is that okay?”

“I think Weedfoot will understand,” Fennelspot sighed. He picked up his basket and made his way back up the slope. Puddlespeckle stopped by Rustshade and rested his tail on the ginger tom’s back. Rustshade purred softly and brushed his own tail against Puddlespeckle’s foot. With that, the rosetted elder followed Fennelspot home.

Oilpaw settled next to her father. She didn’t feel cold next to him, but her guilt dragged her down. How much anger brewed under Rustshade’s fur? Did he hate Oilpaw for not talking to Sunstrike? Sure, Rustshade could be a lying, stuck up hypocrite, but he was still Oilpaw’s dad. He still raised her when Sunstrike couldn’t. 

“I can’t tell her,” Rustshade groaned softly. He turned his face away from Oilpaw and the rock pile. “I can’t face your mother now.” Oilpaw pressed her head into Rustshade’s side before she even thought to do so.

[Image ID: Oilpaw and Rustshade face a small stack of stones with a moss-ball on top. A transparent version of Twinekit stands behind the stones. Oilpaw says “I’ll tell her, Dad. You were right. She deserves to know.”]

“I’ll tell her, Dad,” Oilpaw gulped. “You were right. She deserves to know.” Rustshade curled himself around Oilpaw, like when she was a little kitten and settled by his belly for a nap. Oilpaw purred and rubbed against Rustshade as the codekeeper closed his eyes.

“Is this for me?” a small voice asked. Oilpaw’s heart spasmed. Her eyes locked onto the grave marker. Twinekit stood beside the stones, sniffing the moss-ball. Her twine necklace dangled against her chest. Her pelt was soft and lucious. When the light caught her fur at the right angle, it sparkled like a star. Oilpaw could see through her little sister’s body to the snow beyond. 

Oilpaw didn’t dare to breathe as Twinekit grabbed the moss-ball. The moss-ball itself did not move; rather, Twinekit picked up an identical copy as transparent as Twinekit. Oilpaw looked to her father, praying he saw the miracle too, but he stayed oblivious, eyes squeezed tight as he fought through waves of grief.

“Are you ready to go now?” someone groaned. A familiar white figure trotted out from behind a tree. She was a molly with soft green eyes. Unlike Twinekit, this newcomer’s pelt was solid, but glistened with the beauty of a hundred stars. She left no paw prints in her wake. 

“Look what Locustkit gave me!” Twinekit chirped through a mouthful of moss. The mysterious stranger laughed and batted at the moss-ball.

“I love it,” the stranger laughed, “but are you ready?” Twinekit shook out her pelt. Her form grew solid and starlight surrounded her, just as it surrounded the stranger. Twinekit nodded, earning another laugh from the stranger. Oilpaw forced her fur to stay flat. Despite her best efforts, her pelt spiked when the stranger locked eyes with her.

“So you can see me!” the stranger gasped. “I knew it! Do you remember me? You saw me on that beach patrol with the dog.” Oilpaw nodded stiffly. Shouldn’t she say something? She couldn’t make herself talk. “This is really interesting. I can’t stay long, but you should at least know who I am.” She pulled Twinekit close and fluffed up her chest. “I’m Moonpaw, mediator apprentice extraordinaire! If you can see me know, you’ll probably see a lot more of me. Now, if you’ll excuse us…” 

Moonpaw nudged Twinekit along. Twinekit waved her tail goodbye, purring. Oilpaw carefully lifted her own, unsure of what her eyes told her. Moonpaw walked beside Twinekit, leaving stars in their wake. The pair walked behind a tall pine and did not appear on the other side. Oilpaw watched the tree for a long time, her breath quick and mind blank.

“We’ll be okay, Oilpaw,” Rustshade mumbled. He groomed Oilpaw’s head with half-open eyes. Oilpaw tucked herself closer to her clueless father. Her grief had been ripped away and replaced with a deep unease that squeezed her guts.

(Weedfoot: 57, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Oilpaw: 12, female, historian apprentice, charismatic, morbidly curious)

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

(Rustshade: 65, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Fennelspot: 65, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Scrubmask: 25, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Burdockkit: 2, male, kit, bossy, interested in Clan history)

(Clamkit: 2, female, kit, lonesome, interested in Clan history)

(Locustkit: 2, male, kit, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)

(Downstar: 67, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Puddlespeckle: 134, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

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

Downstar doesn’t feel ready to be the mom of four kits, but she promises the tiny flailing limbs at her belly that she’ll do her best, she swears on StarClan.

