#clammask

Downstar was old. While StarClan had healed her wounds from the SlugClan battle, the shock of it clung to her body. It wasn't ready for the fight with LynxClan. There wasn't much more the clerics could do for Downstar, save give those she loved time to sit beside her and say goodbye.

Sunset bounced off the wall of the medicine den behind Oilstripe as she sat beside her sleeping leader. Downstar laid stretched in her nest, tail tightly wrapped in bandages. Her claws peeked in and out as she dreamed her death dream. She'd barely been able to eat over the last few days, leading her ribs to press against her skin. She already smelled of vigil herbs; lavender and mint. Even though Yarrowclaw had a nest in the medicine den, treating a deep slash along the back of her ankle, she left the deputy to her early vigil.

"Nine lives," Oilstripe muttered. She brushed her tail against Downstar's frail side. "It must have been painful. I hope this feels better." Darkhounds, crazed leaders, humans, blizzards… and she lost her final life to LynxClan cats stealing crabs. Crabs. A leader like Downstar deserved a grander death, deep in the heart of a fearsome battle. Or perhaps a quiet one, where she drifted off in her nest. This was neither. This was… just sad.

"Mom?" Oilstripe looked back to see Troutpool standing just inside the medicine den. Behind her, RippleClan shared tongues, quietly waiting for the moment their first great leader left them for Silverpelt.

"She doesn't have long," Oilstripe sighed, turning back to Downstar. "I don't think she's in much pain."

"I know." Silence itched the back of Oilstripe's neck. "I was talking with the other clerics. It will be dark soon. We think it would be better if you and I… started the trip to StarClan's Shrine. You'll need your nine lives." Oilstripe crouched in front of Downstar's muzzle. Her soft breath stirred the small fibers of the moss underneath her.

"I won't leave until she stops breathing, Troutpool," Oilstripe said. "It wouldn't be right." Oilstripe nuzzled Downstar's muzzle. The tortoiseshell leader did not react.

"She'll go at any moment," Troutpool groaned softly. "You can only get your lives at night. And… I know you've noticed her."

Yes, Oilstripe had seen the spirit sitting just beside the den wall, watching Downstar closely. Duskkit stared at her mother, still as a hunter. With the true dusk shining through the thinnest gaps in the wood, Duskkit seemed not like a glowing spirit, visible only to Oilstripe and Troutpool, but a normal kit, a juniper-wearing black tabby waiting for her mother.

"There are a lot of cats waiting for her," Duskkit said. She moved closer to Downstar's sleeping body, peering at the gray fur lining her muzzle. "I want to be the first face she sees when she wakes up." She turned back to Oilstripe and added "She'll see you there, Oilstripe. It's alright." Oilstripe's throat closed. This was really happening. StarClan, she was going to become RippleClan's leader. Fear tightened her shoulders and pushed out her claws.

"I still need to prepare a travel mixture," Troutpool said softly. "That would give you a little more time." When Oilstripe did not respond, Troutpool slipped around her mother and to her stores. She quietly plucked drying herbs from their shelves and placed them in a stone bowl for grinding, worn to a deep dip over moons of artisanal pressure. As her paw pressed the herbs against the stone, transforming them into powder and paste, Oilstripe moved around Duskkit and Downstar. The ginger deputy placed her chin on Downstar's thin chest. Despite the end creeping close, her fur was as soft as ever.

"Maybe your gift to me will be a soft pelt," Oilstripe muttered. Duskkit giggled and trotted to Oilstripe's side. She placed her paw, half the size of Oilstripe's own, on Downstar's back. To Oilstripe's shock, Duskkit's ghostly paw did not phase through.

"That's a sign that she's close," Duskkit explained softly. She stared up at Oilstripe and asked, "What do you think she'll look like in StarClan? I try to look as old as I can, but I know most cats like looking young."

"I'm sure she'll be like you remember her," Oilstripe sighed.

"It's ready, Mom," Troutpool gently called. She placed a lid back on a small jar of water and put it back on her shelves. The herbs inside the stone bowl floated and congealed in the water.

Troutpool lapped up half of the mixture. Her face curled as she swallowed. Oilstripe groomed Downstar's neck, filling her nose with the scent of lavender. She joined Troutpool as the cream and white cleric stepped back and processed the taste of the mixture. Oilstripe's whiskers curled as she leaned down to the bowl. She tried to imagine it was a bowl of honey. She drank the strengthening slop as quick as she could. She gagged at the powerful taste. Was this what the clerics ate before their half-moon trips? Oilstripe forced herself to drink the rest of the mixture. When she was done, Troutpool placed the bowl back in its spot in the corner and nuzzled Oilstripe's neck.

"We can go if you're ready," Troutpool said. Mother and daughter, living, looked back at mother and daughter, dying and dead. Duskkit's pelt shimmered with stars and anticipation as she stared deep into Downstar's closed eyes. Oilstripe forced her mind to still. Downstar deserved to greet her daughter in private. Oilstripe nodded to Troutpool. The pair walked out of the medicine den and through the dimming camp.

Oilstripe focused on the exit. Troutpool waved off Clanmates as they stood, anticipating an announcement of the end. There were two cats, however, that wouldn't let themselves be ignored. Slushtrail and Tallowheart sat in front of the exit, catching Oilstripe and their older sister before they could leave. Slushtrail adjusted the crown of juniper needles that decorated her head as she hurried in front of Oilstripe.

"Is she gone?" Slushtrail gulped.

"Soon," Oilstripe sighed. "We're going to StarClan's Shrine. Keep Rattlepelt and your mother company while we're out."

"You can count on us, Mom," Tallowheart said, brushing against Oilstripe's pelt. "Good luck." Oilstripe touched noses with her son and youngest daughter. She licked each of their ears, breathed love into their fur, and led Troutpool out of camp.

They were not alone as they journeyed toward the border. As they pushed further and further into the forest, starry figures danced in the red shadows. Oilstripe recognized some of the figures. Ripplefern jumped from root to boulder to hilltop, eagerly racing back and forth. Puddlespeckle's blue eyes watched silently from the crook of a yellow birch. Harvest led Robinkit down a deer path, almost dancing as they went. When the sharp scent of the border hit Oilstripe's nose, most of the figures she saw were cats she couldn't recognize. The whole forest seemed to glow with the presence of a hundred glittering pelts.

"Are you always accompanied like this?" Oilstripe whispered to Troutpool.

"I think this is a special occasion," Troutpool gulped. Her head followed a pair of ghostly apprentices leaping across the branches overhead, daring each other to reach StarClan's Shrine first.

Oilstripe didn't know how to each StarClan's Shrine alone, but StarClan guided her paws in the most literal sense possible. As night overtook dusk, spirits waved her forward, directing her and Troutpool along the WheatClan border until they reached SlugClan. Troutpool's path shifted off the border and along a well-tred stretch of dead grass. The thicker hills and cliffs that marked the harsher, more rugged terrain of SlugClan bloomed around them, giving StarClan spirits more places to look and watch the cleric and deputy on their journey.

When Troutpool was an apprentice, she had eagerly described the cave that housed StarClan's Shrine to Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle the day after her first half-moon meeting. As the cave, emerging from a slowly rising cliff, appeared through the trees, Oilstripe realized her daughter described it perfectly. An unlit fire sat outside the cave. Paint smeared the walls of the cave, depicting daring figures and dramatic shapes. Some of the art was so faded, Oilstripe had to squint, but other areas had fresh paint smearing the rock. SlugClan took their responsibility of maintaining the shrine seriously, it seemed.

The StarClan spirits stopped well before they reached the cave. As Troutpool guided Oilstripe into the thick dark, the deputy couldn't help but look back at her starry companions, wishing they could continue to light the way. But if the stories were true, she would see them again soon enough.

The paintings along the cave wall guided Oilstripe further into the dark, just as the StarClan spirits outside escorted her all the way from camp. Cats ran deeper into the cave while others built the Clans; weaving baskets, hunting, cooking, singing. This was an ode to everything the Clans were, all they stood for, all leading to the end of their lives and the start of their next.

Every kit knew about the stone that sat at the end of the cave. Half of the roof had collapsed over the years, allowing the glow of the night to illuminate the sacred sculpture. A large shape bulged from the farthest wall. While bright paint surrounded this shape, nothing dared touch the symbol itself. It was a large, five-pointed object, a symbol that historians drew in the sand to teach kits about their ancestors. It was a star. Carved by cats or carved by nature, none knew which was true, but did that matter? This was StarClan's Shrine. Their symbol led the living to the dead.

"We sleep beside the star?" Oilstripe whispered, as though afraid to break the divinity of the cave. Troutpool nodded. She settled into a soft loaf on the leather-covered floor. Oilstripe forced her stiff legs to bend and place her body beside Troutpool. Questions burned Oilstripe's throat, but she could not ask them. How could she fall asleep in such a place?

"It's easier than you think," Troutpool said, closing her eyes. "It just takes time. I'll be with you, Mom." Oilstripe copied her daughter and closed her eyes, even though the wind purred along the open roof and Oilstripe's body wanted to run.

Alright, StarClan. What did you truly think of Oilstripe?

[Image ID: Oilstar stands proud and tall with Fennelspot, Mosspounce, Weedfoot, Applepelt, Rustshade, Parsley, Clammask, Locustseeker, and Downstar's ghosts surrounding her. Troutpool and Moonpaw watch from afar. Downstar says, "We hail you by your new name, Oilstar, second leader of RippleClan. You are everything we built this Clan to be. Make it more." Under Oilstar, it says LEVEL UP! OILSTRIPE → OILSTAR, + LIVES: 9.]

Oilstripe's thoughts drifted for a while. Flashes of her Clan danced behind her eyelids. Downstar, dying in her nest. Carnationspeckle, pledging to be Oilstripe's mate as long as she would have her. Rattlepelt, calling her Mom for the first time. Troutpool's birth, then Slushtrail and Tallowheart. In so many ways, Oilstripe had never lost a single friend, while in others, she could never forget them. Perhaps this was why she was given her strange sight, as some supernatural preparation to lead RippleClan. Was Downstar even dead yet?

"Don't worry, Oilstripe. She's here."

Oilstripe startled, rolling onto her side. The cool leather floor of StarClan's Shrine had vanished. Sand mixed into Oilstripe's ginger pelt. A bright, cloud-dappled sky stretched above her, shining with the brilliant glow of the sunrise that burned against the ocean behind Oilstripe. The forest and the steepening cliffs beyond it lined the horizon beyond the ethereal beach. It smelled like every season at once; the warmth of summer, the colors of autumn, the chill of winter, and the growth of spring. It was home, it was RippleClan, but it wasn't. It was RippleClan at its best.

Troutpool stood beside Oilstripe and helped her mother to her paws. A sparkling white molly stood at the edge of the grass and sand, purring. Oilstripe had not seen this figure in many, many moons. Her appearances in the living world dimmed as more and more RippleClan cats quietly watched their descendants. But she had never left them, had she?

"Mom," Troutpool whispered, bowing before the white molly. "This is—"

"Moonpaw," Oilstripe purred. "It's been a long time."

"You've met our StarClan guide?" Troutpool gasped, jumping back up.

"I knew you would be leader some day," Moonpaw laughed, trotting up to the living cats. Stars trailed in her wake. "I don't just mean because I'm RippleClan's guide, either! It just felt right."

"Thank you," Oilstripe sighed, dipping her head. Suddenly, Moonpaw jabbed her nose against Oilstripe's forehead. Her nose was cold, like diving into the ocean.

Oilstripe's life flashed before her eyes. Literally. She saw WheatClan's camp from the eyes of a kit at Sunstrike's side, Rustshade beckoning her close. She saw RippleClan's shipwreck for the first time and spotted the little brown kit waiting within for her mother. She saw Moonpaw for the first time, saving her from an early demise. She saw Troutpool at Carnationspeckle's belly, she saw her Clan grow, she saw Weedfoot's spirit nod in approval, she saw death and battle and birth and love. Her life collapsed into a single moment of unending memories.

Oilstripe's legs buckled as Moonpaw stepped away. Troutpool threw her head under Oilstripe's chin, helping her back to her feet.

"What did you do?" Oilstripe gasped, reminding herself she could still breathe.

"A few things," Moonpaw said with a chuckle. "I'm RippleClan's guide. I have to make sure they have a good leader. Very official." She cleared her throat and stood a bit taller. "I have taken your old life from you, Oilstripe. Your body is no longer breathing. It now has room for nine new lives to guide RippleClan through the seasons to come. I have searched through your life, and I approve of your right to rule." Oilstripe nodded dumbly. She knew this would happen; stories of past leader's ceremonies made up more than a few legends. The process was known, even if the details were kept secret until a leader's final passing. But to actually have that happen…

"What now?" Oilstripe gulped. Moonpaw looked back to the forest.

"Now Troutpool and I settle down and bear witness," Moonpaw purred. Moonpaw bunted Troutpool's shoulder like an old friend. Troutpool stumbled to the side, eyeing Oilstripe as Moonpaw shoved her away. Oilstripe breathed slow as she stared into the trees. Downstar wanted this. StarClan wanted this. It would be alright.

The first life-giver's golden eyes peered from underneath a giant pine. He emerged slowly, eyeing Moonpaw as he stepped into the light. Oilstripe's heart lightened. Even in his afterlife, Fennelspot was a consistent presence in the medicine den, watching the clerics work and standing over patients. It felt not like a long-awaited reunion, but a visit with a good friend.

"Can you believe I thought you were mean as a kit?" Oilstripe laughed as Fennelspot approached. The petals he stuck into his pelt were bright and soft as though they still grew on their stems.

"I had a lot going on," Fennelspot hummed, whiskers twitching in humor. "Now Oilstripe, this will be a lot. You'll feel like you're dying. I won't lie to you. But you can handle it. Trust yourself."

"I do my best," Oilstripe said. Fennelspot touched his pointed muzzle to Oilstripe's forehead.

"With this life," he said, voice echoing with supernatural power, "I give you unity. Unity across the Clans made RippleClan possible. It's your job as leader to foster unity within RippleClan. It can be hard, but the Clan depends on you now."

Oilstripe did not feel very united in that moment as slicing pain ripped through her mind. She could feel herself break apart, her body tearing into large, bleeding chunks. She tumbled away from herself, helplessly reaching out. Yet before she could lose herself, mental twine latched itself to her soul. Stitches pulled her pieces back together. She would not let herself fall apart. Disjointed parts slipped back together, their bonds stronger than ever before.

Oilstripe's legs shook as Fennelspot stepped back. Oilstripe laughed weakly, licking her dry lips. Fennelspot wasn't lying. The dead cleric peered at Oilstripe like he was ready for her to fall over. Oilstripe sat and swallowed vomit that crawled up her throat. Fennelspot still studied Oilstripe like a good cleric should, but he moved to the side for the second life-giver.

This life-giver marched out of the forest like he ruled it all. Oilstripe couldn't help it, she startled at the sight of black and gray fur and earthy green eyes.

"Mosspounce?" she gasped.

"Congratulations, Oilstripe," Mosspounce chirped, sitting with a plop in front of the ginger molly. "I'm really excited to give you your second life."

"I have to be honest," Oilstripe said, chuckling at the shock of it all, "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Think about it," Mosspounce chuckled. "I was born… under not so good circumstances. I mean, my father had me in some strange attempt to connect with your mate. It's disturbing." Mosspounce's tail curled around his front leg. "Still, Carnationspeckle nursed me. And you, you didn't treat me bad. You always treated me like my own cat."

"I tried my best," Oilstripe explained with a lick to her chest. "I can't say it didn't feel strange, but you were a kit. It wouldn't have been right to treat you poorly. You aren't Shadowdrop's mistakes."

"That's why you'll be a good leader," Mosspounce purred. He touched his nose to Oilstripe's forehead and said, "With this life, I give you the gift of adventure. Don't be afraid to reach far and go where the wind takes you. Risks have the best rewards."

Oilstripe was flying. The world bent below her. Trees and mountains and oceans curled in on each other. She hovered in a black void, stars twinkling far, far away. A blue and green ball, sprinkled white, danced before her. There was no limit to what she could do. She never wanted to come down.

Yet come down she did as Mosspounce stepped away. Oilstripe's eyes blurred from the leftover effect. Mosspounce's form rippled like a reflection. Oilstripe rubbed her eyes. It was like clearing out sand and salt. By the time her vision returned, the figure standing in front of her was no longer Mosspounce… but Weedfoot. She had made only a few appearances in camp since her passing; Oilstripe hadn't realized how young her former mentor truly looked in StarClan.

"I am so, so proud of you, Oilstripe!" Weedfoot cheered. She rubbed against Oilstripe. She smelled like dandelions and salt. The smell grounded Oilstripe against the sand of Silverpelt. She licked Weedfoot's neck, purring in return. "James wanted me to tell you not to let the power go to your head."

"What's it like to have Paleshade and James in StarClan together?" Oilstripe asked as Weedfoot moved back.

"Let's just say they keep me busy," Weedfoot hummed. With that, she touched her nose to Oilstripe and declared, "With this life, I give you courage. By StarClan, you'll need it."

Oilstripe was afraid. Her body ached and burned. Darkness intensified the pain. No one was coming. No one would help. It was forbidden. But that wasn't the worst pain. The worst was the cooling body pressed against her own. She could have lived, you foxhearts. She wouldn't cower before them. Even if she died right then and there, Weedfoot would not let AshClan win.

Oilstripe reflexively sobbed when the pain ended and she returned to the present. Troutpool hurried forward, but Moonpaw stepped in front with a soft shake of her head. Weedfoot licked Oilstripe's cheek as she shook. Just that simple touch, both dead and alive, rekindled the newfound strength left within Oilstripe's bones. Her mentor had faced that horror and live. Oilstripe would be honored to carry that courage with her.

Weedfoot joined Fennelspot and Mosspounce, who sat to the side with Troutpool and Moonpaw. Oilstripe peered into the forest. Who would visit her next? She couldn't see any iridescent eyes or sparkling pelts—

Something slammed into Oilstripe's shoulder. Oilstripe fell on her jaw. Sand flew into her nose. A mad cackle clued her into her next life-giver.

"I can touch you, I can touch you," Applepelt sang as their soft paws batted Oilstripe's exposed belly. Fennelspot groaned and Troutpool's eyes went wide. Everyone else just laughed.

"You're bird-brained, Applepelt," Oilstripe laughed, getting back to her paws. She snorted like a horse, blowing out sand.

"Aww, but didn't you miss this?" Applepelt cooed. She thrust her head into Oilstripe's chest. "I mean, I know I talk to you all the time, probably more than I'm supposed to if I'm honest, but isn't it nice to actually do this?" Applepelt suddenly reared up and nibbled Oilstripe's ear. Oilstripe laughed like an apprentice and headbutted Applepelt off.

"You'll get in trouble with Carnationspeckle if she hears about this," Oilstripe giggled.

"Well when I get the chance, I'll flirt with her, too!" Applepelt declared. "You can't stop me."

"The life, Applepelt," Fennelspot snapped. Moonpaw shushed the (ironically) younger StarClan cat.

