#clampaw

“I don’t like this, Rabbitjoy,” Weedfoot muttered as Rabbitjoy led her toward the AshClan border. Since the Gathering had only occurred the day before, the moon was almost full and shone through thin clouds high above. Longest Night was still half a moon off, but lately, whenever Weedfoot left camp, the sun was gone or on its way out. There had yet to be any snowfall, leaving the duo to avoid twigs and leaves as they got closer to the deeper stretches of forest.

“I’m not happy about it either, Weedy,” Rabbitjoy admitted, glancing over her shoulder. “I wanted to spend my Gathering with my family in WheatClan, not hashing out secret meetings with AshClan mediators.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them to trick me into their claws,” Weedfoot sighed. “I don’t know why else they would ask me to come with you.”

“I’m trying to have an open mind,” Rabbitjoy gulped. “A new name means a new mindset and all that.” Rabbitjoy nearly crossed the freshly marked border before she caught herself and stepped back. The AshClan border was back to its old spot from moons prior, but the scent of both Clans was thicker than ever before. There was already two cats waiting for them on the other side. Shellstripe, a wirey golden mediator with a white-dipped face, stood with shifting paws beside a scratched tree. An oh-so-familiar tom with burnt paws stood tall beside him.

“Rabbitjoy, get back,” Weedfoot growled. She stood in front of her long-lost friend and stared at Eelgrowl with all the burning hate she wished she could show at Gatherings.

“Why would I ask for you if all I wanted to do was hurt you?” Eelgrowl huffed.

“Why would you want to talk to me at all?” Weedfoot snapped.

“He wasn’t trying to kill Paleshade, Weedfoot,” Shellstripe stammered, inching close to the border. “He didn’t mean for her to die. We couldn’t disobey Autumnstar.” Rabbitjoy’s tail slunk between her legs.

“We aren’t here to talk about that, Shellstripe,” Eelgrowl sighed, resting his tail on Shellstripe’s back. “Weedfoot doesn’t want to hear it, anyway.”

“Is Autumnstar waiting behind the bushes?” Weedfoot scoffed, peering through the shadows.

“He doesn’t know we’re meeting,” Eelgrowl explained. “He wouldn’t approve of it.”

“But you’ve always been loyal to him,” Rabbitjoy said, peering around Weedfoot. “You were loyal enough to let your Clanmates die. What changed?”

“StarClan did,” Eelgrowl sighed. He sat across from Weedfoot, his narrow face turned to the clouded sky. “I don’t expect you to understand, but Autumnstar and I are doing what we think is right. Autumnstar may not believe the other clerics, but I do. They wouldn’t all lie to us. StarClan has accepted you. Now that your leader’s had the bright idea to declare war, Autumnstar sees RippleClan as a bunch of rogues. He’s taken to calling Downstar by her old name. I won’t see him be damned by the stars for trying to honor them.” There was a weight to Eelgrowl’s tone that reminded Weedfoot of her younger days, when Eelgrowl had nursery duty, when he let the smallest kits play with his pink paws as he explained how dangerous fire could be. Weedfoot stayed half-pressed into Rabbitjoy but pulled her tail over her paws.

“What do you want, then?” Weedfoot said.

“Autumnstar backed down before thanks to pressure from the other Clans,” Eelgrowl explained. “It’s why he didn’t want you to have unfettered access to SlugClan and LynxClan. If you can speak to Gougestar, he could convince Autumnstar to give you the respect you’re owed. Sanderlingstar and Mistlestar want nothing to do with this, but Gorgestar is close to Downstar, isn’t he? He might help.” 

Weedfoot wouldn’t say it aloud, but it was a solid plan. But who would deliver the message, and when? How? WheatClan didn’t want to face AshClan’s wrath by letting RippleClan stroll through their land. If Autumnstar saw them as rogues, what would he do if he saw one of their ranks sneaking toward SlugClan?

“Autumnstar would be furious if he knew you said this,” Weedfoot said softly.

“I’m hoping, when this is over, that I can truly talk to Autumnstar about the future,” Eelgrowl sighed. “I can’t do that until he’s willing to listen. Take my advice or don’t. It’s your pelts that’ll get torn up.” Eelgrowl nudged Shellstripe and the pair turned back home. Rabbitjoy fidgeted as they crossed through the bushes. She licked her lips, pulling into herself.

“Thank you!” she suddenly called just as the tip of Shellstripe’s tail slithered out of sight. She squirmed as though she ate a worm. 

“What do you think, Rabbit?” Weedfoot sighed, still watching the bushes. “Should we bring this up with Downstar?”