[Image ID: Downstar sits above four newborn kits; Halibutkit, an impulsive male; Duskkit, a troublesome female; Graykit, an impulsive female; and Shadowkit, a troublesome male. Beside Downstar, update text reads - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH]

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For a while, Downstar thought the pain would never end. Her contractions started at some point in the middle of the night, and only grew worse over the course of the day. Fennelspot never left her side, helping her through each terrible spasm. According to him, the delivery was perfectly normal, but Downstar was certain she would lose one of her nine lives that day. She had the lives to spare; if she had to give one up to bring her children into the world, she would gladly do so.

Night blurred into day and back into night. Slowly but surely, each of Downstar’s kits popped out and settled by her belly. She was too focused on the next delivery to truly soak in the small body suckling next to her, but Carnationpaw, who stuck with Downstar as much as she could, assured her that each kit was beautiful.

“It’s a tom,” Carnationpaw said of the first kit when Downstar was too delirious to think straight. “He’s a sort of silvery-gray color. A mackerel tabby, I think. The color looks a bit like Weedfoot. Oh, wouldn’t it be cute to name him Weedkit?”

“I’ll name them later,” Downstar groaned through the stick in her mouth. 

The second kit, a black molly, came out soon after her brother, just as dusk hit the camp. Her tiny paws kneaded and poked at Downstar’s belly in a violent search for milk. Downstar couldn’t help but laugh. It was like the small kit knew just what to do to distract her mother from the pain.

The third kit took a while to arrive. Twilight had almost faded completely from the territories before a little molly slipped out. Carnationpaw oohed and awwed as Fennelspot cleaned the squirming kitten up.

“Wow, Downstar!” Carnationpaw laughed. “She looks just like your first kit! Same colors, same stripes… you have a pair of twins on your paws!”

“In SlugClan,” Fennelspot said as he guided the kit to Downstar’s belly, “identical kits are a sign from StarClan. Their lives will be forever intertwined. They will complement each other well.”

Downstar’s fourth and final kit arrived just as Scrubmask and Rustshade returned from night patrol. The little tom was black, like his oldest sister, but had stocky stripes and a lighter tint to his fur that better matched his other sister. 

“Not a single ginger pelt in the group,” Carnationpaw chuckled. “That’s impressive.” As the pain began to fade and her Clanmates’ congratulatory purrs filled the nursery, Downstar studied her beautiful kits. They were so alive. Each one wiggled, squirmed, and mewled as loud as they could.

“We couldn’t have asked for a better delivery,” Fennelspot purred. He rubbed against Downstar’s head. “How do you feel?”

“Overwhelmed,” Downstar laughed. “I was certain something would go wrong.” But it didn’t. She was a model mother, but would that last? Could she lead both a new Clan and four new lives?

“What will you name them?” Carnationpaw asked, leaning close to the kits.

“It’s better to wait,” Fennelspot said. “Sometimes, StarClan sends one of its spirits down in the form of a kit to guide the others before returning to the sky. It would be insulting to name someone who already has a name.”

“Do you mean one of them could die?” Carnationpaw gulped. “But you said they were all healthy!”

“They are!” Fennelspot stammered as Downstar’s heart ached. “The nature of birth is tricky. It’s best to wait a quarter moon before giving them proper names. I’m hopeful, though. They all look strong.”

“I already have names for them,” Downstar admitted.

“I’ll tell the Clan you’re doing well,” Fennelspot sighed, nuzzling Downstar once more. “You can have visitors in the morning.”

“I promise I’ll help however I can,” Carnationpaw said, licking Downstar’s ear. “I’ll make sure your kits are never lonely.” Downstar nuzzled her apprentice as a deep purr rippled through her. Fennelspot guided Carnationpaw outside and left Downstar in the cool dark of the nursery, illuminated by the small fire built just beyond the den.

“You’ll be Halibutkit,” Downstar mumbled, nuzzling her oldest son. “It’s a type of fish from the ocean. I found one washed on the shore when we settled in camp. It’s a good omen for RippleClan.” The black molly squealed, as though offended that she did not get her name first. “I’m getting to you, little Duskkit. Do you like that name? You were born at dusk. I think it fits.” Next, Downstar studied her gray daughter. “You’ll need a good name so I don’t confuse you for your brother. How about Graykit?” Graykit mewled softly and continued her suckling.

Downstar studied her youngest for a while. He looked so much like the proud, sturdy tom who trained her, who taught her how to care for others, who gave her a life for that very purpose.

“Is that you, Shadowsun?” Downstar whispered. She sniffed the dark gray tom’s sleek pelt. “Did you come to guide my kits? Or are you your own tom?” She licked the kit’s head. The lookalike squealed and flailed his little legs about. “Well, if you’re staying here, I’m going to call you Shadowkit.” Downstar tucked her paws under her and rested her head, never taking her eyes off her four kits. It was a big responsibility, but she had managed as leader so far. She would do her best as a mother, too.