"I'm getting to it," Applepelt scoffed as Oilstripe tried to dam her giggles. "Alright, alright, time for the serious stuff." Applepelt purred as they touched Oilstripe's forehead. "With this life, I give you confidence! I've always cheered you and Carnationspeckle on, and I've always tried to make you as confident in yourselves and each other as I am. Now you have to be confident!"

If Oilstripe thought the life for adventure was intoxicating, Applepelt's life was something else entirely. Oilstripe's body floated. She was on fire, but the fire did not hurt. She could do anything. She could face an entire enemy Clan. She could feed all of RippleClan. She could, and would, do it all! Everything would be okay, because Oilstripe was the one in control. She was the Clan leader, and she could do it!

The release was not as painful as

Oilstripe expected. Instead, as Applepelt trotted over to the other StarClan cats, Oilstripe felt refreshed. The horror of Fennelspot and Weedfoot's lives seemed distant, echoing against the trees. Oilstripe breathed deeply, throat stinging with salt. She waited for her next visitor, glancing along the beach and through the trees. Her pelt prickled as every moment passed without sight of a new life-giver.

"Rustshade, don't keep her waiting!" Weedfoot yowled into the trees. Oilstripe's heart stopped. Red paws slipped into the light. Rustshade's sharp heather eyes bore into Oilstripe. Oh. So this was what these reunions were meant to feel like.

"Dad," Oilstripe whimpered. Rustshade slowly made his way to his oldest daughter. He looked younger than Oilstripe did. Oilstripe stretched her head forward, shaking. She cried when Rustshade's nose touched her forehead. Oh to be a kit again, the focus of Rustshade's attention.

"With this life, I give you…" Rustshade said, "the gift of breaking the warrior code." What? Oilstripe nearly steppd back to oggle her father, but she feared to break the powerful ritual. Rustshade was considered the Celestial of RippleClan Codekeepers! Oilstripe literally heard cats like Cobaltchaser and Wolfgaze pray to him to pass their assessments! How could he suggest breaking the code in front of his fellow StarClan warriors?

"Do you think you would be leader if we didn't break the code and turn against our old Clans?" Rustshade scoffed. "The right thing isn't always what the code says. It's up to you to recognize that."

Wind buffeted Oilstripe's pelt. She was certain she'd be flung upward, destined for a gruesome landing. Stabbing pain consumed her body. The glare of a hundred righteous faces burned into her. But she burned too, not out of shame, but pride. They could say what they wanted. This was right.

"Don't go!" Oilstripe cried as the connection broke and Rustshade stepped away. She reached for her father's slender tail as he turned, but her claws barely reached his fur. Troutpool's gaze was stuck on her grandfather as he sat beside Fennelspot. Oilstripe's jaw ached. Couldn't Rustshade spare a single comforting word her way?

"Now this is exciting!" A red and gray tortoiseshell trotted toward the beach. The stump that once formed her tail wiggled like an excited apprentice. Unlike the other StarClan cats, who usually looked far younger than they were when they died, Parsley still looked like an elder, with aging gray around her muzzle and thin patches of fur. Oilstripe tried to ignore Rustshade's presence and relaxed at the sight of Parsley. She was around the nursery so much in her afterlife, it was sometimes like she had never passed.

"I am very honored to be giving you a life, Ms. Oilstripe," Parsley chirped. "I hope I can do right by you and Carnation."

"You always did, Parsley," Oilstripe hummed as Parsley touched her forehead.

"With this life, I give you new beginnings," Parsley purred. "That's what RippleClan is all about, and it's what I grew to embody. Give them out whenever you can."

Oilstripe blossomed. Her body grew taller, faster, stronger, shining brighter and brighter with a fire in her belly. The beach was too small to hold her. Her bones snapped under the sudden pressure, yet they rebuilt themselves just as fast. All the while, the sensation of her tail attached to her flank faded, numb and ghost-like. Had Oilstripe not been in extreme pain, she would have laughed.

"Enjoy it, Ms. Oilstripe," Parsley purred. Oilstripe's head spun when the tortoiseshell moved back. Parsley plopped herself in front of her fellow StarClan cats.

Oilstripe barely had a moment to collect herself before the seventh life-giver emerged from the forest. Clammask! She seemed more at ease than Oilstripe could ever recall her being. Her dull golden fur was brighter than ever. She must have been enjoying her time in StarClan, since Oilstripe had only seen her at the vigils of her daughters in recent moons.

"You're almost done, Oilstripe," Clammask promised. Oilstripe had no time to greet her sister before Clammask touched her nose to Oilstripe's forehead. "With this life, I give you strength—strength in mind, heart, and body. I don't think you could ever hope to be a leader without strength."

Heavy waves pounded against Oilstripe. Her paws flew out from under her. She choked on salt and foam. Her eyes burned. She was certain she was about to vomit. Something pushed her up, pushed her to find air, to keep going. She wasn't going out like this. StarClan, was she living through Clammask's final moments? Was this what death felt like?

Oilstripe gagged as the connection broke. She was not about to throw up in front of StarClan itself, especially not her own daughter. Oilstripe swallowed hard as Clammask ran to Rustshade. The pair bunted heads and Clammask settled at her father's paws.

"Oilstripe! Over here!" A cream figure jogged along the beach, racing right at Oilstripe. The ginger molly braced herself to be tackled once more. Yet instead of a violent reunion, Locustseeker simply bunted their head against Oilstripe's side, purring deeply.

"I had to fight Burdockcreek and Twinekit for this spot," Locustseeker laughed. "Hope you don't mind they aren't here. I'm sure they'll visit you later." Oilstripe purred too and licked her lost sibling's head. "Don't be mad at Dad and Clammask, they love it up here. I'm trying to convince them to go see you more."

"Don't get in trouble on my part," Oilstripe hummed as Locustseeker moved in front of her. Even though they died young, they still matched Oilstripe's height, making it easy for them to touch their nose to her forehead.

"With this life, I give you endurance," Locustseeker declared. "Don't give up, Oil. I hope this keeps you going."

Oilstripe's heart beat wildly. Battle yowls pierced her ears. Claws danced through her skin, but Oilstripe returned every blow. Endurance seemed to be the same as strength, but as Oilstripe's body weakened and that strength left her, her endurance remained. It was the force that encouraged her to perform until her body gave way.

Locustseeker's release was like a deep sigh. Oilstripe no longer shook and swallowed bile. Locustseeker joined Clammask and Rustshade, shooting sassy looks to the both of them. Oilstripe heard many stories of leader ceremonies, their details revealed to historians after their passing. She knew how nearly all of them ended. There was only one candidate left to give her her final life.

Downstar emerged triumphantly from the forest. She looked just as she did in Oilstripe's oldest memories. Her soft fur glistened and shined with the newly gained glow of Silverpelt. There was a spark to her amber eyes Oilstripe had never seen before. Cats, both known and unknown, trailed behind her. Duskkit. Shadowdrop. Trumpetspore. Tempestshade. Scrubmask. More and more spirits followed Downstar to the beach, all staring at Oilstripe.

"You look good," Oilstripe said. She was shocked to find a lump in her throat as she spoke.

"I feel better than I have in a very long time," Downstar purred. "Now that I'm here, there's something very important I need to tell you." The lump in Oilstripe's throat grew as Downstar touched her forehead. "I picked a good, good deputy. With this life, I give you leadership in the darkest times. My only hope for you is that you fare better than I did."

The weight and emotion of Oilstripe's eight other lives crashed into her. Battle cries, crashing waves, breaking bones, glaring eyes, intoxication, darkness, flight, falling apart and coming togther again. All of these experiences pulled themselves together in Oilstripe's chest and burned against the shadows of the sunset.

"We hail you by your new name, Oilstar, second leader of RippleClan. You are everything we built this Clan to be. Make it more."

Triumphant yowls filled the land as Oilstar stood before StarClan. The ghosts she so often saw on the horizon now stood proud and alive, bright as the moon. Troutpool joined the cries of the dead, her voice giving way under the strain. Oilstar's new name filled the sky.

"Oilstar! Oilstar! Oilstar!" StarClan cheered.

"Oilstar? Are you Oilstar now?" Dovekit asked.

Wait, Dovekit?

Oilstar woke on the cool leather floor of StarClan's Shrine. Dovekit stared directly into her face, a whisker's length away. He blinked innocently, like he didn't know how wrong this all was.

"Dovekit!" Oilstar snapped, standing on shaking legs. "How are you here?"

"I followed you," Dovekit said as Troutpool stirred behind him.

"All the way from camp?" Oilstar gasped. How in StarClan's name could a kit get out of camp and travel across two territories with no one finding him? "Dovekit, there are dangerous things in the forest, especially at night. An owl could have swooped down and grabbed you!"

"But no one saw me," Dovekit huffed. Troutpool opened her bleary eyes and suddenly startled at the sight of the gray and white kit. Oilstar shook her head, hiding a purr deep in her throat. Now it would be her job to find the chaotic tom a mentor next moon. It would be her job to find mentors for every kit in RippleClan, bestow names on every new warrior. She'd be the one speaking for RippleClan at Gatherings. She'd be the one deciding the fate of her Clanmates.

If she could handle Dovekit in that moment, perhaps she'd handle all of that as well.

(Oilstar: 99, female, leader, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Downstar: 154, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Troutpool: 56, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sight)

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

(Slushtrail: 31, female, mediator, wise, clever, talented weaver)

(Tallowheart: 31, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)

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

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

(Mosspounce: 52, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Weedfoot: 122, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

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

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

(Parsley: 156, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

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

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

Carnationspeckle and Wildclaw grieve Downstar, but Oilstar still appoints Wildclaw as her deputy.

[Image ID: Oilstar faces Wildclaw and Carnationspeckle. Under Wildclaw and Carnationspeckle, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

(Oilstar: 99, female, leader, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Wildclaw: 87, female, deputy, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

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)

Honeybuzz helps the three star-blessed apprentices.

[Image ID: Honeybuzz, Weevilpaw, Wolfpaw, and Anchovypaw watch Estherfern talk with a Dark Forest spirit. Under Honeybuzz, it says + NEW SKILL: GOOD TEACHER.]

---

Honeybuzz cupped his paw around one of the many plucked mushrooms that formed the unholy circle. He sniffed at the herbal mixture that sealed the pickings together. A few strands of black and red fur clung to the wet earth that lined the edges of the muddy den. The constant rain of the last four days made the ground slick and sent water dripping from the root-lined ceiling. Anchovypaw, Wolfpaw, and Weevilpaw stood outside the den, heads close together as they peered inside. The rain glued their pelts to their skin.

“And you’ve known about this for how long, Anchovypaw?” Honeybuzz asked. He absently batted at his wooden necklace, the freshly plucked cicada wing glistening with raindrops. He pointedly sat outside of the circle, mud sinking into his thin fur.

“Only a few days,” Anchovypaw admitted. “I didn’t want to say anything until I could come back here, but there’s even more ichor here than there was when I first found the den.”

“You should have told us sooner,” Weevilpaw huffed with a glare so sharp that, had she had her sister’s ability, Anchovypaw would have frozen stiff.

“I wasn’t going to scare anyone if I didn’t have to!” Anchovypaw huffed. A sharp flick of his tail sent a stream of water flying over Weevilpaw and Wolfpaw’s backs. “It could have just been where the beast that killed Weedfoot went to die. I only waited a few days! It took me that long to get away from Halibutdusk!”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Honeybuzz promised. He squeezed around the apprentices, squinting as the rain splashed his eyes.

“Now we know someone else has been here,” Wolfpaw pointed out. 

“What is it, Honeybuzz?” Weevilpaw asked. She moved further into the den, eyes locked on the circle.

“You remember my lessons on channeling StarClan?” Honeybuzz said, shivering. “It exhausts power StarClan wasn’t planning to use, but the immediate and physical communication can justify an absence of subtle signs and assistance.”

“But we don’t use mushrooms,” Weevilpaw said. She poked at a mushroom, making it roll out of its spot. “We form a circle of cats, not plants.”

“But do you remember when you met Terracottafoot?” Honeybuzz sighed. “I asked them to tell you about last Harvest Moon, and some of their knowledge of the Dark Forest. Newtstream, their mentor, taught them about channeling Dark Forest spirits using a circle of mushrooms.”

“Someone’s summoning Spirits of Shadow,” Wolfpaw gulped.

“Who would be that mouse-brained?” Anchovypaw growled. His claws left gouges in the mud. “We all remember the Shardling. Who would want to bring something like that back?” Anchovypaw looked like he was going to be sick. Wolfpaw rubbed against Anchovypaw’s side. “You were right, Weevilpaw. I should have destroyed this den as soon as I found it.”

“Then they would have made another one,” Honeybuzz pointed out. “No, we need to find a trusted warrior to watch this den. They can wait until the culprit visits again. Waspdawn or Puddlewhisper would do well. I trust them.” Weevilpaw’s soaked fur prickled. Her eyes widened, locked on something Honeybuzz couldn’t see. Her mouth dropped slightly, breath catching. 

“Out, out!” Weevilpaw hissed, lunging past Wolfpaw. She scrambled into a thick bush, still bursting with summer life. Wolfpaw and Anchovypaw were instantly at her side, following her into the shadows. Honeybuzz stumbled in after them, sharp branches poking his ribs.

“Who did you see?” Anchovypaw whispered just as the shrubbery on the other side of the dark den shifted. Bicolored eyes glimmered through the mid-morning haze.

“Estherfern?” Honeybuzz gasped as the older cleric stepped into full view. Estherfern carried a ball of fur in her jaws, the same red and black colors Honeybuzz found in the strange den. Her fur on her cheeks drooped like heavy leaves. She strolled into the shadows, ignorant to her spies.

“The Shardling almost killed her kits,” Anchovypaw growled, his rage making the leaves shake. “Why would she deal with the Dark Forest?”

“Keep listening,” Wolfpaw whispered. “We might find out.” Estherfern placed the furballs in the center of the circle. Her cool gaze settled on Weevilpaw’s disturbed mushroom. Honeybuzz grit his teeth. Estherfern carefully nudged the mushroom back into its original position. She sat in the den’s entrance, back to Honeybuzz and the apprentices.

Estherfern declared, “I call upon the spirit of Hawthornstealer, banished from StarClan for murder in the name of his kits. Despite your sins, your assistance is required. Return to the Clans, if only for a moment. Speak to us.”

“Do you see that?” Anchovypaw whispered, pressing into Weevilpaw. “Do you see that?” Honeybuzz squinted. The circle was still. Suddenly, Weevilpaw gasped. She bit into her paw to muffle her shock. Honeybuzz braced his heart for whatever the star-blessed apprentices saw.

It began as a shift in the mud, like water in a pot at the first stages of boiling. The ground around the fur offering darkened. Black sludge bubbled out of the mud and lapped up the fur balls like medicine. The sound of its formation reminded Honeybuzz of paws trapped in thick gunk, pulling out of the mess with a sucking slurp. It leaked from under the mushrooms and collected in the circle’s center. The ichor pulled itself upward like drops of water falling from the ceiling, perverting the pull of the earth. A subtle red glow illuminated the den.

“It’s finally working,” Estherfern gasped as the ichor took shape. It lifted itself high like a cat arching their back. It clung to the ground at four points that slowly took on the details of paws. A claw-like tail sprouted from its back. The ichor bubbled and bulged into a muzzle. Two glowing red eyes erupted from the spirit’s face. StarClan help them all.

“So you are Estherfern,” the spirit said. Its voice was as sticky as the mud from which it was born, dissolving into the sound of the tumbling rain.

“Hawthornstealer?” Estherfern asked. The spirit blinked slowly, its eyelids like a mudslide. 

“Why do you call?” the spirit groaned.

“Oilstripe and Lavendertwist told me your story,” Estherfern explained. She inched closer, back still stuck in the rain. “You killed an elder to ensure more food for your kits in a famine. You would have done anything for them. StarClan doesn’t seem to have the power I need. I’m hoping you can help.”

“Explain.”

“My kits are sick, and RippleClan can do nothing to help them. One of my daughters is going deaf, the other is half-blind. And now my only son has issues of the head, issues the mediators are simply bandaging, not fixing.” Was she talking about Brightpaw? Spikecrash had asked Honeybuzz and Troutpool about any relaxing herbs the young tom could take before the Gathering, something to ease the panic that overtook him when too many cats surrounded him. It was manageable. There was no need to resort to such extremes.

“You are searching for a cure.”

“I can’t let them struggle like this. How can I fix them?” The spirit stared at Estherfern silently, the rainfall burning into the background of Honeybuzz’s mind. The only sign of un-life in the spirit rested in its long, slow blinking. Even Estherfern, collected as she was, twitched under the spirit’s unending, blank stare.

“I…,” Anchovypaw whispered, “I don’t think that’s the ghost of Hawthornstealer.”

“Why not?” Wolfpaw whimpered.

“It’s too empty,” Anchovypaw groaned, struggling to find the right word. “Weedfoot’s stories said Dark Forest ghosts looked like themselves. Even the Shardling looked a little like Autumnstar, isn’t that what Downstar told us? This thing doesn’t look like anyone. It looks like a shadow."

“We may have the power,” the spirit finally coughed through its thick ichor. “We need help.”

“That’s what I expected,” Estherfern sighed. “What sort of ritual do I need to perform? Is there another spirit I should talk to?”

“Your children were destined to develop these afflictions,” the spirit gurgled. “Their destinies must be replaced. Replaced with another’s.”

“Elaborate.” 

“The eyes of the clear sighted.” The spirit’s red eyes shone like a flickering fire. “The ears of the cautious listener.” Its pointed ears flicked, their first movement since the spirit’s arrival. “The tongue of the charmed.” Its black teeth peered out from muddy lips. “Three sacrifices. Three kits.” Estherfern stilled. Honeybuzz’s heart sank. Despite her standoffishness, despite her argumentativeness, Estherfern was part of the Clan, her kits were part of the Clan. How could she throw that away to fix what didn’t, what couldn’t be fixed?

“We’ll stop her before she begins,” Anchovypaw growled, inching a paw out of hiding. StarClan asked for Estherfern. Why would they send for her if she could be swayed like this?

“Offer the dead—”

“No.” All four hidden cats perked their ears high. Estherfern stood, tail rippling slowly as she stared the spirit down. The spirit, to Honeybuzz’s continued shock, flinched.

“No?” the spirit spat.

“What do you take me for?” Estherfern scoffed. “You think I’m so blindly devoted to a cure that you can turn me into a murderer? A sadist for the sake of my children?”

“You want them cured,” the spirit growled. Its paw lingered at the edge of the circle. “This is how you cure them.”

“And what happens when I do?” Estherfern asked, tilting one ear in a shocking taunt. “I know how your land works, the rules of your afterlife. They will go to StarClan some day and learn what I did for them, if they do not find out in life. They will despise me for what I have done.”

“But they will be cured.”

“Furthermore, I know the creatures that inhabit your Dark Forest.” Estherfern walked around the circle like a hunter. The spirit never turned its head, face stuck in a sneer. “It is the home of murderers and scoundrels. I would surely arrive there after my own death were I to kill three innocents for you. You would condemn me to eternity without my children.”

