#chicorycough

"Caretakers and warriors can be called upon to sit guard over cats who could prove a danger to themselves or others," Icepaw explained, digging into his memories. "If someone is in the medicine den because of a condition of the mind, it's better to keep them around others than isolate them because… they heal better knowing they aren't alone."

"That sounds right to me!" Pearbranch chirped, resting her head on Midnightpaw's empty nest. "You'll be able to help a lot of mediator apprentices in the future!"

"I'm glad I don't have to do the work, though," Icepaw groaned. He rubbed his paws over his muzzle, chin resting on the exposed sandy floor of the apprentice's den. The Clan didn't have enough leather flooring after the Ocean's Assault to line the apprentice's den yet. Most of the camp was back to normal, with fresh materials forming the once wrecked roofs and debris cleaned out. Still, with Pearbranch enjoying her new nest by Puddlewhisper, Midnightpaw sleeping in the medicine den, and Valleypaw… well, the apprentice's den was pretty lonely.

At least Pearbranch was willing to keep him company so late in the night. The pair whispered in the quiet of the apprentice's den while the rest of RippleClan enjoyed the restored warrior's den. They could hear Rattlepelt working on crafts in the light of the central bonfire, tended by Asterblaze. Icepaw wondered if the pair were helping each other. He hoped so.

"Do you have another headache?" Pearbranch asked.

"Just tired," Icepaw muttered, moving his paws.

"You can practice in the morning if you want to sleep," Pearbranch hummed. She slowly got to her paws, but Icepaw smacked her down.

"Come on, we haven't been able to sit together since your ceremony," Icepaw huffed. "We haven't even…" Icepaw glanced out of the den, just in case Rattlepelt and Asterblaze were close enough to hear.

"We haven't seen Quickpaw since before the flood," Pearbranch finished Icepaw's thought.

"I should be practicing these lessons with her," Icepaw said.

"We—" Pearbranch said, but the sound of soft paws pushing against the sand choked out the conversation. Icepaw and Pearbranch's ears perked. Icepaw forgot it was the half-moon; the clerics were back from their meeting at StarClan's Shrine.

"If Burdockcreek thinks I should visit the human settlement," Estherfern sighed, entering camp with Gingerspring on her tail, "then I'll go to the human settlement."

"Let me come with you," Gingerspring chirped. "I can help you avoid the humans!"

"We'll see," Estherfern muttered, making her way to the medicine den. Weevilsight and Honeybuzz entered next, both quiet and lost in thought. Their gazes caught onto Icepaw and Pearbranch as they passed. Icepaw's neck prickled. When Troutpool entered camp, rather than following her fellow clerics to sleep, she drifted to the apprentice's den.

"I'm glad you two are awake," Troutpool sighed. "I was hoping to see you." Pearbranch sat at Icepaw's side, quiet and attentive, just like they were kits in the nursery, focused on their mother's gentle explanation of their past. Troutpool had the same strained look on her face as Puddlewhisper all those moons ago.

"What's wrong," Icepaw huffed. Troutpool's eyes searched for the best place to begin.

"SlugClan has been facing a yellowcough outbreak," Troutpool explained slowly. "I spoke with their cleric, Mushroomstripe, and she had some news you need to hear." Troutpool squirmed as she gathered her courage. "There's no easy way to say this, but Nimblestep caught yellowcough after the last Gathering. She passed away last night."

Huh. She was dead. Icepaw blinked. Should he… mourn? How should he react to something like that? Was Troutpool expecting something specific from him? She stared intently at Icepaw and Pearbranch, waiting. Waiting for what? Pearbranch's ears dipped. Should Icepaw act sad? He didn't really feel sad. He only saw Nimblestep at the few Gatherings he'd ever attended and… sat through what conversation he felt required to sit through. What was Icepaw feeling? What should he feel?

"Was it peaceful?" Pearbranch asked quietly.

"I'm not sure," Troutpool sighed, dipping her head. "I'm sorry. I can tell Paleseed about this in the morning, if you want to talk through this with someone."

"No thanks," Icepaw said. He realized that wasn't the appropriate thing to say when Troutpool blinked hard, unable to mask her surprise.

"If you're sure," Troutpool gulped. "I'm sorry you found out this way. Mushroomstripe also had a message from Quickpaw for you."

"How is she?" Pearbranch gulped, standing.