(Downstar: 67, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Fennelspot: 65, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Carnationpaw: 10, female, caretaker apprentice, compassionate, splashes in puddles)

(Halibutkit: 0, kit, male, impulsive)

(Duskkit: 0, kit, female, troublesome)

(Graykit: 0, kit, female, impulsive)

“Okay, we got your feathers in the apprentice’s den, and you’re all groomed,” Oilpaw huffed, smoothing Carnationkit’s head. “Sorry you don’t have a parent to help you with this stuff.”

“It’s alright,” Carnationkit sighed. “I’m just worried. I don’t know what to train as!”

“You’ll be fine,” Oilpaw scoffed. “The Clans have a plan for that. Downstar will put you somewhere she thinks you would like. You can always change roles as you train.” The small Clan stirred as their youngest members chatted in the center of camp. The autumn chill had properly arrived, turning the ocean gray and the leaves of the eastern forest into a mimicry of the sunrise. Scrubmask entered camp from her shift guarding her sleeping Clanmates and noticed the two young cats.

“How long have you two been awake?” Scrubmask yawned.

“I wanted to get my nest set up before my ceremony!” Carnationkit chirped. “That way I can get right into training!”

“Oh, right,” Scrubmask grumbled. “That’s today.” Sure enough, Downstar trotted out of her den and climbed the rock in the heart of the shipwreck (which Oilpaw had named the Shiprock, much to Downstar’s excitement). 

“All cats old enough to catch their own prey,” Downstar yowled, “gather below the Shiprock for a Clan meeting!” Scrubmask sighed and settled down for the meeting. Weedfoot left the warrior’s den and sat next to her apprentice.

“Where’s my dad?” Oilpaw asked, glancing back at the warrior’s den.

“I’m not sure,” Weedfoot sighed. “He left when the sun set, and he hasn’t come back. He was always a fan of night-time hunts, so I’m not too worried.”

“He’ll miss the ceremony,” Oilpaw groaned.

“Hello, everyone,” Downstar called, drawing the small group’s attention. “We all know what today is, I believe. When we first discovered our shipwreck home and found Carnationkit tucked within, we knew our first mission as RippleClan would be to raise her as one of our own. And now it is time to make her an apprentice of our Clan. Carnationkit, have you decided where your paws are taking you?” 

Weedfoot nudged Carnationkit forward. The soon-to-be apprentice stared into Downstar’s deep amber eyes. What would she think of Carnationkit’s decision? Would she see her as an irresponsible kit, as she’d made clear so many times before?

“I don’t know, Downstar,” Carnationkit muttered. She stared at her sandy paws. “Everything seems amazing to me, but I don’t know what I’d be good at.”

“I see,” Downstar hummed. “Will you look at me, Carnationkit?” Carnationkit steadied herself for more disappointment and looked up. Downstar hopped off the Shiprock and approached her. Every muscle in Carnationkit’s body tensed.

“A few moons ago,” Downstar said, “I received a dream from StarClan. They put me in a field of flowers that protected me from wild dogs. I didn’t recognize the flowers at the time, but now their species is clear to me. They were carnations. Those carnations took care of me, and I believe that you will take care of this Clan, Carnationkit. Would you like to train to be RippleClan’s first caretaker? You will watch over future kits of this Clan and maintain our camp and territory. You had no mother to shelter you in our nursery, but now you can shelter cats yourself. What do you say?”

“I’ll do it, Downstar,” Carnationkit said with a lump in her throat. Pride swelled through her and a purr escaped her lips.

“Well then, Carnationkit,” Downstar purred, standing tall, “you’ve reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day on, until you receive your caretaker name, you will be known as Carnationpaw. I will be your mentor.”

“Really?” Carnationpaw gasped.

“I was a caretaker back in SlugClan,” Downstar chuckled. “I’m the only one who could do it. It will be an adventure for both of us.” Downstar touched her nose to Carnationpaw’s. Had she ever gotten this close to her before?

“Carnationpaw!” Oilpaw and Weedfoot cheered. “Carnationpaw!” Though the celebration was tiny, in Carnationpaw’s heart, there might as well have been a hundred Clanmates cheering her name.

(Carnationpaw: 6, female, compassionate, splashes in puddles)

(Oilpaw: 8, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)

(Scrubmask: 21, female, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Weedfoot: 53, female, charismatic, very clever, steady paws)

(Downstar: 63, female, adventurous, valuable insight, very clever)

Puddlespeckle challenges Weedfoot to a sparring match.