“If it’ll make Autumnstar listen?” Rabbitjoy gulped. She straightened out, took a deep breath, and said, “We have to.”

(Weedfoot: 66, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Rabbitjoy: 54, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

Locustpaw tells Burdockcreek to count on them.

[Image ID: Locustpaw faces Burdockcreek. Locustpaw says, ““Hey, have I let you down before? I can handle this.” Burdockcreek replies, “I can’t let you take all the credit.” Under him, it says LEVEL UP! CONFIDENT -> COMPETITIVE.]

---

“No,” Rustshade snapped from the depths of Downstar’s den. “We aren’t sending anyone out there, especially not alone!”

“They’re less likely to get caught if they go alone,” Downstar sighed. Locustpaw could hear Downstar sag as she said that from their spot between the Shiprock and the shipwreck itself. Most of RippleClan was still getting out of their nests, but Locustpaw got up early, ready for Weedfoot to give them a new task. Yet when they got up, Weedfoot was in Downstar’s den. According to Scrubmask, who had been on guard duty, she had been there since she got back earlier that night. Why wouldn’t Locustpaw listen in? With AshClan on their tails, everything that went on in Downstar’s den was sure to be important. They had to preserve it for future generations. Yes, that was it.

“But if they are caught, they’ll be at AshClan’s mercy!” Rustshade groaned. “Send Scrubmask! She’s faster.”

“And bigger,” Weedfoot huffed. “Rustshade, I’m sorry, but this isn’t a discussion. We brought you in here because we thought you deserved to know first.”

“Why them?” Rustshade moaned.

“Locustpaw, why are you back there?” Locustpaw peeked around the Shiprock. Burdockcreek stared back at them in plain view of Downstar’s den.

“They’re planning something,” Locustpaw whispered, cocking their ears toward the den. “I think it’s a mission through AshClan territory!” Burdockcreek leaned closer, but his pupils suddenly narrowed.

“They’re coming out!” Burdockcreek hissed, scampering back. Locustpaw backed out of the hidey-hole, emerging on the other side of the Shiprock. A moment later, Weedfoot wandered past, focused on the apprentice’s den. She saw Locustpaw in the corner of her eye and stopped.

“Locustpaw, just who I was looking for,” Weedfoot sighed as Downstar and Rustshade appeared beside her. “We have something important to ask of you.” 

“I’ll do it, whatever it is,” Locustpaw chirped as Burdockcreek listened in.

“We need someone to visit SlugClan,” Downstar explained, getting closer and locking eyes with Locustpaw. “You need to speak to Gorgestar and convince him to pressure Autumnstar into submitting to our demands.”

“It won’t be easy,” Weedfoot added. “AshClan will attack you if they see you. You’re lithe, and smaller than your littermates. We think you have the best chance of getting in and out.”

“Not that I’m not willing,” Locustpaw groaned, “because I am, but why not have Fennelspot pass on the news at the cleric’s meeting?”

“We need an immediate response,” Downstar huffed. “Newtstream attends those meetings, as well. He’ll overhear the news and report back to Autumnstar. He’s more loyal to Autumnstar than StarClan’s wishes.”

“No heroics,” Rustshade grunted, nudging Downstar aside. “This isn’t a battle patrol. You’re just to speak to Gorgestar.”

“I understand, Dad,” Locustpaw said, nodding. “I can go right now. They won’t see me.”

“Wait until sunhigh,” Weedfoot said. “I’ll have Graypaw start the oven and cook some prey. You’ll do better with food in your belly.” She groomed Locustpaw’s neck and added, “I believe in you, Locustpaw.” She touched Locustpaw’s nose and headed for the apprentice’s den. Downstar entered the medicine den and left Rustshade to stare at his child. Locustpaw wasn’t sure what to say, but thankfully, Rustshade broke away for the warrior’s den. Now it was just Locustpaw and Burdockcreek.

“I wish I was going,” Burdockcreek grumbled, sitting beside Locustpaw. “I’m the historian here. Why send an apprentice?”

“I won’t be an apprentice after this,” Locustpaw laughed, kicking their brother. Burdockcreek chuckled, but there was a strain in his face that made Locustpaw pause. They nudged Burdockcreek and added, “Hey, have I let you down before? I can handle this.”

“I can’t let you take all the credit,” Burdockcreek sighed, partially chuckling. “I might have to tell future generations I came along.”

“And I can tell them that you’re a big fat liar,” Locustpaw said, sticking out their tongue. 