“You’ve already been damned, Estherfern. You brought forth the Skin N’ Bones that slew your deputy. You are the cause of your Clan’s suffering. Do you believe StarClan will forgive you for that?” A Skin N’ Bones. Of course. Nothing else would have injured Downstar like that. Nothing else would have devoured Weedfoot alive. Estherfern stopped. The calculated and callous look that always hung in her eyes cracked. Honeybuzz could almost see Estherfern’s soul drop. “Why give up now? You’re too far gone. Your children are not. Why summon us if you were not willing to do whatever it took to fix your kits?”

“I will not have them hate me!” Estherfern rounded on the spirit, lips curled tight. “I will not have them curse my name!” She shook her head low. “I will find a different cure for them. I will find another way. I send you back, spirit, back to your dark wanderings, where StarClan’s light does not reach.” Estherfern reached for one of the mushrooms. Her paw breached the circle.

“No!” The spirit dug its fangs into Estherfern’s paw. Ichor dripped into her fresh wound. She pulled back, ripping more of her skin in the process. 

“I respect what you did for your kits, Hawthornstealer,” Estherfern hissed, licking her paw. “I realize now, however, that where you could put aside your kits’ emotions for their futures, I cannot.”

“We,” the spirit growled, voice dissolving, “are not Hawthornstealer.” 

The spirit’s legs melted like snow. Its form dissolved and splashed about in a massive sticky pool. One by one, the mushrooms rolled into the ichor and vanished under the writhing mass as though falling into a great black hole. The ichor bubbled and squirmed as though in a death rattle. It leaked from the confines of the circle and coated the den floor. Estherfern backed up, back paws slipping on the soaked grass.

Weevilpaw raced out of the bush before Honeybuzz could react. She threw her full weight into Estherfern’s side. The two clerics tumbled into the shrubs. In that moment, the ichor exploded. It sprayed the walls of the dirt den and shot into the rain in an endless cascade. More ichor escaped the den than could have possibly made up the spirit in the circle. As it flew into the forest, large clumps tumbled to the side like wayward drops from a massive wave. The glops tumbled and sloshed against the wet ground before launching through the trees and out of sight. More and more of these glops scrambled away until finally, finally, the spray slowed. A long black trail led out of the den, which was now nothing but ichor and goop. 

Honeybuzz, Anchovypaw, and Wolfpaw crept out of hiding as Weevilpaw got off Estherfern. Mud coated half of her brown pelt. The ichor stunk like rotting flesh and mushrooms.

“How long have you been there?” Estherfern asked, slow to her paws.

“Wolfpaw, you might have to freeze me,” Anchovypaw growled, claws out. “I’m a whisker’s length from killing her.”

“Anchovypaw, no!” Weevilpaw stood in front of Estherfern, paws skidding. “She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She was trying to help her kits. We can’t blame her for that!”

“But the Dark Forest…” Wolfpaw gulped. With the puff in her fur dissolved in the rain, she seemed half her size.

“It is full of dead cats, not unlike StarClan,” Estherfern huffed. She stepped around Weevilpaw and faced down the furious crowd. “All I wanted was a way to cure my kits, something you’ve shown you cannot do.”

“Estherfern, you weren’t talking to a dead warrior,” Honeybuzz groaned, almost stepping on the ichor trail. “That was a Herald. Their entire purpose is to trick the living into allowing Spirits of Shadow into the territories.” His gaze lingered on the forest. He could almost hear the half-formed monsters slurping across the grass, taking their true, cursed forms.

“You heard her!” Weevilpaw huffed. “She wasn’t going to listen to the spirit. She was going to destroy the circle.”

“She didn’t commit murder,” Anchovypaw scoffed. “You did well, Estherfern. You did the bare minimum.”

“Is it your fault?” Wolfpaw muttered, voice almost lost in the rain. “Did you get Weedfoot killed?” Estherfern stared into the ichor-soaked den. 

“I didn’t know,” she said softly. 

“She didn’t know, Anchovypaw,” Weevilpaw snapped. “She’s a good cat!”

“She didn’t care about killing anyone, she cared about what her kits would think,” Anchovypaw growled. “How can we trust a cleric who doesn’t care if you live or die?”

“I trust her,” Weevilpaw huffed, pressing into Estherfern. “Even though she’s strange.”

“Weevilpaw,” Honeybuzz sighed, jumping over the ichor, “take Anchovypaw and Wolfpaw and go back to camp. Just go to the medicine den and wait for us.” 

“What are we going to do with her?” Anchovypaw asked.

“Leave that to me,” Honeybuzz said, shaking his head. “Now go. Stick together, and hurry. We’ll follow you soon.” The apprentices hesitated, all glancing at one another. Weevilpaw was the first to break; she joined Wolfpaw and nudged her onward. The sisters ran toward the coast. Anchovypaw followed, his burning eyes digging into Estherfern as he vanished into the foggy trees.

“It seems I underestimated the vigor of the Dark Forest’s supernatural entities,” Estherfern hummed, cleaning the mud off her injured paw.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” Honeybuzz hissed softly.

“Of course I do,” Estherfern snapped, curling her lips. “You love to tell the story of the Rippling Ashes. They ventured into the Dark Forest, they had Newtstream’s advice. What made my own approach so wicked?”

“Because it’s dangerous!” Honeybuzz groaned. “Because channeling Dark Forest souls, even when they want to help, clears a path for Spirits of Shadow, and they don’t care about any of us. They’re born to hunt. This isn’t worth it.”

“If your kits were sick, wouldn’t you do what you could for them?” Estherfern growled with a large thrash of her tail. “You can’t fix them. I thought the Dark Forest could.”

“They don’t need to be fixed!” Honeybuzz yowled, throwing his whole height up to glare down at Estherfern (who, unlike Rapidleaf, would not cower). “They aren’t dying, Estherfern! They can adapt! I’m sorry I can’t cure Thunderkit or stop Brightpaw’s anxiety, but they’ll be fine!” As Honeybuzz yowled, the first crack appeared in the sky, striking through the gray clouds. Thunder echoed far overhead. Estherfern stared at the growing storm.

“What’s out there now, do you think?” Estherfern sighed.

“Dog-cats, forsaken prey, honeybites…” Honeybuzz muttered, spine itching. “There may even be monsters we rarely see, ones we don’t have names for. We don’t want to know everything that’s out there now.”

“This is something we can fix,” Estherfern huffed. She marched around Honeybuzz and stood on the roof of the wicked den. Jaw tight as her bit paw moved, Estherfern dug at the soaked grass. Her pelt was more mud than fur. Chunks of earth tumbled into the den. The sopping ground folded in on itself like a wave. Estherfern rolled away as the roof of the den fell and covered the sticky, stinking ichor. Grass stuck to Estherfern’s underside. Honeybuzz hurried to her, helping her away from the crumbled remains of her sins.

“We can,” Honeybuzz gulped. “We can fix this.”

(Honeybuzz: 23, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Anchovypaw: 10, male, warrior apprentice, playful, curious about StarClan)

(Weevilpaw: 10, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)

(Wolfpaw: 10, female, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

(Estherfern: 109, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

Sandpaw and Spikecrash arrange time for Estherfern to see the kits she worked so hard to “fix”.

[Image ID: Estherfern faces Thunderpaw, Wolverinepaw, and Brightpaw.]

---

Estherfern didn’t belong at such a lively celebration. The sumptuous food, the well-rehearsed performances… Harvest Moon was as grand as RippleClan claimed it to be. Every Clan gathered as the sunrise poked through the trees, preparing their stews and games and performances. But it was a holiday to drive off Spirits of Shadow. What good would it do to have their herald nestled in the safety of the firelight?

“Spirits of Shadow hate charms,” Troutpool explained as she tucked a cat’s wood-carved face into the boughs of a low-hanging pine. “AshClan spends a lot of time carving these trinkets, and all that care under StarClan’s protections makes them especially useful in warding off danger.” All the clerics roamed the edge’s of the great clearing with baskets of charms and other concoctions to protect the five Clans. Estherfern carried RippleClan’s heavy basket as Honeybuzz, Troutpool, and Weevilpaw prepared the defenses to Troutpool’s instruction.

“How many do we have to place?” Weevilpaw asked, shoving a charm as far into a bush as she could reach.

“We’re covering this entire corner,” Troutpool explained. “We don’t want to leave any openings for spirits.” Estherfern nearly broke the charm in her jaws with how tightly she grit her teeth. She quickly passed it to Honeybuzz.

“Estherfern!” Two figures slipped through the massive crowd. Spikecrash and Sandpaw walked side by side, mentor and apprentice in sync. Sandpaw’s gaze wandered throughout the clearing, taking in the sights of all five Clans for the first time.

“You want to speak to me?” Estherfern asked. While her tone made her question sound casual, the brown priestess hid her surprise deep. She didn’t talk to many cats outside of the medicine den. Why would two of the Clan’s mediators want her? Did they know the real reason why Honeybuzz reported a surge of spirits in the Clan? The reason it was too dangerous to leave camp alone? Why all five Clans, not just RippleClan, now had a newfound fear for their lives? Had Honeybuzz not lied for her, Estherfern would have told the truth and accepted the consequences, yet why he kept it secret, Estherfern didn’t know She glanced at Honeybuzz, but the young gold and white cleric focused on his charms.

“I’m hoping we can borrow you,” Spikecrash explained. “Troutpool, do you still need Estherfern’s help?”

“We’re just placing our wards at the moment,” Troutpool explained, reaching into Estherfern’s basket. “We could finish without her if you really need her.” Estherfern carefully slipped the basket off her neck.

“Thank you, Troutpool,” Spikecrash sighed. She flicked her tail for Estherfern to follow. It seemed no one cared if Estherfern actually wanted to speak with Spikecrash, but who was she to refuse? She trailed after Spikecrash and Sandpaw, heading over to the ovens. Clammask and Stormpaw worked with Drumtooth and Thunderpaw, laughing over an unheard joke as they tended the fire under a massive pot of stew.

“I hope this isn’t too much of an invasion of privacy,” Spikecrash began, her scarred flank lifted high in a long stretch. “Honeybuzz and Weevilpaw spoke with me a few days ago and said you were having some difficulties with your kits.” Estherfern narrowed her eyes.

“If we’re going to discuss my kits,” she sighed, “maybe you could tell me why no one told me about Brightpaw’s meetings with you?”

“So you do know about that,” Spikecrash sighed. “Brightpaw is an apprentice now, Estherfern. We aren’t pressured to tell you anything he didn’t want you to know.” 

“If he’s sick, I want to help him,” Estherfern huffed.

“Why do you think he didn’t want you to know?” Sandpaw scoffed. “Look how you acted with Wolverinepaw and Thunderpaw.” Oh if only he knew just what Estherfern had done for them. What the Dark Forest wanted her to do.

“I’ve only ever tried to help them overcome their own limitations,” Estherfern said, her sharp stare ricocheting off Sandpaw and muting his confident words.

“That’s why we wanted to show you a few things,” Spikecrash explained. She waved a paw toward the oven where Thunderpaw and the other RippleClan cats gathered.

“The only goal of tonight is to have a better stew than WheatClan,” Drumtooth explained, shooting a friendly sneer at WheatClan’s oven and their large pot. He licked the surface of the stew and smacked his jaws. “It’s good, but it’s missing something.” Thunderpaw copied her mentor. Her face squirmed, thinking hard. She then made a strange motion with her paws; balancing on her back legs, she brought her paws close to her mouth and wiggled them as they moved away.

“I know this one,” Stormpaw chirped, completely focused on Thunderpaw. “If the wiggles are the sea… seaweed! That’s seaweed!”

“Yes!” Thunderpaw squealed. The two young apprentices cheered and giggled at their success, bunting one another

“AshClan borrowed our basket of seaweed,” Clammask explained, nudging Thunderpaw. “Grab some for us.”

“Grab seaweed,” Thunderpaw laughed. She quickly swiped the air like she was dragging a mouse out of hiding, then made the ‘seaweed’ motion again. Stormpaw mimicked the dragging motion as Thunderpaw hurried to AshClan’s oven.

“Why is Stormpaw learning Clan-sign?” Estherfern asked her mediator companions.

“Because Thunderpaw’s teaching her,” Sandpaw chirped. “Whenever Thunderpaw gets back from her sign lessons with Mummichogleap, she practices with us apprentices. Most of us are learning a few words so Thunderpaw isn’t left out.”

“And you want to learn?” 

“Thunderpaw makes it fun!”

“You can’t expect the whole Clan to learn this second language.”

“No one does.” Spikecrash touched her tail to Estherfern’s shoulder.. “But there are cats who want to make the effort. They can translate for those who don’t know. It puts pressure off Thunderpaw. She can miss what someone said, but she’ll have friends and family who can let her know.” Thunderpaw trotted back to the oven with a few long strips of seaweed. Clammask tore the seaweed into stew-sized chunks, showing the apprentices how to curl their paws just right. Thunderpaw seemed… happy.

“Now if you’ll follow us over here…” Sandpaw purred, strolling around the Leader’s Stone. Estherfern followed, tail a bit higher than before.

Brightpaw, Ravenpaw, and Vervainpaw sat with a gaggle of apprentices from the other Clans. They lounged about, chatting and laughing. Brightpaw nodded along to an apprentice’s story, his flank stretched out like frog legs. Ravenpaw relaxed on top of him, oohing and awing over the tale.

“I don’t know what your birth place thought of disorders of the mind,” Spikecrash whispered, brushing against Estherfern once more, “but like most disabilities, you can learn to live with them. There was a great gathering of warriors and codekeepers here at the new moon, do you remember? Brightpaw managed to befriend these apprentices during the visit. They invited their friends and littermates to chat today, and Brightpaw is happy to spend time with them. His mind is likely lying to him right now, but he knows ways to manage that. He could overcome his anxiety naturally some day, but that’s a minor part of who he is.”

“I know that,” Estherfern huffed. “He loves to play with Rabbitjoy’s paint supplies. He’s sensitive, and loves his sisters with all his heart. I’ve only ever wanted to help those traits shine.”

“That’s not how Brightpaw sees it,” Sandpaw scoffed under his breath. The comment hollowed out Estherfern’s chest. Before she could respond, two brown blurs shot past the Leader’s Stone with a horde of apprentices and young warriors at their tails. Wolverinepaw and Yarrowpaw led the crowd to an open spot within the festivities. They studied their followers like leader and deputy, the sunrise framing their profiles.

“We’ve got until after sunhigh to prepare!” Wolverinepaw cheered. 

“Are we going to let some dusty old bones beat us?” Yarrowpaw cried.

“No!” the young crowd yowled joyfully, already shoving and jumping over each other.

“Let’s show them what the new generation can do!” Wolverinepaw called. Her followers cheered, yowling to the high branches. They scattered throughout the clearing and split into sparring groups. They steadied their stances and wiggled their flanks. With sheathed paws, the youth of the Clans launched into training, trading blows and careful bites. Slushpaw lingered near the edge of the training grounds, cheering the others on.

“Slushpaw!” Sandpaw yowled to the older mediator apprentice. “What are they doing?”

“Well,” Slushpaw laughed, trotting up to Sandpaw, Spikecrash, and Estherfern, “Yarrowpaw and Wolverinepaw were arguing with Darkkick and another old warrior about what was a better trait in a fight; youth or experience. Suddenly all these other cats started joining in, and now the senior warriors are going to have a big mock-battle with the apprentices, plus some warriors who haven’t attended a Harvest Moon before.”

“And Wolverinepaw’s participating in this?” Estherfern huffed. She searched for her daughter in the crowd. She found Wolverinepaw rolling about with Yarrowpaw in the middle of the mess. Yarrowpaw shoved Wolverinepaw’s head into the dirt. Wolverinepaw snapped her jaw around Yarrowpaw’s leg and pulled her onto her shoulder. Yarrowpaw laughed as Wolverinepaw took her place on top of the older apprentice.

"She's as capable as any apprentice her age," Spikecrash assured Estherfern.

"She seemed so insecure during her ceremony…" Estherfern muttered.

"Wolverinepaw?" Spikecrash chuckled. "I don't think so. From what I've heard, she thinks she's strong enough to take on an actual wolverine."

"She didn't choose a role in time, though," Estherfern pointed out.

"Because she wanted to do everything!" Slushpaw laughed. "I talked with her right up to her ceremony. She had a new role in mind every day!" Oh. Had Wolverinepaw's sight not come up at all? Surely her decaying vision would make it hard for her to fight. Yet she kept up with Yarrowpaw, tumbling across the clearing with abandon. Had Estherfern's kits always been so sure of themselves? Surely they wanted cures. How else could they survive in a world that showed no mercy to the weak? In the cat-minded human's den, if you couldn't match up to the others, you wouldn't eat. Three of Estherfern's brilliant kits would have died in that awful place. Except…they weren't there anymore, were they?

"Can I guess what's been going on?" Spikecrash asked. "You've been so focused on a cure in their future, you've ignored how they are in the present. When's the last time you talked to them about something, anything but their health? Have you talked to Foampaw or Boughpaw at all?" Estherfern glanced from one kit to another. Their faces glowed with holiday glee. Did they ever glow around Estherfern anymore? When was the last time she shared a meal with them?

"Spikecrash," Estherfern muttered, her pride burning her words, "I need you to teach me something."

A short time later, Estherfern approached Thunderpaw and the RippleClan stew. The bounties of the ocean danced in the broth, specially prepared for that oh so exciting celebration. Thunderpaw stared eagerly into the stew while Stormpaw and their mentors talked with other caretakers. She spotted her mother and her eyes grew big and calm, mimicking Estherfern's eternally serene expression. Estherfern's heart did not carry that serenity as she approached her bold daughter.

"Do you need…" Estherfern said hesitantly. She awkwardly sat on her hind legs. She held out one paw, pads down, and angled the other on top of it, claws out. Thunderpaw's eyes sparkled at the sign.

"Help," she whispered as Estherfern quickly returned to a natural position. Thunderpaw made the sign with ease, quickly hopping from her hind legs and back. She ogled Estherfern, her thoughts not caught up to reality.

"I want to spend time with you," Estherfern explained. It felt like someone carved her pelt off, leaving her exposed. "I want to share your stew with you and your littermates." Thunderpaw blinked slowly. It took her so long to reply, Estherfern was about to repeat herself, just in case her pounding heart muffled her words.

"Do you want to learn the sign for littermates while the stew finishes cooking?" Thunderpaw gulped. The tip of her tail twitched wildly as her earlier joy bloomed across her face once more.

"If it means time with you," Estherfern sighed.