"Mushroomstripe just said that Quickpaw wants to see you," Troutpool sighed. "I'll make sure Oilstar takes you both to the next Gathering. Again, I'm so sorry I'm the one to tell you." Troutpool floundered for a moment, unsure what else she could say to the brother-sister pair. Eventually, she slunk after her fellow clerics, leaving Icepaw and Pearbranch softly illuminated by the bonfire a few fox-lengths away. Dread creeped into Icepaw's chest.

"You know what Quickpaw means by that," Icepaw muttered, catching Pearbranch's eyes. "Pearbranch, she's waiting for us."

"You know," Pearbranch gulped, "we don't have to crawl over the dirtplace wall anymore. I'm a historian now. I can leave whenever I want."

"And take an apprentice with you?" Icepaw chuckled, paws itching.

Nothing more had to be said. The pair hurried to the camp exit. Elmsprout sat guard outside and eyed Icepaw sharply when he appeared. Yet Pearbranch held her tail high and refused to hestitate. She escorted her brother around the night guard. As soon as their paws touched the crunchy autumn grass, their restless energy erupted.

Their blue eyes were wide and honed in on the glimmers of the half-moon through the shrouded sky. They did not watch their paws for twigs or leaves that had yet to fade to dust from the pressure of rain and life. There was nothing to hunt that night, and nothing to be hunted by. Only a destination and a pair of brown eyes waiting there.

"I hope she hasn't gone back to camp," Pearbranch gulped as the pungent smell of the WheatClan/AshClan border hit Icepaw's nose.

"She'll be there," Icepaw promised. After all, wouldn't Icepaw and Pearbranch wait until dawn if Puddlewhisper had passed? Icepaw slowed as they crossed the border. The scent of the RippleClan clerics still floated along the scent markers, a path of safe travel to the rest of the Clans. Icepaw took the lead and trailed along that scent path. Pearbranch's nose brushed his tail at times, a reminder that the night had not claimed her.

The conifers thickened and the grass grew greener, a sign of moisture perpetually clinging to the mud underneath. Icepaw forced himself not to cringe; it was worse than chunky sand sinking between his pads. How could Quickpaw stand it? Icepaw shoved the disgusting sensation deep into his thoughts, dragging up the most important questions of the night; was Quickpaw okay? Icepaw got his answer as he and Pearbranch arrived at their secret meeting place.

[Image ID: Icepaw and Peabranch sit next to Quickpaw. Quickpaw says, "I… could think about it."]

Now, it wasn't really "secret" by any means. It was just past the boundary of WheatClan, AshClan, and SlugClan; an old wolverine den, protected by roots as thick as Icepaw's legs. Although the wolverine had been gone for moons upon moons, its scent still clung to the mud, masking RippleClan scent from any who didn't expect to find it there. It was the perfect place for littermates to meet outside of Gatherings and pre-arranged meetings along the border. As Icepaw and Pearbranch pierced SlugClan territory, soft yet strained breathing tickled their ears.

"Quickpaw," Icepaw whispered as the wolverine den came into view. A brown muzzle shifted in the dim moon-light. The figure's breath hitched in a sob. Pearbranch dove into the wolverine den. She threw herself over Quickpaw as her SlugClan sister cried. Icepaw crawled in next to the pair.

"She died, Pear," Quickpaw whined. "She's gone."

"We heard, we heard," Pearbranch whispered. She licked Quickpaw's ears. "We're so sorry."

Icepaw was trained to teach others how to handle such displays of grief and empathy. He knew what a mediator was meant to do in such a situation; focus on the grieving cat, work through their emotions together. But Icepaw couldn't truly use the skills he was meant to teach. A wall formed around his words.

"I told her about our meetings," Quickpaw gulped. "She was so happy we were close. She didn't get to see that." A feeling Icepaw couldn't name squirmed into his head. In the end, Nimblestep left all three of them behind.

"Come with us," Icepaw huffed as Quickpaw cried. Quickpaw choked on her grief, staring wide-eyed at her brother.

"Icepaw, let her grieve," Pearbranch grumbled, grooming Quickpaw's neck.

"No, I mean it!" Icepaw scooted closer to Quickpaw. "You don't have any family left in SlugClan. You could see us all the time. RippleClan would love to have you. Slushtrail can help you finish training!" Quickpaw squirmed into herself.