(Rustshade: 62, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Downstar: 77, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

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

(Weedfoot: 66, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Burdockcreek: 12, male, historian, competitive, learner of lore)

Locustpaw sacrificed themself by taking on the role of a messenger, delivering important information that could save the clan. They were killed while investigating enemy territory.

[Image ID: Locustpaw faces Autumnstar down. Locustpaw growls, “Heh… hope you’re proud of yourself. I’m coming back to haunt you.” To which Autumnstar huffs, “I’d love to see it, rogue.”]

---

Fennelspot remembered Rustshade telling him how sturdy Rabbitjoy’s baskets were, but now that he got to carry his collection of juniper berries back to camp in one of the most well-woven baskets he’d ever held, he knew he’d have to thank the long-lost artisan for her hard work. He could hold it in his jaws and let it bounce on his chest without chafing or scratching. It was wonderful! The sweet smell of the juniper berries carried him through the trees and lifted his heart for the last stretch back to camp. The ground wasn’t cold enough for the new snowfall to stick quite yet, but Fennelspot was certain the territories would be pure white when he woke up the next morning.

“How are we supposed to bury you?” someone whined. Fennelspot pricked his ears. Was that Oilstripe? He carefully set his basket down. Snowflakes landed on the juniper berries and the tips of Fennelspot’s whiskers.

“No, because how else will Dad know you’re dead?” Oilstripe yowled. Fennelspot stalked toward his Clanmate, his basket forgotten. He hopped over the remnants of a dead fern and clung to the side of a pine. Oilstripe was a few tail-lengths ahead of the cleric, staring into the trees. The fur along her back arched and her droopy tail thrashed about.

“You’re supposed to be back any moment now,” Oilstripe growled. “What am I supposed to tell everyone?” Her tone was not that of malice, but of fear and a deep insecurity, the sort of voice Fennelspot all-too-often heard in his head. He realized she wasn’t staring into the trees, but rather to an empty spot just in front of her.

“Downstar thinks I’m crazy,” Oilstripe whined, her whole body sagging. “Everyone’s seen me talking to myself. Fennelspot won’t believe me. He’ll say I’ve lost my mind, that I’m seeing things. So tell me how I’m supposed to tell them about you, Locustpaw!” A gasp escaped Fennelspot’s mouth before he could stop himself. Oilstripe’s head whipped around. The fear plastered over her eyes made Fennelspot tremble. It only lasted a moment, as she turned back to the empty space with curled lips and a voice that commanded more pity than fear.

“Show him you’re here!” Oilstripe begged. “We both heard the stories, you can do that! Please! I need to know I’m not crazy!” Fennelspot slowly approached Oilstripe like a hunter would approach a skittish rabbit.

“Oilstripe…” Fennelspot gulped.

“But you do have something to tell him!” Oilstripe cried. “You have to tell him you died! Dad can’t wait for the half-moon meeting! He needs to know, and I can’t tell him!” She stomped her paws like an angry kit.

“Oilstripe, do you see Locustpaw standing next to you?” Fennelspot asked softly. “Can you look at me?” Oilstripe growled and squeezed her eyes tight.

“I can’t carry two conversations at once!” she snapped. 

Before she finished speaking, Fennelspot’s ears began to ring. He rubbed his ears to clear the tinnitus, but the sound grew louder. It didn’t sound like typical tinnitus. In fact, Oilstripe seemed bothered too; she rubbed her ears just like Fennelspot did. The sound grew louder and developed new layers. It wasn’t just a humming noise. It was a fast, high-pitched chirping sound. It was thousands of those sounds, thumping and vibrating together. It was a chorus of a thousand—

“Locusts,” Fennelspot gasped.

“I guess she wasn’t crazy after all,” a disembodied voice whispered, the sound mixed with the chirping of the unseen locusts. With that, the sound faded as quickly as it arrived. Oilstripe was out of breath, glancing between Fennelspot and the empty space he no longer believed was actually empty.

“You heard that?” Oilstripe asked. “Please say you did.”

“You can speak to StarClan?” Fennelspot whispered. He sat before he realized he needed to and stared at where he could only assume Locustpaw’s spirit lingered.

[Image ID: Fennelspot and Oilstripe face each other. Fennelspot says “You aren’t a cleric. How can you see StarClan wherever they wander, while I barely see them over the course of the year?”]

“I see them when they visit, even if they don’t want me to,” Oilstripe gulped. She slowly approached Fennelspot and sat across from him. “I’ve seen them since Twinekit died.”