(Estherfern: 109, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Troutpool: 36, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Weevilpaw: 10, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)

(Honeybuzz: 23, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Spikecrash: 50, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Sandpaw: 6, male, mediator apprentice, loyal, interested in Clan history)

(Drumtooth: 23, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Thunderpaw: 7, female, caretaker apprentice,

(Stormpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, charismatic, loves to eat)

(Clammask: 69, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Brightpaw: 7, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, lover of art)

(Wolverinepaw: 7, female, warrior apprentice, compassionate, always asking questions)

(Yarrowpaw: 10, female, warrior apprentice, thoughtful, stares at fire)

Somehow, giving birth to three kits was more exhausting than five. Perhaps it was all the stress of recent moons; Scrubmask’s death, three of Clammask’s four kits coming down with food poisoning, casually seeing Halibutdusk only to become pregnant… that was a lot for one molly to handle! Add in the fact that the moon did not shine over the Clans on the first day of autumn’s third moon when Clammask felt a familiar pain in her gut, and Halibutdusk was stuck in the quarantine den with a loud case of greencough, how could she not be stressed?

This kitting was shorter, thank StarClan. It was still nightfall when Clammask cleaned off her last little kit and helped her snuggle up to her belly. Oilstripe, Tallowkit, and Slushkit had vacated the nursery for a while to give Clammask room to kit, but Lemmy, her belly fat against her thin frame, still slept inside, dreams undisturbed by the new life born to the Clan. The only other cat in the nursery was Troutpool (Clammask simply couldn’t ask her own son to help deliver her kits, it felt so strange!). 

The head cleric carefully examined the three mollies at Clammask’s side while the golden molly caught her breath. The first was red with markings that reminded Clammask of her father. The second-born kit was white, with pale gray rosettes along her back. Although she was still slick from birth, Clammask could tell she would be long-furred in the future. The youngest looked so much like Drumtooth that Clammask was taken aback for a moment.

“They all look very healthy,” Troutpool said, stepping back. She placed her dirty bowl (once full of strengthening medicine for the kitting) and the broken stick Clammask bit into a basket at the den’s edge. “I don’t notice any deformed limbs or other issues. I… I won’t try to predict their future this time.” Clammask licked each kit’s head. None of them looked like her lost golden daughter. Perhaps that was for the best. “Do you still want me to perform that ceremony we discussed?”

“It would make me feel better,” Clammask sighed. Troutpool nodded and stuck her face into her basket. She took out a tiny jar; the gouges carved in for teeth holds left little room on the inside. She peeled off the thin leather lid trapping the contents. The jar was full of dirt. Troutpool sprinkled a bit of dirt over each kitten’s back. Each was too caught up in the shock of being alive, mewing and nursing, to really care.

“Dustfur, Celestial of the Newborn,” Troutpool prayed, setting the jar at Clammask’s head, “you taught the Clans not to mourn the stillborn and those taken before they even got a chance to see the faces of their kin. You were the one who revealed to us how StarClan accompanies litters on their way to the Clans and return to Silverpelt when their time is done. One of Clammask’s kits was one of these StarClan guardians. We do not know what awaits these kits in the coming quarter moon, but we ask you, give them souls of their own. Allow them to grow into strong and proud individuals who will make RippleClan proud. Do not taunt Clammask once more by taking a kit away. Allow them all to live, Dustfur. Give us your celestial blessing.” The ritual done, Troutpool licked the dirt off the kittens, sneering at the taste. 

“If one of your daughters is a StarClan warrior,” Troutpool explained, “performing this ritual so soon after their birth may allow them to become cats of their own, rather than a protector for the others.” Clammask nudged her little mollies back to her belly, purring as they cried outrage at yet another grooming. “When you feel strong enough, we can move you to a fresh nest and get rid of all this dirty moss. Do you need anything else?”

“Maybe a leather pelt over my back?” Clammask asked. “It’s a cold night.”

“I’ll also have Mosspounce build a fire outside the den when he wakes up,” Troutpool promised with a nod. She touched noses with Clammask and trotted off. 

With a few moments alone in the nursery, Clammask stared at her daughters. Halibutdusk’s daughters too. Scrubmask wasn’t one to hold grudges, Clammask doubted she would be mad at her for finding another mate. But was she right for Halibutdusk? Her feelings for them were not a perfect match to her relationship with Scrubmask. Perhaps it was because she grew up alongside Halibutdusk, shared every heartbreak and celebration alongside them. Scrubmask was a whirlwind that pulled Clammask into a new life, a new family. Halibutdusk had just… always been there. They were the ocean, forever licking the shore, something whose absence Clammask could not imagine.

She prayed she would not have to live in that absence soon.

“I’ll warn you now,” Troutpool said, entering the den with a stitched-up pelt thrown across her back, “your sons are chomping at my tail to see you.” Troutpool threw the pelt over Clammask’s haunches.

“Send them in,” Clammask purred.

“We can come in? Finally!” Honeybuzz and Splashtuft shoved their way into the nursery, bumping shoulders to get a better look at their new siblings. Leathermask and Drumtooth lingered behind them, trying to catch a glimpse from the side. Honeybuzz and Splashtuft almost knocked Troutpool over.

“Is that all of them?” Leathermask gasped, squirming between his two boisterous brothers.

“They’re all mollies,” Clammask purred. “How funny is that?”

“Big brothers for little sisters,” Drumtooth hummed, finally managing to get into the den by shoving Splashtuft’s big flank to the side.

“I don’t suppose you can let me out?” Troutpool chuckled, slipping her basket around her neck.

“Sorry, Troutpool,” Splashtuft chirped. He moved to the side and knocked Drumtooth against the den wall. Troutpool left before she became the next victim of the litter’s excitement.

“How do you feel, Mom?” Honeybuzz asked. His clerical eye studied Clammask’s messy nest and the newborn shine on his sisters’ pelts.

“Very tired,” Clammask admitted, “but very happy. And I'm a little nervous if I’m honest.” Clammask nuzzled her daughters once more. “I want to do something, but I’m afraid you may judge me a little, Honeybuzz. I know I should wait to name them, like Scrubmask and I waited to name you four, but I don’t want to do that this time around. I want them to have names now.” Clammask was right; the enthusiasm in Honeybuzz’s face froze as he tried not to let it drop.

“Don’t do that,” Drumtooth huffed, appearing on the other side of the pack and shoving Honeybuzz’s shoulder.

“If you want,” Clammask sighed, “you can help name your sisters. We can keep it between the five of us for now.” 

“Really?” Leathermask gasped softly. “Honeybuzz, let’s name the red kit first!” Honeybuzz squirmed a bit, but joined his brown-furred brother in study of their red-colored sister.

“Could we call her Redkit?” Honeybuzz suggested.

“That’s such a boring name,” Splashtuft scoffed. Clammask couldn’t help but laugh at that. He looked so much like Scrubmask in that moment.

“Troutpool left something behind,” Leathermask pointed out. The small jar with the ritual dust still sat at Clammask’s head. “Huh. The jar is the same color as the red kit’s fur. What if we called her Potterykit?”

“I approve,” Clammask purred. “Let your other brothers name the white molly.” Drumtooth squirmed closer to Splashtuft and they turned their gaze to the long-furred kitten.

“I want to name her Moonkit,” Drumtooth said.

“But our Clan’s guide is called Moonpaw,” Honeybuzz reminded him. “That feels… wrong, in a way.”

“StarClan isn’t going to ban the use of a prefix for the rest of history just because of one cat,” Splashtuft scoffed. “I like it, Drumtooth. Potterykit and Moonkit.”

“But what in the world do we call the last kitten?” Leathermask sighed. All four brothers leaned so close to the black molly, they were practically touching Clammask’s belly.

“I can’t think of a single good name for her,” Splashtuft muttered.

“Nightkit?” Leathermask suggested.

“How many black cats in history have been named Nightkit?” Drumtooth said. “Don’t we want our sister to stand out?”

“Stormkit, Butterflykit, Oysterkit…” Honeybuzz muttered. “Hootkit?”

“Hootkit?” Splashtuft laughed. “Do you want apprentices to make fun of her at Gatherings?”

“Hear me out, hear me out,” Drumtooth said, his soft voice catching his brothers’ attention. “Vervainkit.”

“But vervain is purple,” Splashtuft said.

“And drums are brown,” Drumtooth pointed out. “Vervains are pretty flowers. Something about their color reminds me of her.”

“Potterykit, Moonkit, and Vervainkit,” Clammask declared. She leaned over and nuzzled all of her kits, toms and mollies, newborn and adult. “Welcome to the family.” All four toms purred deeply.

“Do you think Halibutdusk will be upset that we named the kits without them?” Drumtooth wondered. 

“To be fair,” Splashtuft chuckled, pulling back, “we don’t have to tell them.”

“I know you all said you were happy for me,” Clammask said, shuffling tighter around the newborns, “but I want to be sure here. They aren’t a replacement for Scrubmask. I wasn’t trying to do that.”

“We know, Mom,” Honeybuzz promised. “We’ll still love the kits. We’re happy to have little sisters to care for.” Clammask’s purrs took over her entire body. Her sons gathered around her and groomed her tired pelt as she soaked in the joy.

(Clammask: 59, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Halibutdusk: 57, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Splashtuft: 13, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Leathermask: 13, male, warrior, nervous, great speaker, good fighter)

(Drumtooth: 13, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Potterykit: 0, female, kit, self-conscious)

(Moonkit: 0, female, kit, quiet)

(Vervainkit: 0, female, kit, fearless)

Lavendertwist works with the AshClan historians to make a proper record of the Rippling Ashes (Darkkick, Weedfoot, and Paleseed) and their exploits in the Dark Forest.

[Image ID: Lavendertwist and Splashtuft face a black rosette apprentice. Under her, it says NEW PLAYER: MITEPAW, 7, FEMALE, INSECURE, QUICK TO MAKE PEACE.]

---

“It’s hard to believe our former leader would grow to hate us so much…” sighed Minkshine, an AshClan historian. She and two other historians, Blackmist and Comfreytoe, sat along the AshClan border while Lavendertwist and Splashtuft lounged on their side, sharing tongues with their forest counterparts. It was sunhigh, after all, and if the group was going to spend most of the day describing the official story of the Rippling Ashes, Lavendertwist and Splashtuft were going to relax.

“When you’re stuck in your ways like he was,” Lavendertwist sighed, “friends can quickly become enemies.”

“So Autumnstar used his Dark Forest powers to curse AshClan…” Blackmist muttered, grooming Splashtuft’s long fur as he spoke. “So many of our friends and family died because of him… their names have to be recorded in the story. All of them.”

“Ah, name memorization,” Lavendertwist chuckled, squirming. “My old nemesis.”

“I can handle that,” Splashtuft chirped. “Start listing out names, Blackmist.”

“Actually,” Comfreytoe groaned, glancing back into the trees of AshClan, “we’re still waiting on someone. She should be here before we continue.”

“Who’s our special guest?” Lavendertwist asked, leaves crunching underneath him as he rolled onto his back. 

“Someone who needs a fresh start,” Comfreytoe sighed.

“It’s still hard to believe Eelstar and Barkfur agreed to this,” Blackmist muttered, letting Splashtuft take a turn grooming him, “but if Mitepaw can find some peace from it, so be it.”

“Mitepaw?” Lavendertwist hummed.

“I’m here!” a young voice gulped. While Lavendertwist heard the cat crunching leaves under her paws and panting, he only saw her once she stood in front of a pale bush. She was one of the blackest cats Lavendertwist had ever seen, with even blacket rosette markings. Pale yellow eyes bounced between Lavendertwist and Splashtuft. Bouldersong, one of AshClan’s caretakers, joined the small apprentice.

“RippleClan,” Bouldersong purred, placing his tail on the apprentice’s back, “I would like you to meet Mitepaw. She would like to join your Clan.”

“What?” Splashtuft gasped, sitting up so quickly that his head smacked Blackmist’s jaw. 

“Both of her parents died as a result of the chronic frostbite that kept infecting our older Clanmates,” Minkshine explained as Mitepaw rubbed a paw deep into the leaf litter. “She’s struggled in our Clan ever since. We believe that in order to give her a fresh start, she needs to leave our home for another. Since RippleClan’s developed a reputation for accepting wayward apprentices, we thought she would fit in well with you.”

“Eelstar is letting one of his apprentices join RippleClan?” Lavendertwist scoffed. “I thought he hated us.”

“His opinions are more nuanced than you’d think,” Comfreytoe insisted. “Mitepaw is an artisan apprentice. She has a knack for woodwork and should take to your Clan’s crafts well.”

“You really want to join us, Mitepaw?” Splashtuft asked. He risked crossing the border to approach the small apprentice. Since no one clawed his ears off, he kept going. “This isn’t a decision you can take back.” Mitepaw hesitated, words getting caught in her mouth. She looked at her Clanmates, as though waiting for someone to snap at her. She swallowed hard.

“I don’t like AshClan,” Mitepaw said. “Everyone is grieving. It makes it hard to breathe. I don’t want to grow up in a Clan that’s carrying such hurt with them.” The AshClan historians grew lost as Mitepaw explained herself. No one countered her claim.

“I’m sure Downstar will welcome you, then,” Splashtuft purred, touching noses with Mitepaw.

“You can always talk to your old Clanmates at Gatherings, Mitepaw,” Bouldersong sighed. “I hope RippleClan will be better for you than we have been.” Bouldersong licked Mitepaw’s ear. The young apprentice purred softly. She left Bouldersong’s side and joined Splashtuft.

“So you’ll take her to your camp when we’re finished here?” Minkshine asked.

“Absolutely,” Lavendertwist promised as Splashtuft led Mitepaw across the border. “We have just the mentor for her.” 

(Lavendertwist: 31, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Splashtuft: 13, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Mitepaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, quick to make peace)

[Image ID: Rapidleaf, Asterpaw, and Elmsprout stand behind Mitepaw as she listens to Rattlepelt say, “It will be better for you to live in a Clan that is loyal to its members. You’ve escaped a rotten place, Mitepaw.”]

Later that day, as RippleClan buzzed with sunset activity, Mitepaw took in the sights of her new home. The shipwreck was so tall! Despite the late autumn cold, the sand felt warm from the sun. Even the air felt lighter in RippleClan! This was the right choice, Mitepaw was certain of it. There was a glimmer in everyone’s eyes as they surrounded her following her new apprentice ceremony. She soaked it all in as she stood beside her strange and famous new mentor; Rattlepelt. 

“Mitepaw!” A long-furred gray molly made her way to the front of the crowd of unfamiliar faces. A brown molly and a silver tom followed close behind.

“Hello,” Mitepaw chirped softly, bowing to the strangers. 

“No need to bow to your Clanmates in this Clan!” the silver molly said. “You’ve probably heard about me. I’m Elmsprout.”

“Oh, Eelstar’s daughter,” Mitepaw gasped. She took Elmsprout in a second time; she could see Eelstar’s color in Elmsprout’s darker tints. “Your father’s told the kits about you.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Elmsprout chuckled. “He and I have… an awkward relationship. I wanted to make sure I could talk to you after your ceremony, because I’ve been where you are. We all have. We’re a bit of a Clan-within-a-Clan, you could say. We’ve all left our original Clans to join RippleClan. This is Rapidleaf and Asterpaw.”

“I’ll show you how to adapt to life in RippleClan,” Asterpaw promised, raising his tail high.

“Leaving my Clan was hard for me as well,” Rapidleaf said with a nod. “Like you, staying in LynxClan would have been too painful. RippleClan has built itself on second chances. Elmsprout befriended me as we both recovered from a bought of food poisoning a few moons ago, and we’ve both looked after Asterpaw since his arrival. If you need help, we promise to look after you, too.” 

“That’s…” Mitepaw purred, her whole body rippling, “that’s amazing!”

“It will be better for you to live in a Clan that is loyal to its members.” Oh, right! Rattlepelt was still standing there! She was so unlike any other cat Mitepaw had ever seen. Who else would have the courage to wear a fox pelt? She looked more like a fearsome warrior than the talented artisan Lavendertwist and Splashtuft made her out to be on the walk to RippleClan. “You’ve escaped a rotten place, Mitepaw.”

“I’m excited to learn under you, Artisan Rattlepelt,” Mitepaw said, bowing once more.

“Mitepaw, we don’t bow here!” Elmsprout laughed.

“Leave her be,” Rattlepelt scoffed. “If she wants to bow and use honorable titles, let her. It’s nice to be respected. Now Mitepaw, how would you like to learn the intricacies of leather-making from a master?” Mitepaw’s eyes sparkled. Learn to craft a leather pelt with the quality and skill of Rattlepelt’s fox fur? Learning in a Clan so bright and welcoming, under a mentor that was clearly wise and strong and clever, better than her old mentor in every way?

“Yes please!”

(Mitepaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, quick to make peace)

(Elmsprout: 32, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

(Rapidleaf: 84, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

(Asterpaw: 12, male, caretaker apprentice, thoughtful, has lots of ideas)

(Rattlepelt: 48, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

Tallowkit reminds himself it will all be okay while Slushkit chews on a stick.

[Image ID: Tallowkit says “She won’t choke, she won’t choke…” as he watches Slushkit. Under Tallowkit, it says + NEW SKILL: SPLASHES IN PUDDLES. Under Slushkit, it says + NEW SKILL: QUICK WITTED.]

(Tallowkit: 1, male, kit, skittish, splashes in puddles)

(Slushkit: 1, female, kit, polite, quick witted)

Scaleripple and Tempestshade officially become mates.

[Image ID: Scaleripple and Tempestshade face each other. Under Scaleripple, it says + MATE: TEMPESTSHADE. Under Tempestshade, it says + MATE: SCALERIPPLE.]

---

Scaleripple couldn’t help but be in awe of Troutpool and Honeybuzz’s skill. When he had found Tempestshade half a moon prior, leg encased in a shimmering silver jaw, he had been certain it would have to come off. Yet there they were, half a moon later and still possessing four legs, even if one was so bandaged and slathered in ointment that it could hardly be called a leg. Honeybuzz had changed the bandages not so long ago, but Scaleripple could already see dots of blood leaking through. Not that Troutpool and Honeybuzz would notice; no, when Scaleripple visited Tempestshade that day, the Clan had a bit more exciting news to swallow.

“Our instincts are never more controlling than when a queen is kitting,” Troutpool explained to Mosspounce, waiting eagerly outside the den as she and Honeybuzz collected a few supplies into a basket. “Lemmy will know what to do with her kits, but she’ll need spiritual and emotional support. We’ll be with her the entire time, Mosspounce.”

“Are you sure Tempestshade can’t join us?” Mosspounce groaned, glancing around Troutpool to Tempestshade, whose nest sat in a quiet, warm corner of the medicine den. Scaleripple sat beside her, ice-faced and observant. “I want my kits to meet all of their kin.”

“Mosspounce, your kits won’t be able to meet anyone for a while,” Honeybuzz laughed. He slipped the basket around his neck. “They’re born with their eyes and ears shut. They’ll get to meet Tempestshade in the future, don’t worry.”

“But I wanna meet them,” Tempestshade whined. They laid sprawled across the nest, mangled leg carefully frozen on the edge. Their dark green eyes lacked some of their usual sparkle, devoured by the pain.

“You will, I promise,” Mosspounce said. Honeybuzz joined Mosspounce outside the den and the two trotted to the nursery. Troutpool, however, lingered, eyes wandering to Scaleripple.

“Will you be okay while we help Lemmy?” Troutpool asked.