"I don't like being a mediator," she whispered.

"You don't?" Pearbranch echoed. "But you're so good at it! You're so social."

"I don't like how cats need me," Quickpaw whined. "I don't… something bad will happen if I say the wrong thing. I hate it. I just wanted to see you two."

"So come home with us tonight!" Icepaw snapped. "Oilstar will take you in. You can be whatever you want!"

"She can't leave tonight," Pearbranch groaned. "SlugClan will think we kidnapped her!"

"I…" Quickpaw gulped, swallowing a sob, "could think about it." Icepaw and Pearbranch's tails perked up.

"I think you should think about it," Pearbranch said, rubbing against Quickpaw. "If you're lonely in SlugClan, though… we'll tell Oilstar to let you in."

"Can I just cry tonight, though?" Quickpaw whimpered. "Mom's gone. She's gone." Quickpaw pushed her head into Icepaw's shoulder. Icepaw rested his cheek against her. Pearbranch copied the gesture.

The orphans sat in the quiet of the wolverine den for as long as they could, soaking in grief over a mother they barely knew.

(Icepaw: 11, male, teacher apprentice, fierce, oddly observant, never sits still)

(Pearbranch: 11, female, historian, righteous, good hunter, good storyteller)

(Estherfern: 135, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Gingerspring: 17, male, cleric, charismatic, human expert, good hunter)

(Troutpool: 62, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sight, good climber)

Mitespark announces she is expecting kits. She and Wolverineheart work on crafts together to celebrate their upcoming family.

[Image ID: Mitespark and Wolverineheart sit around a vole. Under Mitespark, it says + CONDITION: PREGNANT. Boughfur jokes with them, saying, "Be honest… you picked that handsome WheatClan mediator as your sire, didn't you?"]

(Mitespark: 43, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)

(Wolverineheart: 33, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

(Boughfur: 33, female, historian, righteous, great climber)

Estherfern visits the human settlement with Brightreed.

[Image ID: Estherfern walks with Brightreed as tbhe latter says, "I don't know what to say to her." A black and white molly with yellow eyes follows them. Under her, it reads NEW PLAYER: VASCO, 12, FEMALE, LONESOME, GREAT KITSITTER, + CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH.]

---

Estherfern and Brightreed knew better than to spend much time in the human settlement. As StarClan directed, Estherfern brought the Witch Hunters a share of RippleClan's mullein. The smell in the streets made it apparent that Indigo was not the only cat hailing from the settlement to contract yellowcough. Even the few Witch Hunters that greeted the RippleClan cats seemed to choke down coughing fits and snatch the mullein like hungry dogs. Mother and son were quick to retreat to the forest.

"She's your mate, son," Estherfern sighed as the pair journeyed back to the Great Northern River. "If you're having these issues, why won't you talk to her about them?"

"It's just…" Brightreed groaned, staring at the bone-gray branches overhead. "Well, Ravenweaver always wants to work. She doesn't want to relax with our friends. And she's not even that good at her work! What am I supposed to tell her? I love you, but you shouldn't be an artisan?"

"Maybe leave that part out," Estherfern sighed, rolling her eyes. "It's an exaggeration. Ravenweaver is merely sloppy in her initial work. She cleans out the mistakes in time. If she feels as anxious socializing as you do, then perhaps you can start there."

"I fight through that, though," Brightreed huffed.

"I don't know what else you expect me to say about it," Estherfern tutted softly. "How's she supposed to know you're lonely if you don't tell her? Do you need me to arrange a talk with Slushtrail?"

"You know I don't want you interfering with that." Brightreed couldn't stop himself from curling his lip as he spoke. He swallowed hard when his words hit his mother, though. He coughed and turned his harsh eyes back to the dying path at his paws.

"You're right, you're right," Estherfern cooed, literally swallowing her pride with a deep breath. "I'll leave you to your woes, then."

"Estherfern!" The sound of the Great Northern River covered what awkwardness remained between mother and son. The cool mist flowing off the rapids soothed Estherfern's lungs, irritated in sympathy for the sick. On the other side, Anchovystrike and Halibutdusk waited beside a basket of tiny fish, each barely big enough to hold in one's mouth. Sandhollow collected fresh water in a bottle hanging around his neck. Late autumn wind pummeled the cats' ears.