“You aren’t a cleric,” Fennelspot stammered, suddenly conscious of how his posture slumped and his claws plucked at the dead grass. “How can you see StarClan wherever they wander, while I barely see them over the course of the year?”

“I didn’t ask to see them,” Oilstripe huffed, “it just happened. Why do you think I asked you to teach me how StarClan works?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Fennelspot whined.

“Would you have believed me?” Oilstripe snapped with a thrash of her tail. “I tried telling Downstar that Duskkit was sorry for being troublesome in life, but she got mad at me. I didn’t want to repeat that. I don’t want to be a cleric. I would hate mixing medicine all day.”

“You don’t have to be a cleric,” Fennelspot insisted. He suddenly remembered just why he grew so startled in the first place and he held his breath. “You were talking to Locustpaw. Does that mean…”

“Autumnstar’s patrol found them,” Oilstripe muttered, staring at the space beside the two ginger cats. “They spoke to Gorgestar and were coming home. Their body is somewhere in AshClan territory.” Fennelspot held his emotions close as he prayed to see whatever Oilstripe could see. He stared at where he thought Locustpaw stood, trying to sense the apprentice beside him.

“I can help you tell the Clan about your abilities, Oilstripe,” Fennelspot suggested. “You can tell your father about Locustpaw.”

“I ruined it last time,” Oilstripe said, violently shaking her head. “I’m no conduit. I don’t share messages. Can’t you say you had a vision, Fennelspot?”

“I don’t receive many visions,” Fennelspot groaned, the fur on the back of his neck itching.

“They won’t argue with you,” Oilstripe said. “They’ll be worried when Locustpaw doesn’t come back tonight. Why make them hope for something that won’t happen?” Fennelspot shrunk into himself.

“I need to collect my juniper berries,” Fennelspot muttered. “If we can’t get Locustpaw’s body, we still have to host a vigil. I’ll figure out the right words to say. Come with me.” Fennelspot climbed back toward his hiding place.

“Fennelspot?” Oilstripe called softly. Fennelspot turned back. Oilstripe nodded to the empty spot beside her and said, “They said thank you.”

(Fennelspot: 75, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Oilstripe: 22, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

In order to honor the dead cat, Fennelspot and Downstar give them their historian name in StarClan; Locustseeker.

[Image ID: Locustseeker stands as a StarClan cat. Under them, it says LEVEL UP! LOCUSTPAW -> LOCUSTSEEKER.]

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

Downstar gives Clampaw her full name of Clammask, honoring her as a caretaker of RippleClan.

[Image ID: Clammask stands in the middle of the screen. Under her, it reads LEVEL UP! CLAMPAW -> CLAMMASK, LONESOME -> RIGHTEOUS, INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY -> LORE KEEPER, + NEW TRAIT: GOOD TEACHER.]

(Clammask: 12, female, caretaker, righteous, lore keeper, good teacher)

Carnationspeckle, Shadowpaw, and Parsley all have whitecough.

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle, Shadowpaw, and Parsley stand in a row. Under each, it says + CONDITION: WHITECOUGH. Under Shadowpaw, it also reads - CONDITION: SORE.]

(Carnationspeckle: 20, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Shadowpaw: 10, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)

(Parsley: 112, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

Parsley finds the way Rabbitjoy acts increasingly uncomfortable.

[Image ID: Applepelt and Parsley watch Rabbitjoy from the side as Rabbitjoy says “We’re fine! We’re all going to be fine!” Applepelt says, “I don’t think she’s fine…” Under Applepelt, it says - CONDITION: CAT BITE.]

(Parsley: 112, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

(Applepelt: 27, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does that mean…” she gulped.

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

Carnationspeckle becomes a caretaker!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So back to games?” Duskkit asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fennelspot gives Puddlespeckle some forget-me-not flowers.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Image ID: Locustpaw says "Weedfoot’s going to be a famous Celestial one day. I’m honored to be her apprentice!". Beside them, it says MENTOR = WEEDFOOT.]

[Image ID: Clampaw says "It’s my job to watch Downstar’s back! I want to be the best apprentice and caretaker. I want to make her proud." Beside her, it says MENTOR = DOWNSTAR.]

[Image ID: Halibutpaw says "Parsley was an odd choice for a mentor. She doesn’t know anything about the Clans. Still, she’s nice. We make fun of Autumnstar together." Beside him, it says MENTOR = PARSLEY.]

[Image ID: Graypaw says "She’s always chastising me! I have good ideas too, you know. We’re caretakers, we need to take care of our Clan and take out anyone who tries to hurt it!" Beside her, it says MENTOR = CARNATIONSPECKLE.]