“I won’t die,” Scaleripple growled. He laid in a loaf against Tempestshade’s nest, ignoring Troutpool’s gaze. Tempestshade chuckled, a soft, almost feverish sound. Troutpool shuffled her paws about.

“I didn’t want to have that vision,” Troutpool gulped. “I thought revealing it would spare Tempestshade a guilty verdict and protect RippleClan. I wouldn’t use StarClan to hurt them.”

“Did I say that’s what you did?” Scaleripple scoffed, daring to look up, even if Troutpool’s awkward expression made his skin hurt. “You don’t need to explain yourself. You just have to live with making Tempestshade a living omen of death.” Troutpool bowed her head low, closing her eyes. She followed her former apprentice and Mosspounce to the nursery, where Scaleripple could already hear Lemmy panting with the effort of her kitting.

“You showed her,” Tempestshade mumbled, purring. Scaleripple stared at Tempestshade. Why were they seemingly the only cats who truly understood the other? Scaleripple’s family loved him, he was certain of that, but did they know him like Tempestshade? Did they understand the strange way he worked, which separated him from everyone else? And did anyone else in the Clan dare to face the blunt of Tempestshade’s curse just to spend time with them? Did they appreciate their youthfulness, their honesty, their loyalty? From everything Scaleripple knew, two cats who were as close as he was to Tempestshade could only be called one thing.

“Tempestshade, are we mates?” he asked. Tempestshade cocked their head. A little life came back to their eyes.

“Haven’t we been mates since the summer?” they laughed. Oh. Well then.

“Maybe so,” Scaleripple purred. He rested his head on the edge of Tempestshade’s nest, a whisker length from their nose. Tempestshade hummed happily. They stretched and quickly touched noses with Scaleripple.

For once, Scaleripple didn’t mind.

(Scaleripple: 18, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Mosspounce: 26, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Tempestshade: 26, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Mosspounce wants to be a father with different motivations than his own, and feels proud when Lemmy delivers four healthy kits.

[Image ID: Lemmy and Mosspounce watch four newborn kits; a tortoiseshell, a black molly, a silver molly, and a gray tabby. Under Lemmy, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. The tortoiseshell says NEW PLAYER: WEEVILKIT, 0, FEMALE, BULLYING. The black molly says NEW PLAYER: RAVENKIT, 0, FEMALE, SWEET. The silver kit says NEW PLAYER: SILVERKIT, 0, FEMALE, DAYDREAMER. Finally, the gray tabby says NEW PLAYER: WOLFKIT, 0, FEMALE, POLITE.]

(Mosspounce: 26, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Lemmy: 41, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Weevilkit: 0, female, kit, bullying)

(Ravenkit: 0, female, kit, sweet)

(Silverkit: 0, female, kit, daydreamer)

(Wolfkit: 0, female, kit, polite)

Downstar is almost intimidated by the knowledge Asterpaw has gained in his short time in RippleClan and confidently names him Asterblaze.

[Image ID: Asterpaw, now Asterblaze, is an adult! Under him, it says LEVEL UP! ASTERPAW -> ASTERBLAZE, HAS LOTS OF IDEAS -> CONSTANTLY FIDDLING WITH TOOLS.]

(Asterblaze: 12, male, caretaker, thoughtful, constantly fiddling with tools)

While Troutpool and Honeybuzz are on patrol, Troutpool sees strange shimmers in the distance. They encounter a kittypet who grew up with old stories of RippleClan and wanted to raise her kits in the wild. Troutpool and Honeybuzz help welcome five more kits to the nursery.

[Image ID: Troutpool and Honeybuzz approach a brown and white molly and five kits; one light brown, two red, and two brown, all with white markings. Undee the mother, it says NEW PLAYER: HARVEST, 53, FEMALE, NERVOUS, GOOD FIGHTER. Under the light brown kit, it says NEW PLAYER: ANCHOVYKIT, 0, MALE, CHARMING. Under the upper red kit, it says NEW PLAYER: CURRENTKIT, 0, MALE, POLITE. The second red kit says NEW PLAYER: ROBINKIT, 0, MALE, UNRULY. The first dark brown cat in the upper corner says NEW PLAYER: YARROWKIT, 0, FEMALE, NOISY. The last brown kit says NEW PLAYER: BILLOWKIT, 0, MALE, BOSSY.]

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Harvest: 53, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Anchovykit: 0, male, kit, charming)

(Currentkit: 0, male, kit, polite)

(Robinkit: 0, male, kit, unruly)

(Yarrowkit: 0, female, kit, noisy)

Clammask and Lemmy both announce their pregnancies.

[Image ID: Clammask and Lemmy both sit with + CONDITION: PREGNANT under them.]

---

It was a day after Lemmy’s pregnancy announcement that Clammask entered the medicine den with complaints of weight gain and nausea. Thank StarClan that Honeypaw had been out collecting herbs with the caretakers, because Clammask would not have been able to meet her son’s eyes as she later left with Troutpool’s diagnosis.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised. Halibutdusk may not have been a tom, but they had been born one. There was no reason they couldn’t get Clammask pregnant. Yet she had forgotten that, too busy finding a new beginning with playful flirting and a few fun outings (and one particular night where Clammask said goodbye to the pain and vengeance in her heart and oh StarClan was that when it happened oh no). It wasn’t supposed to be so serious. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

It still felt like summer as Clammask squinted in the brilliance of sunhigh. Lemmy and Mosspounce had a crowd around them, eager to share tongues. While Lemmy mostly kept to Mosspounce, Splashpaw, and the codekeepers, she chatted with her Clanmates with the skill and grace of a mediator, letting everyone know that she felt well and would nest in the nursery when she was ready. Clammask had already had a litter once, why wasn’t she as confident as Lemmy? Why did she have to feel like a scared kit?

Spikecrash was one of the cats sharing tongues with Lemmy. Clammask caught bits of their conversation, mixing their old faith in the Other Side with their new home’s focus on StarClan. Clammask lingered at the edge of the crowd, searching for the right words to draw Spikecrash’s attention. She didn’t have to say anything, luckily; Spikecrash glanced around camp as Lemmy listened to Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle share pregnancy tips. Thank StarClan she saw the fear in Clammask’s silver eyes.

Spikecrash crept around her Clanmates, making her way to Clammask. No one seemed to notice the pair, much to Clammask’s relief. She flicked her ears toward the camp exit. Spikecrash nodded and led her outside. 

Autumn had smacked RippleClan upside the head in the last few days. Before Clammask realized it, the trees that lined camp to the west had exploded in tortoiseshell color. The wind coming off the ocean was no longer pleasantly cool, but cold enough to make the golden molly shiver. The bugs had gone silent and heat no longer pushed against Clammask’s lungs; rather, the cold ocean air soothed her tense heart. 

Not by much, however.

“I’ve lived here long enough to know when someone needs a mediator and doesn’t know what to say,” Spikecrash sighed as the pair left camp. “What do you need to talk about?”

“Let’s find somewhere we won’t be overheard first,” Clammask gulped.

Clammask and Spikecrash entered the forest. The trees and falling leaves would provide some privacy, just in case the sunhigh patrol wandered past. Spikecrash tried not to stare as they walked further and further from camp. Clammask wasn’t sure if her nausea was from her nerves or the life growing inside her. She tried to soak in the crisp, early autumn smell, but the remnants of summer and the weight in her chest made her nose-blind.

“I saw you leaving the medicine den,” Spikecrash said when they were far enough away from camp for Clammask to stop. “Did Troutpool have bad news for you?” Could she even define what was happening as “bad news”? She loved being pregnant with her sons, after all. Maybe if this was another litter with Scrubmask, she would be yowling the news across camp, celebrating with Lemmy, laughing at jokes about stealing attention from the former Witch Hunter.

“I’m pregnant,” Clammask said, the word dying part-way out of her mouth. Spikecrash’s face did not reveal her reaction; instead, she cocked her head slightly and studied Clammask, the way her whiskers fell and her eyes looked hollow.

“This doesn’t sound like something you planned,” Spikecrash noted.

“I was still testing how I felt about Halibutdusk,” Clammask moaned, pacing around Spikecrash without realizing it. “I didn’t want to have as serious a relationship as I had with Scrubmask at the start, we started a family as soon as we became mates, I only wanted to move on! Halibutdusk talked to me when they realized they weren’t a tom, they didn’t like what it meant to be a tom, how will they feel knowing they sired kits? I haven’t told my sons I’ve been seeing them! They’ll think I’m betraying their mother! Does Halibutdusk want kits? Do I want more kits? My sons haven’t even graduated! What if I lose another kit?” Spikecrash threw out her paw and stopped Clammask’s spiral.

“One thought at a time,” Spikecrash purred. “It seems you’re nervous about a serious relationship with Halibutdusk.”

“I’m not ready for that,” Clammask whined, sitting. Her tail stirred the leaves around her. “Halibutdusk has always been there for me, but… I don’t know, this is so much more than I was expecting!”

“And you think they’ll be upset they’ve sired kits with you?” Spikecrash asked, nodding.

“When Drumpaw told me he was a tom, he went on and on about how much the idea of pregnancy made him sick. Does Halibutdusk feel that way about siring kits? Does it make them feel wrong?”

“Have you asked them?”

“I didn’t want to be serious, why would I ask them that?” Spikecrash rolled onto her back, signaling her surrender at Clammask’s suddenly curled lip. Clammask smoothed her face.

“All I’m saying is that if you haven’t asked them about that topic, you can’t know how they’ll feel,” Spikecrash explained, face upside down. “The same goes for your sons. Paleseed deals with grief more than I do, but from what I’ve seen of your kits, they’ve each found their way forward from Scrubmask’s death. They might be happy for you.”

“Maybe. I don’t know what to think right now.”

“Do you want a practical response or an emotional one?” Spikecrash got back to her feet. Clammask thought it through, fur growing hot. 

“Practical,” she eventually decided.

“Do you want to have these kits or not?” Spikecrash asked. Clammask’s stomach suddenly flipped.

“Move,” she managed to gulp just before she threw up. Spikecrash skittered up a fir. Clammask shivered as the taste settled in her mouth. Her nose curled at the stench of her own bile. Spikecrash jumped from the fir to a tree behind Clammask before she risked climbing down. Leaves fluttered with Spikecrash’s fall. Spikecrash groomed Clammask’s neck as the pregnant molly shivered. 

What did Clammask want? Forget Halibutdusk, forget her sons, forget Scrubmask and whatever her spirit must think of her. Did Clammask want these kits or not?

“I want these kits,” Clammask finally whimpered. “I want to be a mother again. I want my sons to have more kin. I want to raise a litter that has two parents at their graduation ceremonies.”

“Alright then,” Spikecrash purred, touching Clammask’s nose despite the stench in her mouth. “I can help you tell Halibutdusk.”

“Whether we’re actually in love or not,” Clammask gulped, forcing herself to take a deep breath, “I’m raising these kits, and I’ll help Halibut be a part of their lives. They’ll be a good influence.”

“Let’s get you some water back at camp,” Spikecrash suggested. “We can wait until you feel a bit better before you tell anyone else about this.”

“I’d like that,” Clammask said with a sniffle. She let her paw dangle near her belly.

Her four sons were big personalities in their own rights. Who would these lovely kits become?

(Clammask: 57, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Lemmy: 39, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Spikecrash: 38, female, mediator, good speaker, lore keeper)

Terracottafoot helps Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick dream of the Dark Forest during Harvest Moon.

[Image ID: Weedfoot, Darkkick, and Paleseed stare down Newtstream, who is a Dark Forest spirit. Newtstream says,  “I just want to spend my damnation in peace, and Autumnstar wants me to help make his curse worse.”]

---

This Harvest Moon was shaping up to be a lively one. As RippleClan settled around the Leader’s Stone in the early dawn light, setting up the decor of black pelts and with the other Clans, everyone found something to start their day with. Clammask, Lemmy, and Oilstripe joined a gaggle of queens, pregnant and nursing, all bonding over nursery experiences while some of Halibutdusk’s warrior friends teased them for their sudden relationship change. Mosspounce argued with the LynxClan artisans and caretakers over how to construct a temporary stove while Tempestshade and Elmsprout eagerly brought out the massive fish Carnationspeckle and Darkkick caught the night before. Rabbitjoy and Rattlepelt reunited with their artisan friends and explained their plans for RippleClan’s show about Leatherwaste and their careless deeds. Rapidleaf explained to her old Clanmates that no, she didn’t feel comfortable returning to LynxClan when her only living kin were distant RippleClan apprentices. Downstar happily shared tongues with Gorgestar and Ospreystar while Gentlestar and Eelstar (who bore a wrap over his nose) made sure everyone was settling in for the day.

And Paleseed? She was preparing for the fight of her life.

Most of the clerics were setting up spiritual protections around the clearing, guarding the five Clans from the Spirits of Shadow that would roam the territories that day. Terracottafoot, however, stood far from the rest of the Clans with Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick. 

They had a jar of black dye on one side and a pile of early autumn leaves on the other. They rubbed their paw in the dye and gently nudged Weedfoot’s chin up. Terracottafoot ran their dyed paw from the base of Weedfoot’s chin to the center of her chest, a long black stripe like burnt meat. They did the same to Paleseed and Darkkick.

“Now I just need a spark to ignite these leaves, and we’ll begin,” Terracottafoot gulped, rubbing their black paw into the grass. “When you fall asleep, your souls will be transported to the Dark Forest. As many of the spirits there wander the forest tonight, you shouldn’t encounter as many enemies as you typically would. The burning of the leaves acts as a calling ritual. When you enter the Dark Forest, Autumnstar will feel called to you, even if he doesn’t realize it. You’ll find each other eventually.” Darkkick nodded along. Did she know of this ritual from her cleric days? What sort of dark powers did clerics hold in their hearts?

“What do we do when we find Autumnstar?” Paleseed asked.

“Make him stop hurting his Clan,” Terracottafoot sighed. “Convince him, fight him, do whatever you have to do. If he’s not stopped, the older generations of AshClan will all be dead by winter’s end.” Paleseed glanced back at the AshClan delegation. Save for Eelstar and Barkfur, every AshClan cat present was no more than a few years old. Would Paleshade leave them to die? No, Paleseed couldn’t keep asking what her namesake would do. But that was easier said than done.

“If Autumnstar is powerful enough to project a curse on AshClan,” Weedfoot muttered, “he’ll be a formidable foe in the Dark Forest.”

“He might have powers,” Paleseed said, “but he’ll still think like himself, won’t he? If we can’t outstrength him, we can outsmart him.” Hmm. Paleshade wasn’t much of a trickster. She would just give some grand speech and take Autumnstar down, if Weedfoot’s stories had any truth to them. Maybe Paleseed could bring more to the battle than a helpless mediator ready to be slaughtered.

“I’ll be right back,” Terracottafoot said, nodding with more enthusiasm than Paleseed had ever seen in the young cat. They hurried toward the main crowd, who continued to bicker about the stove as the sun battered the trees and fought its way into the clearing.

“It might be selfish to say this,” Weedfoot gulped, resting her tail on Paleseed, “but I’m glad you’ll be with us. I could use your support. Just promise me you’ll run if things get too dire.” Paleseed hesitated. Leave her mother and Darkkick to fight off Spirits of Shadow?

“That isn’t a request,” Darkkick huffed. “I still think you should stay here. The Dark Forest is no place for a non-combatant.”

“I really think I can help,” Paleseed said, raising her tail with false confidence. “If StarClan saw me with you, there’s something I can do to stop Autumnstar, something the two of you can’t.” To her surprise, Paleseed found herself believing her own words.

“You put more faith in what StarClan chooses to say than I do,” Darkkick muttered, fluffing her coat against a sudden breeze, “but so be it. I don’t doubt there’s something you could bring to this patrol.” Paleseed’s heather-blue eyes brightened at the compliment. Darkkick rolled her eyes, earning a chuckle from Weedfoot. At that moment, Terracottafoot slunk around the Leader’s Stone with a glowing stick in their jaws. Out of sight of most of the crowd, they ran back to Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick. They angled the stick against the leaves. The breeze sent sparks onto the dry tinder. The orange leaves began to glow.

“Lay down, quickly!” Terracottafoot ordered, setting down the stick. 

“Wait,” Weedfoot huffed as smoke drifted from the leaves. “How are we supposed to get out of the Dark Forest once our job is done?”

“Do you know how you wake yourself up from a bad dream?” Terracottafoot grunted, nudging Paleseed’s flank down. “It’s just like that. Hurry, the leaves won’t burn long!” The three RippleClan cats laid around the smoldering leaves. Terracottafoot sat beside the tiny fire, eyes closed tight. It was hard to imagine falling asleep with the fire in her blood, but Paleseed closed her eyes as well, praying that the Ashes in the Water were standing beside her, guarding her spirit as it shifted from one world to another.

Paleseed thought she would feel the transition. She was literally traveling to another level of existence, why would she not notice when she left the clearing and entered the Place of No Stars itself? But she still felt the small warmth of the burning leaves. She still heard the happy crowd, just beginning to play a few instruments to welcome in the festive day. She could even smell Carnationspeckle’s fish! So how would she know when she arrived?

“Open your eyes, Paleseed,” Weedfoot whispered. “We’re here.”

When Paleseed obeyed her mother, the warmth and music and scent of freshly-caught fish evaporated. The sound of the Harvest Moon still rang in her ears, as though occurring deep within the ocean. Yet the grass was gray, like life and light had been sucked out from the roots. Paleseed looked up. Barren branches criss-crossed over a black sky. A huge, yellow full moon watched the land like a vengeful eye. There were no stars in that black ocean, no glow to the world but the harsh, biting moonlight that refracted off the fog. Said fog clung to the ground, nipping at Paleseed’s paws as she stood. The scent of wood-rot and fungus filled her lungs. 

The Dark Forest was indeed that; dark, cold, absent of all the good in the world. Not a single conifer needle or leaf clung to the trees around the three RippleClan cats; instead, every branch poked and prodded at its neighbor for more room. There wasn’t even leaf litter to show there had ever been a summer in that barren land. Instead, mushrooms claimed the trees as their territory; flat, wide things of white and tan and brown. Even more mushrooms whose names Paleseed could not hope to guess sprouted from mounds poking out of the fog. Those mushrooms were the only life in the land. Bramble bushes speckled the shadowy landscape, thorns reaching out like fangs. Paleseed’s claws dug into the dry, red earth as a caterwaul echoed from somewhere deep within the forest. 

“The stories were right about this place,” Darkkick scoffed, shaking out the mist and dust collecting on her fur. Paleseed instinctively pressed into Weedfoot. All three cats gathered around each other, taking in the cursed trees and the sharp shadows. Autumnstar was out there, somewhere, instinctively drawn toward the living cats, unaware of the fate that awaited him.

“Where do we start?” Paleseed gulped.

“You could start by leaving, if you’re smart.” Weedfoot and Darkkick jumped between Paleseed and the stranger’s voice. Paleseed followed the sound up into a dead pine. A black, mud-like ooze dripped from the ginger molly lounging on the branches overhead. A solid, glistening layer of ice covered her extremities and dulled her monotone fur. 

