#downstar

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)

Weevilsight nearly couldn't muster the energy for the Gathering. The last visit to StarClan's Shrine had been exhausting enough; Troutpool nearly cried when Trumpetspore didn't visit her dreams, and Weevilsight forgot her promise to Wolverineheart, to learn if Foampaw approved of her relationship with Mitespark, until just before the tortoiseshell cleric woke up. All the other clerics seemed forgiving of RippleClan's spaciness, yet Weevilsight dug her fangs into her lip and focused on her work. And part of that work was attending the Gathering.

Weevilsight and Honeybuzz were the only clerics accompanying the Clan to the Leader's Stone. Troutpool didn't want to face the official announcement of Trumpetspore's death, and Estherfern had to look after Gingerpaw, who somehow came up with the worst joke possible at Trumpetspore's vigil and was banned from the last winter Gathering. And thus, Weevilsight trailed within the middle of the RippleClan horde, following Downstar and Oilstripe along the SlugClan/WheatClan border. With Anchovystrike, Wolfgaze, and Ravenweaver staying behind, Weevilsight found herself with a duo she rarely got to interact with.

"I don't care how old they get," Paleseed said, adjusting her feather decor as she walked, "Terracottafoot is always going to look like a tiny scared apprentice to me. I can't believe how much they've grown! It's been ages since we had a chance to sit down with them, hasn't it, Darkkick?"

"We talked with them at Harvest Moon," Darkkick scoffed, fluffing herself up against the cold night wind.

"That was five moons ago!" Paleseed pointed out. "Before all… that happened."

"I thought mediators weren't supposed to avoid sensitive topics," Darkkick hummed.

"I'm trying to be respectful," Paleseed said. Even though the gray mediator was on Darkkick's right, and Weevilsight walked on her left, Weevilsight still saw the strained glance Paleseed sent her way.

"Why mince words?" Weevilsight laughed, venom in her voice. "My mom killed our Clanmates, my dad died, my aunt killed herself. I'm sure Terracottafoot can offer you some comfort." Considering Darkkick's short stature, she and Paleseed looked like a stunned, two-headed beast in the moonlight, their gaits evenly matched as they bawked at Weevilsight.

"I'll tell you the same thing I told your friend after the Shardling incident," Darkkick eventually huffed. "You handled that as best you could."

"I know that, Darkkick," Weevilsight sighed, staring at the cloud-lined moon as she walked. "I'm just going to feel like foxdung for a while."

"And that's okay," Paleseed added with a decisive nod. "You do what you need to do to grieve and come to terms with it all. You can always talk to me."

"I think she needs a friend, not a mediator, Paleseed," Darkkick muttered.

"Both work," Weevilsight hummed as the Clan approached the rock wall leading up to the Leader's Stone. It was slick with snow, making RippleClan's approach a slow and methodical process. Rabbitjoy walked along the edge of the path up, guarding Frostpaw from a potential fall. Boughfur took Tallowheart's basket while the rock-footed tom inched up the wall. A clump of snow fell from the grass above and smacked onto Stormjump's head, earning a laugh from her mate. Weevilsight's paws felt lighter. It felt normal, for the first time all winter.

As usual, RippleClan was the last Clan to arrive. Ospreystar, Eelstar, Gentlestar, and Lettucestar waited on the Leader's Stone while their Clans waited for their cue to mingle and share tongues. Downstar climbed to the second-highest platform of the Leader's Stone while Oilstripe took her traditonal place among the other deputies. Weevilsight laid in the half-melted snow and stared lazily at the Leader's Stone. The sooner announcements were done, the better.

The winter had been hard on the other four Clans in more traditional ways. WheatClan lost an overeager apprentice in the cold and an elder to distemper. LynxClan reported on harsh conditions in their rocky territory and gave their neighbors an official plea for hunting assistance. SlugClan and AshClan were a bit quieter, reporting a new litter and a death each, but Weevilsight couldn't help but notice how Eelstar and Lettucestar glanced at Downstar as they spoke.

"Before you begin your report, Downstar," Ospreystar said just as Eelstar finished delivering his news, "I want to say something that I didn't get the chance to last moon, when you announced the death of Mosspounce." The brown-speckled leader stood taller and faced the five Clans. "I want to formally declare LynxClan's gratitude to Mosspounce of RippleClan for killing the cougar that nearly destroyed us moons ago. He delivered the fatal blow, and for that, we hope that his story is honored with the same respect as Cougarstrike, Celestial of Cougars. LynxClan will hold a place in our hearts for RippleClan's brave caretaker."

"Mosspounce! Mosspounce!" the LynxClan cats cheered. Weevilsight sat up. Her ears rang with the sound of her father's name. Some of Weevilsight's Clanmates took up the cheer as well; Carnationspeckle and Asterblaze were particularly vocal. Weevilsight stayed still, unconsciously holding her breath. Her father was a hero.

"Take it with a drop of mouse bile, Weevilsight," Darkkick warned as the cheers began to die down. "I'm sure they are grateful, but this wh ole show is likely planned to win Downstar's favor. I'm sure LynxClan will be asking us for something soon."