"Did Wildclaw send a patrol for us?" Estherfern hummed as she stepped onto the drowned stepping stones.

"We were just fishing," Anchovystrike explained, nudging the basket. "We can dry out these fish to last through the winter!"

"I don't think I can eat fish for a while," Brightreed groaned, hesitating on the unclaimed side of the river. "My fur still reeks of stormwater." Estherfern bit back to the urge to point out that everything smelled like stormwater; they lived next to the ocean, for God's sake.

"Did you bring a Witch Hunter with you?" Halibutdusk muttered, whiskers rapidly twitching as they took in a shadowed scent. Estherfern opened her nose. The mist and fish hid whatever Halibutdusk smelled. Yet a moment later, Estherfern didn't need her nose. A loud cough from behind Brightreed shocked the golden warrior into the river. He scrambled to RippleClan's side as a black and white figure emerged from the same path Estherfern took home.

The molly was lanky, with silvery swirls over a black pelt. Tangles covered her white chest. Her bony legs shook as she approached the river. Her jaw quivered, fighting off another cough. Sandhollow let go of his bottle, watching the loner. Water splashed out of the unsealed bottle, wetting his chest. Yet before he could call out to the coughing molly, Anchovystrike dragged Sandhollow away from the river, dumping out what remained in the bottle.

"Behind us!" Anchovystrike barked, shoving Sandhollow toward Estherfern.

"Anchovystrike!" Estherfern snapped as the silver-striped molly reached the riverbed. "She can barely stand. What threat does she pose?"

"What color are her eyes?" Anchovystrike hissed. He stood in front of Sandhollow and Estherfern, pupils blown wide.

"What?" Sandhollow gulped, blinking wildly. Panic shot up Estherfern's throat, invisible to her Clanmates. Memories of a black, vicious mass overwhelmed her vision.

"They're yellow," Estherfern muttered. Anchovystrike's stiff hackles lowered slightly, but he still guarded Estherfern and Sandhollow, gaze locked on the loner.

"What are you doing?" the silver-striped molly coughed. "I need help!"

"And we will," Anchovystrike called across the river. "Just not in the way you think. Stay right there, we'll be over in a moment." Anchovystrike turned to his Clanmates, face pulled tight, and whispered, "She's not possessed, but there is ichor on her paws. There's some sort of Dark Forest influence on her."

"Can you tell what it is?" Halibutdusk asked, sparing a glance at the infected molly.

"I haven't really encountered enough ichor to tell what the problem is," Anchovystrike scoffed with an awkward chuckle. "I'm going to have to pull it off and deal with whatever comes out."

"We'll help," Halibutdusk huffed, nudging Brightreed out of his stunned expression. The golden tom nodded along with the senior warrior.

"I overheard you!" the sick molly called. "When you saw my friends, you mentioned a cat named Indigo. They're my friend. Are they alive?"

"Indigo is alive," Estherfern called back, moving around Anchovystrike. "He's almost recovered from his yellowcough."

"I'm not important enough to earn any of the mullein you gave the Witch Hunters," the sick molly coughed. "I just need some for myself, and I'll go. I won't get you sick."

"We might be able to help more," Anchovystrike said. He approached the river's edge. "Just don't call me a witch while I do this, alright?" Anchovystrike followed the stepping stones to the coughing cat, Halibutdusk and Brightreed behind him.

"What's your name?" Sandhollow called as his Clanmates got closer to the newcomer.

"Vasco," the sick molly said. She eyed Anchovystrike as he approached. She tightened her jaw to suppress a cough, but nearly threw up with the intensity of it.

"We can bring you to our camp and help you, if you're willing," Anchovystrike explained, couching by Vasco's paw. "Before we can do that, I have to do something. Again, please don't fight me."

Anchovystrike snapped his fangs together just above Vasco's paw, his whiskers brushing her fur. Estherfern blinked, and the black ichor all of RippleClan so deeply feared could at last be seen. Ichor smeared each of Vasco's paws. A force like gravity pulled the ichor toward Anchovystrike's jaws. Black slime dripped onto the grass like spit. Anchovystrike's fangs pierced deep into the ichor like the scruff of an enemy warrior.