“Newtstream,” Darkkick growled. She soothed her bristling fur and huffed, “It’s alright. She’ll pose no threat to us.”

“Terracottafoot sent you here, didn’t they?” Newtstream huffed. She jumped out of the tree and landed beside Darkkick. “The black marks on your chests, the sudden arrival on Harvest Moon… yes, it’s like I taught them. Why send RippleClan cats, however?”

“We’re here to stop Autumnstar’s curse,” Weedfoot explained, eyes stuck on Newtstream’s black goop.

“You were trying to save your Clanmates when you were alive,” Paleseed gulped, taking a risky step closer to the Dark Forest spirit. “There’s no reason for you to stop us.”

“What makes you think I’m trying to stop you?” Newtstream scoffed. “I’m just trying to spare you. It may be Harvest Moon, but deadly things still wander these woods.”

“We won’t be here any longer than we have to be,” Weedfoot said. “We’ll take care of Autumnstar and go.”

“I can’t say I’m too surprised to see you here,” Darkkick couldn’t help but grumble. “You did spit in StarClan’s face, after all.”

“I didn’t do enough to forgive myself, apparently,” Newtstream sighed, looking at the starless sky. “I just want to spend my damnation in peace, and Autumnstar wants me to help make his curse worse. The only thing keeping him from becoming as terrible as the worst Spirits of Shadow is his hurt ego. He feels his Clanmates, that StarClan himself, gave up on him and the virtues he tried to uphold. He could have led AshClan for many more moons if he let himself be wrong about your Clan. Instead, he spreads his frost across the Dark Forest and curses his Clanmates’ names. He’ll turn you into ice when he finds you.” As Newtstream monologued, Paleseed examined the dry grass around her. The entire forest looked like the aftermath of a great fire, destroying everything green in the world.

“Frost…” Paleseed muttered, looking back at the icy death wounds covering Newtstream’s extremities. “Autumnstar’s frostbite scars were some of his most famous characteristics. That’s why his curse is some form of eternal frostbite. The power of the Dark Forest exacerbates that legend. But frost has a big weakness. If… yes, if we don’t draw the attention of Spirits of Shadow…” Paleseed ran her paw against the harsh, rugged bark of a dead tree.

“What are you thinking, Paleseed?” Weedfoot asked. Paleseed turned back to the group, her eyes the brightest thing in the land.

“I have a plan to take care of Autumnstar,” Paleseed said.

(Paleseed: 29, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

(Weedfoot: 112, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Darkkick: 123, trans female, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

[Image ID: Downstar (now in an elder sprite), Rattlepelt, and Splashpaw look at Gentlestar, a brown tabby with a maple seed accessory, who introduces Asterpaw, a gray apprentice. Gentlestar says, “We’ve decided that if Asterpaw is going to give prey to every loner and kittypet he comes across, he would do better in the Clan that’s more supportive of that behavior.” Under Asterpaw, it says NEW PLAYER: ASTERPAW, 10, MALE, THOUGHTFUL, HAS LOTS OF IDEAS.]

---

As Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick dreamed unbeknownst to all but a trusted few, Downstar cheered with the rest of the Clans as WheatClan finished their performance on Shardlings, the broken pieces of destroyed souls fulfilling dark desires on loop. The young apprentices were a great decision to play the part of the Shardlings, even if they lacked an artisan’s acting skills. For who could get mad at excited youths performing with their friends and kin?

“Maybe we should have asked you to help with our Leatherwaste performance, huh Splashpaw?” Rattlepelt, who sat near Downstar, laughed to the purple-ribboned apprentice.

“I suppose you should have,” Splashpaw laughed, “but I’m almost a historian. I don’t think I would have the same effect as the six moon old apprentices.” Someone on the other side of the swarm of Clan cats called for a race. Suddenly, dozens of furry forms shoved past Downstar, ignorant of her position. 

“A lot of energy, considering how close we are to sunhigh,” Downstar chuckled, smoothing out her disturbed pelt. “I’m ready for the feast.”

“It smells amazing,” Splashpaw purred, tasting the air. “We have this every Harvest Moon?”

“Hopefully you’ll have a lot more of these feasts in the years to come,” Rattlepelt chirped, picking up her fox pelt from where the excited crowd had shoved it off her back.

“Downstar! A moment, if you would!” Gentlestar weaved through the excited crowd, her maple seed necklace bouncing on her chest. The bright sun made her brown pelt look yellow. A small gray tom followed her, staring at Downstar.

“Your Clan put on an excellent show, Gentlestar,” Downstar purred as the WheatClan leader approached.

“So did yours,” Gentlestar chirped, touching noses with the RippleClan leader. “Hopefully we can share tongues some more later today. First, though, I wanted to introduce you to Asterpaw.” The gray apprentice stood beside Gentlestar, studying the three RippleClan cats before him. His fur was choppy, with a few small tabby markings along his face and tail. He was sleek compared to most WheatClan cats, who enjoyed the extra fat from their various herbs and crops in the bountiful moons.

“Greetings,” he said quietly, nodding to each RippleClan cat in turn.

“Are you a new apprentice?” Splashpaw asked. Asterpaw shifted back.

“He’s been an apprentice for over a season now,” Gentlestar explained, “but he hasn’t been allowed at Gatherings. I heard you used to be a troublemaker in your youth, Downstar. Asterpaw would want to challenge you for that title. He’s been the subject of three trials in the span of four moons.”

“What in StarClan’s name have you been doing?” Rattlepelt gasped as Asterpaw straightened up against the shocked expressions of those around him.

“I’ve been helping cats,” he huffed.

“Asterpaw has been caught numerous times stealing WheatClan resources and giving them to the southern farm cats,” Gentlestar said. A curt glare from the brown leader shut Asterpaw up. His yellow eyes screamed to talk back. “No matter how many times we’ve explained to Asterpaw that our prey and tools belong to us, he’ll still give what he can away.” 

“That’s not something a leader would usually admit to another,” Downstar noted as Asterpaw grew stiff as wood, fighting back the urge to defend himself. “That sort of theft is a serious issue, Asterpaw.” The flood inside of the gray WheatClan tom broke free.

“I don’t always take things from camp!” he cried. “I make some of my own stuff, too. The farm cats have their own society to the south, and they don’t have our freedom to act with humans constantly watching them. If they’re struggling to hunt for themselves, I give them a spare mouse or my share of a meal. I only want to take care of them!”

“Except you’re supposed to take care of your Clanmates, not those outside WheatClan,” Gentlestar reminded him. This time, Asterpaw did not back down, glaring back at Gentlestar with righteous strength. Gentlestar simply sighed, looked back to Downstar, and said, “We’ve decided that if Asterpaw is going to give prey to every loner and kittypet he comes across, he would do better in the Clan that’s more supportive of that behavior.”

“Wait,” Rattlepelt said, “do you mean you want Asterpaw to join RippleClan?”

“He’s shown WheatClan that he cannot be trusted,” Gentlestar sighed. “The only other option after so many repeated offenses in so little time was exile.”

“RippleClan loves to help outsiders, right?” Asterpaw said, stepping away from Gentlestar. “You’ve invited a dozen loners to join your ranks at this point. You understand what I’m trying to do.”

“We’re kind to loners, yes,” Downstar said, glancing toward Lemmy in the gaggle of queens, “but we’re still wise with our resources. There’s a border between helping others and hurting your Clan. If you want to be a RippleClan cat, you need to understand that.”

“If you can teach him that lesson, WheatClan will be impressed,” Gentlestar said. “Beyond his issues, Asterpaw is a good caretaker and minds the camp well. While we will miss him, he and the Clan all agree this is for the best.” Asterpaw nodded along.

“Another caretaker apprentice from another Clan…” Downstar hummed. She couldn’t help but chuckle at history repeating itself. “I trained Elmsprout when she left AshClan. It seems only fair that I train another caretaker.”

“So I can join?” Asterpaw asked, standing as tall as he could despite his short stature.

“You can’t be stealing from us, though,” Rattlepelt noted. “I’ll know if you steal my leather.” She adjusted her fox pelt, rubbing her face into the red fur lining the outer side.

“If you’re as troublesome as Gentlestar claims you are,” Downstar chuckled, touching noses with Asterpaw, “you need a more experienced paw to guide you. If this is what you want, you can return to RippleClan with us at the end of Harvest Moon.” Asterpaw hooked his tail high, purring at his new leader.

A hiss slipped through the happy noise of the Harvest Moon. A sharp yelp spun Downstar’s head around. Far away from the rest of the crowd, Weedfoot, Paleseed, and Darkkick slept beside one another. Terracottafoot looped around them, using them as a wall between themself and Waspdawn, whose shortened tail thrashed violently and who bared his teeth like a dog.

“What did you do to Paleseed?” Waspdawn yowled. He tried to get around the sleeping cats and strike Terracottafoot, but the nimble cleric led the codekeeper on a loop, staying far from Waspdawn’s angry claws.

“Please, you can’t disturb them!” Terracottafoot begged. “This is more important than you realize!” Downstar ran toward Waspdawn and Terracottafoot, but Troutpool beat her there.

“Waspdawn, you can’t attack a cleric!” Troutpool yowled, grabbing Waspdawn by the scruff and pulling him back. Waspdawn squirmed out of Troutpool’s weak grasp.

“They did something to them!” Waspdawn hissed. Cats slipped away from the excitement of the distant race and formed a crowd of onlookers, all eyes on Waspdawn. “None of them will wake up!” Terracottafoot crouched by Darkkick, who did not wake up despite the chaos around her. Eelstar shoved his way to the front of the crowd. He shivered as he stood, even though the coming sunhigh made it feel almost like summer again.

“Terracottafoot, what is going on?” Eelstar huffed. Terracottafoot rose, gray eyes hardening as they stood down their leader.

“I did what your pride wouldn’t let you do,” they snapped. “I got help!” Downstar slipped beside Weedfoot. She nudged her deputy’s shoulder. Weedfoot did not stir. Downstar put her ear to Weedfoot’s mouth. She was still breathing. Downstar shook her again, harder, but to the same result.

“What’s on their chests?” Rattlepelt called from the crowd. Troutpool joined Downstar and Weedfoot. She lifted Weedfoot’s heavy head. Black dye smeared the bottom of her chin, a trail running down her chest. Darkkick and Paleseed had the same marks. Troutpool gasped and dropped Weedfoot’s head. Her whiskers pushed back and her wide eyes stared at Terracottafoot.

“I know this ritual,” Troutpool muttered as Rattlepelt joined her little sister, offering a comforting weight at her side. “Every cleric learns it, even though it’s incredibly taboo. Terracottafoot… why did you send them to the Dark Forest?” Fearful gasps and yowls rippled around the Leader’s Stone. Codekeepers instantly fought to keep RippleClan and AshClan cats alike from swarming the scene, pushing and smacking them back with sheathed claws. Downstar shivered just like Eelstar. 

“Because they’re going to save my Clan,” said Terracottafoot, whose characteristic insecurity vanished like morning mist against the outrage of the five Clans, whose gray eyes continued to stare down Eelstar, almost taunting him to speak against his only cleric.

(Downstar: 122, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Rattlepelt: 46, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Splashpaw: 11, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still, lover of art)

(Asterpaw: 10, male, caretaker apprentice, thoughtful, has lots of ideas)

(Waspdawn: 29, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Troutpool: 24, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

[Image ID: Darkkick and Weedfoot face down Autumnstar, a Dark Forest soul. Weedfoot says, “You couldn’t rest in peace, could you Autumnstar?”]

---

Paleseed would be the one to spring the trap. It was her idea, after all, and it would keep her out of the fight. Newtstream had wandered off, unable (or perhaps unwilling) to assist anymore than she had. That left Weedfoot and Darkkick standing among the trees. Waiting. Watching. Holding their breath at the slightest shift in wind.

“Are we sure Autumnstar will come this way?” Weedfoot asked.

“Terracottafoot’s performance of the ritual was sound,” Darkkick huffed. “Autumnstar’s spirit is being pulled our direction as we speak.” Weedfoot peered into the moonlit fog. The trees grew hazy the farther she looked. A distant howl filled the silence between the pair.

“Darkkick,” Weedfoot said softly, “if I don’t wake up, make sure my family knows why I did this.”

“If I don’t,” Darkkick said, “tell Spikecrash I’ve enjoyed growing closer to her.”

“I’ll tell her you loved her,” Weedfoot purred.

The moonlight in the distance glinted against yellow eyes. Weedfoot froze, and not just out of fear. A thin coat of frost crawled under the fog, lurching from the shadows. It stung at Weedfoot’s pads and forced her back. Darkkick shivered through it. Ginger and white paws, sticky with goo and shimmering with frost, stepped out of the haze. Ice ate at his scar tissue. The face that came into view was not one of malice, but shock.

“Is that you, Weedfoot?” Autumnstar gasped. The frost grew thicker and thicker where he stood. The frost collected over Weedfoot’s paws, trying to glue her to the dead grass. Weedfoot kept moving, shifting her stance and breaking the ice. “You’re not a cat I expected to see here. Especially not alive. And Darkkick, of all cats! I never expected to see your face again. So you’ve joined up with Weedfoot and her kin. Did you send the pair of you here?” Darkkick raised her hackles, hissing.

“You couldn’t rest in peace, could you Autumnstar?” Weedfoot growled. “Do you even realize you’re hurting your Clan? Your Clanmates are dying, you’ve cursed them. You need to undo it.”

“I wondered if my anger held the power so many artisans and historians claimed it did in this place,” Autumnstar muttered, lifting a paw and allowing his cursed goop to drip onto the dead grass. “If that is how their betrayal manifests, so be it. May StarClan judge their foxhearted ways just as they judged me.”

“I would have thought you’d curse RippleClan,” Darkkick scoffed.

“You may not believe me, but I know the truth about your Clan now,” Autumnstar snapped. A flick of his tail sent ice sprinkling onto the side of a withered oak. “Our ancestors decided five Clans can exist around StarClan’s Shrine. My fight is not with RippleClan.”

“AshClan is full of your friends, your kin,” Weedfoot yowled. “I remember how much you cared for them. Why hurt them?”

“Why do you care?” Autumnstar groaned like an impatient apprentice. “You’re not AshClan anymore. The culture and traditions I fought to uphold mean nothing to you now.”

“I did care!” Darkkick yowled, marching closer. A flash of frost shot out from around Autumnstar. It struck at Darkkick’s legs, leaving crystals on her long fur. She hissed, gritting her teeth as her legs buckled. “I cared about AshClan up to the moment you exiled me for following StarClan’s decree! How is that ‘upholding tradition’?”

“I exiled you because I thought you were lying,” Autumnstar growled. “Why would I believe StarClan would suddenly side with the cats sewing discord into my Clan, working against so many of the values I held dear? I thought it was a conspiracy, that you had been won over. I stopped the war when I learned the truth. I respected RippleClan’s land, became civil to Downstar. And what did I get for changing my ways? StarClan struck me down. The friends and kin I spent my life defending began to curse my name. Of course I cursed them back!” Weedfoot couldn’t feel her paws. Her skin burned from the cold. Ice pinned her fur to her skin. It grew thicker and thicker. Pulling away grew harder and harder until all Weedfoot and Darkkick could do was squirm in their crystal chrysalis. “I fight for my Clan, only to be spat on for my efforts. If they’ll call me a curse on their Clan, that’s just what I’ll be!”

“Paleseed!” Weedfoot yowled. Her eyes turned to the treetops over Autumnstar. Flames danced in front of the giant moon. It licked at the end of a pointy gray branch. Paleseed stood defiant in the lifeless tree, holding the stick high, teeth dug tight into the bark. The fire brightened her spotted fur and burned her heather eyes.

Paleseed set the flame to the tree. The fire eagerly jumped to the dry tinder. Brilliant orange light exploded against the fog. Paleseed ran and jumped from one tree to another, setting each aflame.

“Are you mad?” Autumnstar roared. “You’ll kill yourselves before you kill me!” Blood pooled in Weedfoot’s paws in response to the sudden heat. Frost turned to dew. Darkkick lifted herself from the grass, shaking the quickly melting ice off her long black fur like dust. In the shining firelight, Autumnstar seemed like any other opponent Weedfoot had overcome before.

Darkkick attacked first. She head-butted Autumnstar, knocking him toward the flames, now leaping to other trees of its own merit. Weedfoot struck Autumnstar upside the head before he could collect himself. They rolled through the fog, two against one. Weedfoot’s pelt grew soaked as she fell on her back, saved only by Darkkick dragging Autumnstar away.

“It’s done!” Paleseed cried. In between flashes of fur and fang, fire consumed every exit. The heat replaced Autumnstar’s supernatural chill entirely. Paleseed stood on the other side of the fire, coughing, eyes watering at the smoke that now ate at the moon.

“You’ve weakened him!” Weedfoot cheered as she freed Darkkick from Autumnstar’s strong hold. “There’s nothing else you can do here, Paleseed. You need to wake up.”

“I don’t know how!” Paleseed yowled. “This doesn’t feel like a dream!”

“You can see, but your eyes feel closed, don’t they?” Darkkick snapped, dodging Autumnstar’s strike. “You can still hear Harvest Moon in the distance. That’s how it is for us. Force your eyes open! Listen to the crowd!”

“I love you both!” Paleseed cried. Her wide gaze held Weedfoot’s attention, even as she scratched and clawed at Autumnstar. The fire blossomed, rising like the tide and receding just as fast. Paleseed was gone. Paleseed was safe.

A lucky blow; Weedfoot kicked her leg back, only for Autumnstar to lock his fangs deep into her ankle. He was a rattlesnake, injecting cold poison into Weedfoot’s blood. The deputy yowled and shivered as Autumnstar’s icy claws continued to spread his mouth’s icy venom. That close to the flesh, the fire could do nothing to stop his dark power. Weedfoot dug into Autumnstar’s face, even as her leg remained stuck in the dead leader’s vicious bite. 

Darkkick slid on her back, appearing under Autumnstar’s stomach. She pushed up, hard as she could. Autumnstar’s fangs lifted from Weedfoot’s ankle with a vibrant spurt of blood. Weedfoot’s spasming muscles kicked Autumnstar away.

Here are the fallen Ashes in the Water, the AshClan cats who stood against their Clanmates and asked for a different life; Lavenderleaf, Redcloud, Sprucespring, Wasppaw, Finstrike, Burdockstream, and Paleshade. StarClan knew of their mission and accepted their cause, welcoming the group into StarClan despite how they turned against their Clan. This is for them!

Weedfoot slashed at Autumnstar’s eyes. Autumnstar shrieked, trying to blink the blood away. Darkkick fulfilled her namesake; she kicked, hard, right against Autumnstar’s side, sending the suddenly blinded leader stumbling into Paleseed’s flames.

The effect was nearly instant. As Autumnstar caterwauled, form flailing in the fire, sharp-angled shadows bounced off his silhouette. Shardlings. The living shadows, with too pointy ears and fang-tips for tails, the broken remnants of a Dark Forest soul, dead twice-over. They scattered with the smoke, mimicking their host’s fading screams. Autumnstar grew smaller and smaller in the fire’s glow.