[Image ID: Puddlespeckle and Weedfoot face each other. Underneath Puddlespeckle, it says + DISLIKE: WEEDFOOT. Above Weedfoot, it reads LEVEL UP! STEADY PAWS -> FORMIDABLE FIGHTER.]

---

“I know some of the Clans will consider this a dirty move,” Weedfoot sighed, “but this is a staple trick in AshClan. All you have to do is get some dust or sand under your paw and…” Weedfoot whipped her paw through the sand covering camp. The sand flew in Oilpaw and Carnationpaw’s faces.

“Ow, that stings!” Carnationpaw whined, rubbing her eyes on her shoulder.

“Did you have to demonstrate like that?” Oilpaw laughed. She shook out her bright ginger pelt and rubbed a paw over her face.

“Effective, right?” Weedfoot chuckled. It had been about a quarter moon since Carnationpaw joined the apprentice’s den and the camp was covered in fallen leaves blowing in from the east. Downstar had a lot to do as leader, leaving her with not as much time as she wanted to train Carnationpaw in skills that required long training sessions, such as combat. Luckily, Weedfoot had her own apprentice who just so happened to need someone more her size to practice on.

“Now that your enemy is distracted,” Weedfoot continued, “you can tackle them.”

“But we aren’t going to kill them,” Oilpaw proudly declared, “even though Fennelspot told me, apparently, there’s this long branch in your neck that’s full of blood and if you hit it just right—”

“The Code of Thorn & Ivy may support that move,” Weedfoot interrupted, putting a tail over Oilpaw’s mouth as horror filled Carnationpaw’s eyes, “but RippleClan will never intentionally kill another Clan cat like that. Your goal is to beat your opponent enough that they run away or are no longer able to fight back. Now, Carnationpaw, try to flick sand into Oilpaw’s eyes. Oilpaw, make sure to close your eyes.”

“I’m no mouse-brain, I know,” Oilpaw chuckled, obeying her mentor. Weedfoot stepped back. She swiped her paw in the air to show Carnationpaw what to do. Carnationpaw nodded. She slipped a paw into the sand and flicked it up. The sand fell back in a clump.

“It’s okay, keep practicing,” Weedfoot said. She made the motion again.

“You’re teaching AshClan fighting techniques now?” Puddlespeckle strolled out of the elder’s den, eyes following Carnationpaw’s swipes.

“Hi, Father,” Weedfoot said with a low nod (an AshClan custom for greeting parents that Weedfoot couldn’t stop using). “They aren’t strictly AshClan techniques. All the Clans use them.”

“My father was famous for the dust swipe technique,” Puddlespeckle huffed. “If anyone should be teaching these kits how to fight, it’s me.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Weedfoot sighed, “but I’m running this training session. If you want to help, why don’t you see if Fennelspot needs anything?”

“Bleh,” Puddlespeckle spat. “There’s nothing I can do there. If you want these apprentices to learn how to defend themselves, they should see a real AshClan warrior in action.” Puddlespeckle lifted his chin. “Come on then. Attack me. Show these little mollies what’s expected of them when they go toe-to-toe with another Clan.”

“Father, most fighting moves would go over Carnationpaw’s head,” Weedfoot groaned. “She’s only just begun training.”

“I want to see you spar!” Oilpaw chirped. 

“Of course,” Weedfoot sighed with a soft chuckle and a shake of her head. She stretched out her legs and steadied her paws on the shifting sand. “Alright, Father. Let’s see what we can teach them.” Weedfoot barely finished speaking before Puddlespeckle lunged at her.

The two were identical blurs of rosetted silver dancing through the sand. Puddlespeckle had a hunter’s grace, lunging for Weedfoot’s neck and dragging her down. However, Weedfoot would not be moved. Even as the sand shifted underneath her, her paws stayed firm. Each blow held the same grace as her father’s attacks, but with a precision Puddlespeckle could not match.

When the sand began to settle and the apprentices could see clearly, Weedfoot had a paw on Puddlespeckle’s neck. The old tom hissed and shoved her off.

“Guess you’re better than I thought,” he growled. He glared at the apprentices and added, “I hope you got something out of that. Now I gotta clean sand out of my pelt.” Puddlespeckle trudged back into the elder’s den as abruptly as he arrived

“You need to teach me all of that,” Oilpaw said. Weedfoot didn’t hear her. As Weedfoot’s heart settled down, her eyes lingered on the elder’s den and the shadow huddled inside.

(Weedfoot: 53, female, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Carnationpaw: 6, female, compassionate, splashes in puddles)

(Oilpaw: 8, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)