Vasco shrieked. She flailed back, her front paw smacking hard into Anchovystrike's chin. As she spun and whirled away, the ichor whipped off her body, sudden tension snapping back at Anchovystrike. The ichor smacked into his face like a soaked moss-ball. Anchovystrike hissed and peeled the big blob off. Slime smeared his lilac fur.

The ichor blob squirmed like dying prey. It writhed and bubbled, sending unwanted memories through Estherfern's mind. Sharp squeaks gurgled out of it. Features took form and color before a terrified audience. Pale pink ears. Black, soulless eyes. Matted gray fur. Slimy, worm-like tails, tied together, twisting into endless knots, leaving their owners trapped in perpetual panic.

The ichor had become a mass of snarling rats, conjoined together by their tails.

"Rat Leader!" Estherfern cried. Halibutdusk shoved Anchovystrike aside as the quivering swarm of rats scrambled toward the younger warrior like a spider. Halibutdusk grabbed the knot of tails, gagging at the touch. They reared their head back and slammed the Rat Leader into the stepping stones of the Great Northern River. The spirit's stomach-curling screech was soon overtaken by the gurgle of the river. Halibutdusk tossed the stunned horde along the river's current. The Rat Leader splashed into the deeper waters beyond. Its writhing form clawed at the water, but the weight of its own horror soon brought it below the surface. The Spirit of Shadow was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"What was that?" Vasco yowled, cowering at the base of a tree while Estherfern and Sandhollow joined their Clanmates. Halibutdusk lapped up the fresh river water like their life depended on it—because truthfully, it did.

"A Rat Leader," Estherfern growled. "A vicious spirit that infects whoever it comes across. One of many spirits to haunt the dead cursed to the Dark Forest."

"What sort of horrors does your faith contain?" Vasco gasped, hackles rising.

"I'm so sorry," Sandhollow gulped, softening his voice. "I don't know how a monster of Clan life could have attached itself to you. Spirits of Shadow aren't supposed to target those outside the Clans. I have good news, though." Vasco stopped shaking. Her ears remained stiff and her hackles raised, but she stayed where she was, yellow eyes locked into Sandhollow's blue gaze. "We owe you. If you're sick because of a Clan-made monster, the Clans owe it to you to help you recover." Vasco said nothing, thoughts swirling behind her unblinking stare.

"Am I going to get yellowcough?" Halibutdusk asked, gagging on their own tongue.

"Clean your mouth with salt water to be safe," Estherfern ordered. "Go, go! We'll take care of Vasco." Halibutdusk scrambled back to the safety of RippleClan territory. They followed the river toward the ocean, holding their tongue out the whole way.

"Thank you!" Anchovystrike called after them. He shuddered, rubbing his stained face in the grass. "That thing almost bit me."

"You're going to give me the herbs I need?" Vasco finally gulped.

"Better," Sandhollow promised. "We can take you to our camp and help you recover. Oilstar won't turn you away."

"Your friend Indigo is there, too," Brightreed awkwardly chirped, standing behind Sandhollow and peering over the cream-tinted tom's head. "You can check on him!" Vasco stood, slowly, hesitantly. She eyed the RippleClan cats, one by one.

"If you say you owe me," she finally gulped, "then show me. Take me to camp."

"Lean on me if you feel weak," Sandhollow said, sliding up to Vasco. "I'll help you over the river."

As the three RippleClan toms helped the young silver-striped molly across the river, Estherfern's gaze drifted through the trees, back toward the settlement hidden beyond. StarClan itself had requested Estherfern's presence there, and now she understood why. Vasco was certainly not the only Witch Hunter smeared in black ichor, coughing up yellow pleghm and choking on air.

The Dark Forest had gotten its claws into the Witch Hunters.

(Estherfern: 135, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Brightreed: 33, male, warrior, righteous, student of art)

(Anchovystrike: 36, male, warrior, playful, unshakable StarClan link)

(Halibutdusk: 93, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Vasco: 12, female, Witch Hunter, lonesome, great kitsitter)

(Sandhollow: 32, male, mediator, ambitious, lore keeper)

Now that Indigo has recovered from yellowcough, he asks to take on a proper name as a teacher of RippleClan and abandon his kittypet name. Oilstar decides to name him Chicorycough. They love the joke in their name.

[Image ID: Indigo, now named Chicorycough, stands tall and healthy. Under them, it says LEVEL UP! INDIGO → CHICORYCOUGH, - CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH.]