Weedfoot turned to Darkkick, wondering, praying, screaming inside, still absorbing the pain in her leg and everything unfolding around her. But Darkkick was gone. Darkkick was safe.

But Weedfoot bore witness. She was still a historian. This was her duty.

The last shadow of Autumnstar shifted and danced in the fire, with only its ears and tail suggesting a feline shape. But this Shardling did not bounce into the Dark Forest to search for its broken kin. No, this Shardling stared at Weedfoot. Bright yellow eyes glared at her with more hatred than any soul, dead or alive, could muster. It screeched with a sound like screaming wind. Flames reaching out to restrain it, the Shardling launched at Weedfoot.

Weedfoot was not safe.

[Image ID: Darkkick, Paleseed, and Weedfoot sit together as Rattlepelt tells Weedfoot, “I’ve got you, Weedfoot!” Under Weedfoot, it says + CONDITION: MANGLED LEG. Under Rattlepelt, it says LEVEL UP! FIERCE -> BLOODTHIRSTY.]

Weedfoot screamed. She spasmed against the gray… no. The green grass. The grass was green again. The voices that once whispered far in the distance were now up close and yowling. The sun. The sun had returned, dancing directly over the Leader’s Stone. A huge crowd surrounded Weedfoot, gasping and yowling in response to her sudden panic.

“I’ve got you, Weedfoot!” Rattlepelt sat at Weedfoot’s side. She wrapped her prized fox pelt around Weedfoot’s burning leg. It was still bleeding, even though Weedfoot’s body never entered that cursed forest. “Troutpool and the other clerics are making emergency bandages.” Rattlepelt pressed both front paws into Weedfoot’s wounds. A bit of blood stained her gray skin.

“We weren’t putting on a show here.” Darkkick! She and Paleseed sat with Terracottafoot, cleaning the black dye off their chests with wet moss rather than groom it and get sick.

“I did try to send them away,” Terracottafoot gulped.

“Move, that’s our mother!” Weedfoot’s four other kits pushed through the crowd, Waspdawn in the lead. The golden tom ran into Weedfoot. Puddlewhisper and Lavendertwist wrapped around their mother. Even Scaleripple, sensitive as he was, laid his head on Weedfoot’s tail, purring. Paleseed left Darkkick and Terracottafoot to join her family. Waspdawn tackled his sister, trying to hold both kin close. James trailed after them, lucious tail tucked under his legs.

“Where are you hurt?” James asked. He noticed Rattlepelt’s bloody paws and groaned, closing his eyes. “No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to look. I’m just grateful you’re awake.” Weedfoot couldn’t help but laugh; even as she awoke from a battle in the Dark Forest, James was still the snob she knew and love. James pressed into Weedfoot’s neck.

“Weedfoot.” Weedfoot’s family shifted to reveal Downstar, standing with Eelstar at the front of the crowd. “Terracottafoot told us of their vision and your quest. You should have told me about this.”

“This wasn’t your problem to solve,” Eelstar said. His voice lacked its usual bite as he stared at the fox pelt around her leg.

“I’m sorry, Downstar,” Weedfoot gulped, voice shaky from the experience, “but this was too important to let you stop us. StarClan said we were the best ones to handle Autumnstar.”

“It was terrifying to see,” Lavendertwist gulped. “Mom, you and Darkkick were just laying there, shivering! And then all these scratches and bruises began to appear, even though no one was touching you! And then your leg opened up, it was… I don’t even know what to say! What happened in the Dark Forest?”

Yes… what had happened? The Shardling had had its jaw around Weedfoot’s throat. It should have killed her. It wasn’t a thinking being, it was a bundle of lost emotion and instinct, a small piece of what used to be Autumnstar. It didn’t have the capacity to spare. So why did it? All five Clans stared at Weedfoot, awaiting her answer. What could she say? Only the truth.

“Autumnstar can’t hurt anyone anymore,” Weedfoot said.

(Weedfoot: 112, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Darkkick: 123, trans female, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Paleseed: 29, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

(Rattlepelt: 46, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

(Waspdawn: 29, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Puddlewhisper: 29, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

(Lavendertwist: 29, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Scaleripple: 16, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(James: 139, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

Scrubmask was scheduled for a border patrol at sunhigh, so she went for a walk in the morning. It was now late afternoon, and she had not returned to camp. For most cats, Clammask would have waited a while, wondering what mischief they got up to in their free time that kept them from their duties. But Scrubmask? No. Something was wrong.

Downstar sent out three patrols. Waspdawn led Tempestshade, Mosspounce, and Darkkick south. Weedfoot took Wildclaw, Elmsprout, and Drumpaw into the heart of the territory. Downstar’s patrol, which included Carnationspeckle, Halibutdusk, and shockingly, James, headed for the river. That left Clammask and the rest of her kits to wait in camp, stomachs twisted and claws itching.

“We should have our own patrol looking for Ma!” Leatherpaw snapped as he paced around the apprentice’s den. “Why does Drumpaw get to look for her, but we have to stay home?”

“Because your mentors are still in camp,” Clammask reminded her son. She sat in Drumpaw’s nest, giving her three sons extra company in the dreadful wait.

“Weedfoot’s on patrol,” Splashpaw pointed out, batting at the purple ribbon he chose to keep around his neck after his escapade.

“You’re still in trouble for disappearing, regardless of who you brought to camp,” Clammask huffed with a hard look.

“Hasn’t StarClan said anything, Honeypaw?” Leatherpaw huffed, turning to his lanky brother in the corner of the den. 

“Troutpool hasn’t taught me how to petition StarClan directly yet,” Honeypaw sighed. He laid on his side, tail flicking absent mindedly. “I’d go out if I could be any help, but I don’t think Ma wants us to see whatever problem she’s in.” 

“That’s right,” Clammask said. “Your mother wouldn’t want all four of her kits roaming the forest looking for her.”

“But Drumpaw gets to go,” Splashpaw muttered, getting to his feet and mimicking Leatherpaw’s pacing. 

Clammask gave up trying to steer her sons away from their doomed thinking. Instead she set her head on the edge of Scalepaw’s empty nest and studied the den. She hadn’t been inside the apprentice’s den since she graduated. She thought back to those first two moons, before Halibutdusk, Shadowdrop, and Wildclaw were apprenticed, the nights when it was just Clampaw, Burdockpaw, and Locustpaw, the first born to RippleClan, ready to make history. How many nights did Burdockcreek keep her and Locustseeker up with a new amazing story about the other Clans? How many pranks did Locustseeker scheme over when Clammask wasn’t looking? How different would it have been if Twinekit made it to that den as well? Oilstripe had told Clammask that all three were watching over her during the birth of her kits… were they there now, reminiscing with her?

A tortoiseshell pelt shifted outside the apprentice’s den. Clammask hurried to her paws. Downstar! She slipped around her impatient sons and joined her leader outside. Downstar, Carnationspeckle, and James all lingered near the entrance, exhaustion pulling at their pelts. Where was Halibutdusk?

“You haven’t found Scrubmask?” Clammask asked. Downstar started to say something, but she swallowed hard instead.

“Carnationspeckle,” Downstar muttered quietly to the brown ticked molly (whose fur had finally recovered from all the mats of her imprisonment), “find two cats to fetch the other patrols.” Carnationspeckle nodded, her stance stiff and paws uncertain as they led her to the warrior’s den.

“You’re stopping the search?” Leatherpaw launched out of the apprentice’s den, lips curled. “That’s our mother out there!”

“Leatherpaw,” Clammask growled, heart aching at the fear in her son’s eyes.

“We found your mother, Leatherpaw,” Downstar said softly. Clammask looked back to her leader. The world became just the two of them alone on the sand.

“I don’t…” Clammask gulped. “I don’t understand.” James whined softly and shook his head, retreating to the elder’s den.

“We found her in the river,” Downstar said. Her tail slipped under her. “She was muzzle-first in the water. I don’t know if someone held her under or smashed her head against the rocks–“

“Someone?” Leatherpaw yowled, his long pelt shaking and standing on end like Downstar was about to attack. “You said someone. You, you think a cat did it. You think a cat killed my mother!” Downstar flinched at the words. Splashpaw and Honeypaw stood in quiet horror in the mouth of the apprentice’s den.

The peaceful and content future Clammask imagined with her mate crumbled around her.

(Clammask: 53, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Leatherpaw: 7, male, warrior apprentice, vengeful, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

(Splashpaw: 7, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still, lover of art)

(Honeypaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

(Downstar: 118, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Carnationspeckle: 61, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(James: 135, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

An injured LynxClan warrior limps into camp, begging for sanctuary.

[Image ID: Leatherpaw, Honeypaw, and Trumpetspore watch a brown tabby enter camp. Trumpetspore yowls, “Spirit of Shadow!” Under the brown tabby, it says NEW PLAYER: RAPIDLEAF, 77, FEMALE, LONESOME, PROPHECY INTERPRETER, + CONDITION: WATER IN LUNGS.]

---

RippleClan had been through hard times; the war with AshClan, freeing Carnationspeckle… Scrubmask’s death, her murder, it was different. The confusion, grief, and rage that covered the Clan was different than anything Downstar had felt since founding the Clan. Scrubmask’s vigil was as noisy as a Gathering, with everyone arguing and debating what exactly happened to Scrubmask and if anyone could have prevented it. Leatherpaw was outright yowling at Trumpetspore, demanding someone, anyone, go out there and find his mother’s killer. Paleseed had to drag him back. Honeypaw was absorbed in weaving a vine necklace with Rabbitjoy, performing his duty as a cleric with unnatural solemnity. Splashpaw, idly rubbing his ribbon against his shoulder, would not leave his mother’s side. Drumpaw could not leave either cat alone.

Downstar didn’t want to think about Clammask.

When Puddlewhisper and Waspdawn returned from their investigation with Scrubmask’s body, they confirmed the patrol’s suspicions. The death blows matched that of a cat, but they were sloppy, lucky strikes. The river washed away the killer’s scent, and Scrubmask had no clumps of fur in her claws to narrow down the killer’s appearance. Both theorized that it was a Witch Hunter, some disgruntled member of the group who disapproved of the uneasy truce and decided to continue the killing. Yet Honeypaw, with a look in his eyes that screamed of wisdom older than he was, simply shook his head and returned to work.

Downstar couldn’t leave her den. First Fennelspot, her most loyal friend, with her since her first moments, gone in a ridiculous accident. Then Rustshade, her staunch supporter and former mate, taken by an oh so deadly disease. And now Scrubmask, the loyal young warrior who wanted something new. Downstar had only managed to drag herself out of camp with the news of Scrubmask’s disappearance. Now? Now it would take an act of StarClan to get her outside. 

She could not see her friend’s body again. She refused.

There was a place between sleep and consciousness that restored little energy and left the mind in a haze. That was where Downstar laid, quiet in her nest, when there was a shift to the chatter outside. Confused and angry mutters turned into sharp and shocked yowls.

“Spirit of Shadow!” Trumpetspore screeched. Downstar forced herself to her paws, heart pounding.

“Ya need your eyes checked, Ms. Trumpetspore,” Parsley scoffed. “That’s a cat.” Downstar hurried out of her den. Water dripped off short brown fur. Soaked paws caught the sand and left deep pawprints. Bleary cyan eyes bounced unfocused inside a large, gaunt skull. RippleClan hissed and instinctively gathered around Scrubmask’s body, despite there being nothing left of her to protect. Downstar recognized the enemy warrior. How could she not? In the days when she was Downdapple and RippleClan was but a dream, Scrubmask frequently appeared at Gatherings with her cousin, born at the same time as her, closer than cousins almost ever were; Rapidleaf.

Rapidleaf shook and coughed, water spilling out of her mouth. She blindly stumbled on, unaware of the angry cats around her. Honeypaw crept closer as Rapidleaf’s steps grew more and more unsteady. Honeypaw reached a paw out to Rapidleaf. Her eyes dilated, wide as the full moon. Rapidleaf swiped at Honeypaw. Her claws barely missed her eyes. Leatherpaw and Clammask, who suddenly snapped out of her spot beside her mate, grieving, tackled Rapidleaf. She shook and spluttered under their combined weight.

“How did a LynxClan warrior get all the way here?” Drumpaw gulped, sharing a scared glance with Splashpaw. 

“Perhaps she came here with a message from Mistlestar,” Spikecrash hummed, carefully approaching the trapped warrior. Darkkick, however, stood in front of her daughter and shook her head. 

“She’s half-drowned,” Troutpool huffed, weaving through the shocked crowd. “I don’t think she even knows where she is.” Rapidleaf panted hard, wild eyes glaring at Troutpool with a killer’s lust. Clammask shoved Rapidleaf’s face in the sand. Her shaking slowed and her eyes dropped. Leatherpaw froze.

“Mom, did we just kill her?” he gulped, turning to Clammask.

“She’s only unconscious,” Troutpool sighed, gently nudging Leatherpaw off. “StarClan only knows what she’s been through. Honeypaw, we need to bring her into the medicine den.”

“During Scrubmask’s vigil?” Trumpetspore huffed. “Shouldn’t we send her back to her Clan?”

“As though she could make it that far,” Honeypaw snapped, nosing Rapidleaf. Sand coated half her body. Troutpool would usually remind her apprentice to respect his elders, but Troutpool stayed silent and got Rapidleaf onto her back. In the confusion of the moment, Weedfoot slunk up to Downstar. Downstar startled at the sight of her loyal deputy.

“If I need to argue with Troutpool, I can,” Weedfoot muttered. “We can send a patrol to bring her home as soon as Troutpool treats her.”

“I’m not sending someone out to die,” Downstar snapped. She was so loud, nearby Clanmates turned their attention from the drowned newcomer to their angry leader. Weedfoot didn’t flinch at the sudden yowl, however. She kept a cool gaze. 

“The last few moons have hurt,” Weedfoot reminded her leader, “but don’t forget you still have a whole Clan at your side, Downstar.” Weedfoot brushed her tail against Downstar’s shoulder and followed Troutpool and Honeypaw into the medicine den. Downstar stared at her Clan. Her outburst was quickly ignored as her friends and family returned to mourning their first warrior. 

And Downstar? Downstar returned to her den.

(Downstar: 118, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Leatherpaw: 7, male, warrior apprentice, vengeful, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

(Honeypaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

(Splashpaw: 7, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still, lover of art)

(Drumpaw: 7, female, caretaker apprentice, loyal, moss-ball hunter) 

(Trumpetspore: 20, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Rapidleaf: 77, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

(Clammask: 53, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Spikecrash: 34, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Darkkick: 119, trans female, warrior, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Troutpool: 20, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense

(Weedfoot: 108, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Lavendertwist heals with a deep scar. He makes sure his collar covers it.

[Image ID: Lavendertwist has a big pink scar across his throat, covered by his black collar. Under him, it says LEVEL UP! GOOD SINGER -> GREAT SINGER, - CONDITION: CLAW WOUND.]

---

“Three—” Lavendertwist began to sing before a cough quickly took over. The sound grew muffled in the hum of the ocean at his paws. His stiff collar acted as a comforting weight against the large scar across his neck. Oh how he had missed his collar over the long season. He didn’t feel like a slab of leather anymore since Troutpool removed those stitches. 

“Three little kits—” Stars damn it! Another awful cough shook through Lavendertwist’s body. He had to get his voice back. He’d explode if he couldn’t talk! The last season of silence had been awful as it was! He slashed at the water with a hiss that made his wound ache.

“There you are!” Elmsprout trotted down the beach, squinting against the morning glow along the water. “From the way you’ve been eyeing the ocean from camp the last few moons, I knew you’d wander out here when you got the chance.” Lavendertwist’s grumpy mood softened as the friend who’d stuck with him throughout his healing journey took a spot beside him (although she refused to touch the salty waves; what a drypaw!). “I told Weedfoot I’d join you for a hunting patrol, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“I’m trying to sing,” Lavendertwist suddenly croaked, the words escaping before he finished his thought. His voice was so ragged! Troutpool insisted it would heal, but the thought of waiting another season to get his voice back made him grit his jaw tight.

“I could use a good song right now,” Elmsprout sighed. “I left AshClan to escape the stress and gloom being the leader’s daughter would bring about, and I didn’t join RippleClan to see everyone chase their tails over Scrubmask and Rapidleaf.” Lavendertwist brushed his paw against his neck, thinking.

“I taught her kits this song,” Lavendertwist said softly, so as to soothe his throat. “She and I weren’t the best mentor and apprentice, but I appreciate everything she did for me back then.”

“From what I know about StarClan,” Elmsprout hummed, “Scrubmask is probably listening now. She’d love to hear your songs, even if she never would have admitted it in life.” Elmsprout giggled as she insulted the dead, and that made Lavendertwist giggle too. He coughed again, swallowing hard. 

“I don’t think I can yet,” he muttered. Elmsprout stared at the blinding light on the ocean, eyes squinting as she thought up a solution.

“I’ll sing it for you?” she said, phrasing it like an uncertain question. “I’m not a good singer, but I can try. What’s the song?” Elmsprout’s gray fur glowed in the ocean’s salty spray, brightened by the simple kindness she likely didn’t realize she was showing.

“Three Little Kits From Camp,” Lavendertwist gulped, blinking wildly.

“I think I know that one,” Elmsprout said. She cleared her throat and sang, “Three little kits from camp are we, pert as a little kit can be, filled to the brim with youthful glee, three little kits from camp.” Elmsprout was right; she was not a good singer. She sounded more like a crow than a songbird.

But Lavendertwist didn’t care. He still loved it.

(Lavendertwist: 25, male, warrior, playful, great singer, good speaker)

(Elmsprout: 26, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

Mosspounce and Lemmy really think the Clan doesn’t notice how the pair look at each other? No one is shocked when they announce they are mates.

[Image ID: Mosspounce and Lemmy sit together. Under Mosspounce, it says + MATE: LEMMY. Under Lemmy, it says + MATE: MOSSPOUNCE.]

---

Yellowcough truly was awful. Sure, Lemmy was no longer trapped in a tiny human den filling up with her own sick and waste, she got the Clan’s strange medicine that helped her breathe, and Tempestshade would visit with whatever meal the artisans and caretakers had cooked that day. But she was still alone in the back of a shipwreck while everyone else in her new home tried to figure out who drowned Scrubmask in the river.

This was the sort of task Lemmy excelled at when she was with the Witch Hunters. It was why Madeline had trusted her to become an enforcer, someone who could protect the housecats and strays of the area under a shared leadership and set of rules. At least Puddlewhisper and Waspdawn were acknowledging her shared status as a codekeeper by filling her in on their investigation. If she had gotten to see the scene of the crime, Lemmy was certain she would know if the killer was a Witch Hunter or not. Alas, she would never know.

Couldn’t the clerics cure her already? She was supposed to be starting a life somewhere where she didn’t have to worry about everyone she slept beside turning on her for dreams she couldn’t control (thanks StarClan). She still had a foggy image of RippleClan in her mind. She should get to know her Clanmates!

“Food delivery!” Mosspounce carried a dried fish into the quarantine den, tail high. Lemmy had been finishing the last of her medicine when the black tom arrived. She swallowed the bitter medicine as Mosspounce set her food in front of her. Mosspounce then loafed a tail-length away with a stupidly happy expression on his face.

“You could get sick if you stay in here,” Lemmy pointed out as she bit into the fish.

“Troutpool says you’ll be better in less than a moon,” Mosspounce explained. “You probably aren’t even infectious anymore!”

“And yet I still feel like I’m breathing rocks,” Lemmy scoffed. Mosspounce chuckled, even though Lemmy wasn’t joking. Her pain eased slightly. 

“Well, um…” Mosspounce laughed, settling deeper into the den, “there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“Lemmy, did you finish your medicine?” Honeypaw poked his head into the quarantine den. “Oh, hello Mosspounce. Are you two finally mates now?” Lemmy stopped breathing. Mosspounce laughed again, this time with more strain in his voice as he kept his gaze away from the other cats in the den.

“I, uh,” Mosspounce coughed, “I was, uh… about to ask that. Actually. Thought, uh… since you helped me so much, Lemmy, and you know, left your home for us and all that… maybe we could be mates?” By the crows, the hope in Mosspounce’s face hurt. Why wasn’t Lemmy breathing? If she didn’t like Mosspounce, she would have been able to say so with ease. So why weren’t her words coming to her?

“Alright,” she said, despite herself. Mosspounce’s face glowed.

“Really?” Mosspounce gasped. “Thank you, Lemmy! I promise I’ll make you happy here.” He jumped to his paws and ran to Lemmy, but both Lemmy and Honeypaw hissed at him.

“She’s still sick!” Honeypaw reminded the eager new mate.

“Right, right,” Mosspounce gulped, backing up. His paw slipped on a clump of moss from a forgotten nest and his legs flew out from under him. 

In yet another awfully uncharacteristic moment for Lemmy, the young tortoiseshell laughed.

(Lemmy: 35, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Mosspounce: 20, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Honeypaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

James can hardly believe how quickly time has passed since Scalepaw was a kit. It feels like just yesterday he was tumbling around the nursery after a moss-ball. Full of pride and joy, James throws his head back and yowls the loudest as his son is named Scaleripple.

[Image ID: Scalepaw, now Scaleripple, stands as a long-furred adult with fully developed vitiligo. Under him, it says LEVEL UP! SCALEPAW -> SCALERIPPLE, AVID PLAY-FIGHTER -> FORMIDABLE FIGHTER.]

---

Scaleripple. Scaleripple. The white-speckled tom silently toyed with the new name as the final moments of his vigil crept to an end and dawn held the world tight. Had Downstar named him after the Clan? After his sister? Was the name based on him alone? He didn’t feel like the sign of change the suffix suggested. He felt rather dull, all things considered.

Although the view from the camp entrance did not allow Scaleripple to see the ocean, he could still hear the waves mix with the song of the morning birds. It was the world’s way of saying, “Hello, new warrior. You might be odd, but we are happy to have you.” It may have just been his own thoughts trying to comfort his strange habits, but it was a comfort nevertheless.

“Guess who gets to sleep!” Lavendertwist poked his head out of camp, beaming. His voice had lost some of the hoarseness from losing his stitches, but it wasn’t back to the bright ringing tone Scaleripple was familiar with.

“I’m not that tired,” Scaleripple noted, surprised at himself.

“The exhaustion will come on later,” Lavendertwist promised. “I was the same way after my vigil!” He sat next to his brother. “Just wanted to let you know before you go to sleep, I’m really proud of you! I know it was probably weird to have your brother as your mentor, especially when I couldn’t complete half of your training, but you turned out fine! You’ll be able to handle whatever comes your way.” Scaleripple dipped his head, warmth filling his chest. “Now, I mean it, go sleep! At least see your new nest.” 

Scaleripple’s tail perked up. He’d grown up with his older siblings telling him about when they came off their vigils and found tiny presents in their new nests. Lavendertwist was lucky; he got a small drum so he could make a beat to the artisans’ performances, singing along. What would Scaleripple’s gift be? 

The new warrior stood, muscles sore from sitting through the night. He followed Lavendertwist back into camp and, with a wave of his tail goodbye, entered the giant warrior’s den. Everyone was up and ready to start the day with the sun, leaving the den an empty field of nests. Well, save for one soul.

“Over here, Scaleripple!” Tempestshade chirped from beside the eastern wall. They kneaded the edge of a fresh nest, eyes sparkling. Scaleripple’s tail lifted higher, and he stepped into the den. His paw touched the soft pelts lining the floor. A painful shiver rattled through him. Oh, wonderful. It had taken him moons to grow used to the pelts of the nursery, then of the apprentice’s den, and how he would have to tolerate the pelts lining the warrior’s den. Yet Tempestshade, unlike so many others, noticed this.

“Hop on the other nests,” they suggested. “I won’t tell.” Tempestshade’s chuckle spurred Scaleripple on. He jumped onto Trumpetspore’s nest, then bounded across Elmsprout and Waspdawn’s nests to get to Tempestshade.

“I asked Rattlepelt if I could help her with your graduation gift,” Tempestshade said. “I hope you like it.” Scaleripple looked down. A small rattle sat amongst the moss and down. Scaleripple took it in his jaws and gently shook it. It wasn’t the loud clatter of many rattles, but something softer, like waves.

“I suggested she fill it with sand,” Tempestshade explained. “I know you tend to hide away during meetings and whatnot, the sound gets to be a lot for you. So, when that happens, you can shake your rattle and focus on the soft sound! It’s just like the ocean, isn’t it?” 

Scaleripple almost wanted to cry. He’d never talked about how peaceful the ocean sounded. He wasn’t much for words, after all. Yet Tempestshade knew. They knew, and Scaleripple didn’t have to explain himself.

“It does,” he said very, very softly, placing the rattle between his paws.

“I’m glad you like it!” Tempestshade cheered. They trotted out, but a moment later backed up into the den. “Uh, I’m glad you don’t leave when you’re alone with me. It… means a lot.” Scaleripple cocked his head. Omen or not, Tempestshade was lovely! Why shouldn’t others be alone with them?

“Alright,” he said. He and Tempestshade couldn’t look away for a while. Eventually Tempestshade licked their chest and hurried out. Scaleripple purred softly and curled up around his new rattle.

It was the best graduation gift ever.

(Scaleripple: 12, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Lavendertwist: 25, male, warrior, playful, great singer, good speaker)

(Tempestshade: 20, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Deeply depressed over the loss of her old friends, Downstar almost lets herself be taken by humans on a walk, but regains her spirit and fights back. The humans kill her in the struggle. While in StarClan, Fennelspot, Rustshade, and Scrubmask encourage her to push on; she still has many moons left to go.

[Image ID: Downstar faces Fennelspot, Rustshade, and Scrubmask. Under Downstar, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING, LIVES LEFT: 5.]

(Downstar: 118, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

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

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

Fennelspot asked that Burdockcreek’s loved ones say goodbye to him before he passed. He was asleep, his breath strangled by mucus, but Fennelspot assured everyone that he would be able to hear them. He and Troutpaw moved Wildclaw back into the medicine den to give each member of the Clan their moment alone with the young historian. 

Oilstripe asked to go first and quietly stepped into the quarantine den. Burdockcreek laid curled up in his nest, the symptoms of his deadly condition draining down his face. Oilstripe took a quiet spot beside him.

“Is it okay that I don’t feel too heartbroken?” Oilstripe asked. “I don’t want you to go, of course. You’re my brother. I trained you. I don’t think I’m as close to you as Clammask or Dad, but I’m still your older sister. It’s just that… did you know Twinekit joins you on patrol some days? And Locustseeker watches us when we’re studying the world and telling stories to the kits. I still haven’t seen our mom after so many moons, but our siblings visit so much, it’s like they never left. I forget that’s not how it is for other people.

“What I mean to say is, Twinekit and Locustseeker are in the den with us. Twinekit insists that she’ll be the Fetcher for all of her littermates, it’s rather cute. It’s true, Twinekit! You’re perpetually cute. If you wanted to be taken seriously, you could have waited to die. Locustseeker’s here for moral support, Burdock. They’re excited to talk to you again. You’ll have a good time in StarClan. I’ll see you soon, little brother.” Oilstripe ran her tail over Burdockcreek’s feverish head and left her brother behind.

Weedfoot came in next. Her belly was swollen with her second litter, making her waddle into the den. She pressed her muzzle into Burdockcreek’s neck.

“You were as much my apprentice as Oilstripe’s,” she muttered. “You shouldn’t be leaving before I do. I’m sorry.” Weedfoot lingered in Burdockcreek’s unconscious embrace, unafraid of catching his disease. She only looked up when Clammask’s soft paws padded in.

“I’m sorry,” Weedfoot gulped, sitting up and clearing her throat. “I forgot this wasn’t his vigil yet. I’m taking up your time.”

“No, don’t leave,” Clammask croaked, stepping in front of Weedfoot when she moved to go. “I don’t want to say goodbye alone.” Weedfoot welcomed Clammask into her embrace, letting the golden molly rest her head under her chin. Weedfoot’s warmth covered Clammask. The deputy gently licked Clammask’s ear until she was ready to talk.

“Do you remember the last Harvest Moon,” Clammask mumbled, “when Burdockcreek challenged the LynxClan historians to a climbing competition? StarClan, he lost so bad, he moped behind the Leader’s Stone for… for… I can’t do this. I can’t remember my brother like this.” Clammask turned away from her dying brother. Weedfoot waddled to her side and walked her out of the den.

Rustshade came in a short while later. He stared at Burdockcreek, whose breathing had grown slow in the moments since Clammask left. Rustshade couldn’t keep his claws seathed.

“Are you here, StarClan?” Rustshade growled, looking up into the ceiling of the shipwreck. “You can’t take him. Why do you think you can take another of my kits from me? You don’t get Burdockcreek. You can’t have him.” Rustshade slipped beside his son. He closed his eyes, willing Burdockcreek to claw back from the edge and stay by his side.

Burdockcreek stopped breathing shortly after.

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

(Oilstripe: 50, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Weedfoot: 95, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Clammask: 40, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Rustshade: 90, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

Puddlepaw and Ripplepaw are the first of their litter to earn their names. Ripplefern gets moth wings from Downstar as a gift for graduating.

[Image ID: Puddlewhisper and Ripplefern stand as adults. Ripplefern has moth wings tucked behind her ear. Above Puddlewhisper, it says LEVEL UP! PUDDLEPAW -> PUDDLEWHISPER, ODDLY OBSERVANT -> NATURAL INTUITION, MORBID CURIOSITY -> GHOST SENSE. Above Ripplefern, it says LEVEL UP! RIPPLEPAW -> RIPPLEFERN, AVID PLAY-FIGHTER -> GOOD FIGHTER, SPLASHES IN PUDDLES -> TALENTED SWIMMER, + ACCESSORY: MOTH WINGS.]

(Puddlewhisper: 12, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

(Ripplefern: 12, female, historian, charismatic, good fighter, talented swimmer)

The AshClan cleric, Newtstream, asks for spare thyme. Fennelspot hands some over.

[Image ID: Fennelspot and Darkkick face Newtstream, who says “I really am glad you’re alive, Darkkick.” Darkkick responds, “Where was this concern when you let Autumnstar exile me?”]

---

Newtstream was there. She was there, in RippleClan’s camp, speaking with Fennelspot and Spikecrash like it was the most natural thing in the world. And she would notice Darkkick any second.

With his tail as tended-to as it would be for now, Parsley and Carnationspeckle offered to take Darkkick on a tour of the territory. It was strange to walk through land that Darkkick knew in passing, knowing that it may soon become as familiar to him as AshClan territory once was. With spring weather bringing life to the territory, Darkkick had a lot to say on how the caretakers were managing their gardens and utilizing the ocean. He couldn’t lie, when he had been AshClan’s clerics, he dreamed of the days when he’d lead a patrol to the ocean to collect rare salt, but now, once his tail was healed, he would be able to swim in that glistening water whenever he wanted. Perhaps he should have joined RippleClan earlier.

That simple joy crumbled when Darkkick’s tour group returned to camp near sunset and saw Newtstream sitting in the sand. Darkkick kept his face still as his former apprentice noticed him. As soon as her brown eyes widened, Darkkick strolled across the clearing, ignoring how his tail ached when he held it high.

“The rumors are true then,” Newtstream said softly, studying Darkkick. “You’ve returned to the Clans.”

“So I have,” Darkkick huffed. He refused to break eye contact with Newtstream. He would not break first. From the corner of his eye, Darkkick could see Spikecrash get ready to interject, but Fennelspot put his tail on her worn splint.

“I don’t see any reason AshClan can’t use some of RippleClan’s thyme incense,” Fennelspot said. A movement of his paw broke Newtstream’s stare. Fennelspot rolled an incense stick to Newtstream’s paws. “This bowl is a beautiful offering.” He placed his paw on the lip of a well-carved wooden bowl, perfect for ceremonies or meals for honored guests.

“AshClan thanks you, Fennelspot,” Newtstream said, bowing. “And it was good to meet you, Mediator Spikecrash. I hope your recovery continues as expected.”

“Thank you,” Spikecrash gulped, casting a glance at Darkkick. “It… will be nice to see you and your Clan’s mediators at my first Gathering. With the way my healing is progressing, Fennelspot says I’ll be better by the end of the season!” Spikecrash flexed her back paws. It seemed Fennelspot had done a good job.

“If you’ll speak to Halibutdusk over there,” Fennelspot explained, nodding to Halibutdusk by the oven, “he can escort you back to AshClan.”

“May StarClan watch over you, Fennelspot,” Newtstream said. She reached down for the incense, but paused. She stood back up and looked at Darkkick, her whiskers drooping. “I really am glad you’re alive, Darkkick.”

“Where was this concern when you let Autumnstar exile me?” Darkkick spat. His spit flew onto the incense. Newtstream closed her eyes for a moment. Then she picked up the incense and walked toward Halibutdusk.

“Spikecrash,” Fennelspot sighed, “it’s probably better that you not mention your relationship to Darkkick around other Clans. They may not take it well.”

“Because he was a cleric?” Spikecrash asked.

“Because she’s the reason I’m not one anymore,” Darkkick growled, cocking his head at Newtstream as she left camp. “StarClan told all the clerics that RippleClan was to be founded, and when I told Autumnstar, he called me a liar and exiled me. Newtstream was my apprentice. She said nothing in my defense, even though she saw the same things I did!” He yowled in the direction of the exit, knowing full well that Newtstream would be able to hear him.

“Darkkick may not be a cleric anymore,” Fennelspot explained, rubbing against Darkkick to soothe his shaking pelt, “but it’s better if the Clans get used to the idea of his return before hearing that he stopped keeping his oath.”

“That oath stopped bearing weight when I followed StarClan’s will and they did nothing to protect me,” Darkkick growled.

(Darkkick: 106, male, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Fennelspot: 103, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

Scrubmask was not a showy warrior by any means. She kept to herself and her small circle of friends (Fennelspot and Downstar, to name her closest companions). So for her to invite Clammask on a stroll under the light of the half moon was certainly out of character for her. It felt right to do, however. In Scrubmask’s mind, this was the only way she could ask such an important question.

“Scrubmask, where are you taking me?” Clammask sighed. She watched the thick dark leaves dancing overhead in the soft wind. The hum of bugs acted as a quiet backdrop to the gentle walk. 

“Just wait,” Scrubmask said. She reached her tail to touch Clammask, who walked behind her. That was all Clammask needed to quiet her mind and continue on.

Eventually Scrubmask stopped at the base of a beech tree. The moon poured through the thick leaves. Although the summer had been full of rain, if Scrubmask took a deep breath, she could still smell blood and fear. Clammask gasped softly when she realized where they were.

“This is where we found Mousesong,” Clammask mumbled. She rubbed a paw into the grass. “Why would you bring me here?”

“I’ve been thinking about Mousesong a lot as of late,” Scrubmask admitted. She rubbed against the beech tree’s bark. She sat beside the trunk. “She wasn’t close to many cats, but she was good at her job, and she was learning to trust. I respected her. She could have had a long and joyful life. She could have found a mate and begun a family, something to tie her into the bloodline of the Clans.”

“I wish she told someone where she was going,” Clammask sighed. “I wish we understood why this happened.”

“That’s the nature of the world,” Scrubmask said. “We can all die anytime we leave camp. We don’t even have to leave camp, in some cases.” Scrubmask caught Clammask’s eye, deep blue digging into silver with a level of fear Clammask never saw in her friend’s eyes. “Clammask, I don’t want to leave the world without knowing I started a family. I want descendents in RippleClan. I don’t know if the Clan will remember Mousesong in a few generations. I don’t want that to happen to me.”

“So you want me to help you find a sire.” Clammask guessed. She moved to Scrubmask’s side, placing her bulky tail over Scrubmask’s feathery one. “I would love to help, Scrubmask. You’ll be a good mother.”

“That’s not it,” Scrubmask said, shaking her head. “The idea of being pregnant unnerves me. I want you to find a sire, Clammask. I want you to be my mate.” That deep, intense look poured out of Scrubmask once more.

“I don’t understand,” Clammask muttered breathlessly.

“I believe,” Scrubmask explained, pausing every few words, as though second-guessing herself, “that the two of us would make good mothers. I… want to be your partner in growing our Clan. I don’t want to die without leaving someone else in my stead.” Her paw touched Clammask’s. 

“I really wasn’t expecting this,” Clammask gasped, barely able to speak.

“I want to go out and find a sire you’re comfortable with,” Scrubmask explained. “We’ll check with Fennelspot in a quarter moon and see if you’re pregnant. I’ll take care of your duties when you can’t work anymore.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Clammask muttered. Scrubmask’s thoughts slowed and stuttered. An owl hooted somewhere overhead.

“Is it too much?” Scrubmask asked. The fur around her neck fluffed up and her face sunk into it. 

Clammask thought for a moment. She brushed  paw over her slim belly. What would her littermates think of her? She steadied herself, pressing into the cool grass. She wasn’t a codekeeper, she didn’t do well dwelling on things for a while. She needed to choose.

“If you want to find a sire tonight,” Clammask declared, bunting Scrubmask’s shoulder, “then I’m with you. I’ll do this if you’ll do it with me.” Scrubmask leaned into Clammask’s warmth. The two pushed against each other, finding oneness in separation.

(Scrubmask: 67, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Clammask: 44, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

Lavendertwist disappeared for a few days only to return with a collar. He decides to keep it to honor his father.

[Image ID: Lavendertwist reunites with Weedfoot, James, and Paleseed, wearing a black and gold collar. Weedfoot says “Lavender, where have you been?” Lavendertwist replies “Humans caught me, but I found my way home. Look at what they gave me!” Under Lavendertwist, it says + ACCESSORY: BLACK AND GOLD COLLAR.]

(Lavendertwist: 16, male, warrior, playful, good singer, good storyteller)

(Weedfoot: 99, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(James: 126, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)