"Thank you, Ospreystar," Downstar purred. "It does an old soul good to know that my grandson's fatal wounds were obtained for a good cause. I'm afraid that isn't the end of RippleClan's recent string of loss, however." Downstar shifted and prepared herself for the news. Weevilsight sank back down. Paleseed dipped her head and closed her eyes. "I'm sure some of you have learned of this, whether through meetings at the border or at the historian's gathering hosted by SlugClan this new moon. However, I regret to inform you that Trumpetspore, my granddaughter, took her own life shortly after the last Gathering." Quiet, shocked gasps rippled through the clearing. Eyes pierced the RippleClan delegation. Weevilsight closed her eyes and pretended she was alone.

"I'm sorry, Downstar," Gentlestar gulped, placing a paw on Downstar's platform above her.

"We ask that you respect our privacy surrounding this event," Downstar continued, "and know that Trumpetspore did her best against what can be the worst enemy a warrior fights; their own heart." Mutters of agreement washed over Weevilsight. She prayed no one would pry her for information. "Outside of this loss, we have no Gathering-worthy news to report. I say we get on with the Gathering proper and try to enjoy ourselves tonight." The other leaders nodded along with Downstar's idea. With that, the Clans merged. A wave of friends from other Clans crashed into RippleClan, firing questions of concern and morbid curiosity. Weevilsight wasn't ready; Yellowburst bumped into her flank, knocking her into a WheatClan historian. Weevilsight stumbled back, one of her signature petals fluttering out of her pelt.

"Terracottafoot is over there!" Paleseed called, peering over the crowd. "This way!" Darkkick looped her tail around Weevilsight and gently nudged her toward Paleseed. Paleseed pierced the crowd, leaving a trail for Weevilsight and Darkkick to follow. Questions bounced off Paleseed's pelt. She deflected them with the skill of an expert mediator, offering polite, if not slightly dismissive, answers.

Terracottafoot, as was their habit, prepared a game of moss-ball to the side of the crowd. They set up small "dens", or overturned baskets, on either end of the massive play area and merged loose chunks of moss together. They scented the three RippleClan cats and turned to greet them. Weevilsight tried to imagine what Terracottafoot looked like as a "tiny scared apprentice". Sure, the AshClan cleric carried themself with a constant air of tension; they were always moving, whether through the twitch of their whiskers or the methodical wave of their tail. But they were mature, as well-muscled as a warrior and, much to Weevilsight's embarassment, as handsome as they came (oh how Honeybuzz teased her as an apprentice for that little crush).

"Hi, Paleseed," Terracottafoot chirped, touching noses with Paleseed. "StarClan, I'm happy to see you. I've wanted to say something about your sisters, but I didn't know what."

"I try to focus on the siblings I still have," Paleseed chuckled, licking her chest.

"Keeping out of trouble?" Darkkick hummed, staring Terracottafoot up and down.

"I do what I can," Terracottafoot said. They touched noses with the former AshClan cleric and turned to Weevilsight. "Cleric Weevilsight, you didn't tell me about Warrior Trumpetspore at the half-moon meeting. Is that why Cleric Troutpool was so upset?"

"We didn't want to make the meeting all about us," Weevilsight sighed. Her paw absently snagged Terracottafoot's moss-ball and rolled it under her paw.

"I'm sorry about that, regardless," Terracottafoot said. They glanced past the RippleClan cats and groaned, "Oh StarClan he's already telling Downstar." Weevilsight looked back. Eelstar spoke with Downstar on the Leader's Stone. Both seemed deeply serious.

"Telling her what?" Darkkick huffed.

"I'm not a storyteller," Terracottafoot gulped, "but there were these Witch Hunters at our border and they told us… uh… do you want their story or the summary?"

"Tell us what they told you," Paleseed suggested.

"Well," Terracottafoot groaned. They stared at Darkkick, gaze pointedly refusing to touch Weevilsight. "Apparently Lemmy showed up in the human settlement last moon. One of the Witch Hunters picked a fight with her, and, well, that Witch Hunter ended up dead. The Witch Hunters were really mad at that, I think the dead Witch Hunter just had kits and the humans took them away? I can't remember that part. But, um, the Witch Hunter General ordered them to find Lemmy, and they did… Lemmy's dead now." The words didn't quite reach Weevilsight's ears.

"Say that again?" Weevilsight said, rubbing her ears.

"The Witch Hunters killed Lemmy," Terracottafoot said. "I think their patrol thought we were RippleClan? We didn't get a chance to explain. They showed up a few days ago. I'm really sorry, Weevilsight." Weevilsight's claws pierced the moss-ball. The chatter of the Gathering clawed her ears. Her heart beat faster.

"Weevilsight?" Paleseed whispered. She reached a paw toward Weevilsight, but Darkkick pushed it down.

Lemmy's dead. Lemmy's dead. Lemmy's dead.

Mom's dead.

"Stars damn it!" Weevilsight yowled. She chucked the moss-ball as hard and as fast as she could. It smacked into the basket and sent it rolling toward the treeline. "I want to kill someone!"

"Weevilsight—" Paleseed and Terracottafoot both stammered.

"Shut up, both of you," Darkkick snapped, shoving her tail in front of the pair. "Let her be."

"She made mistakes!" Weevilsight groaned. "Stupid, awful mistakes, it got out of control!" She paced in a circle, as though trying to get comfortable in a nest. "She wasn't a monster! She wanted to keep me safe! They didn't have to kill her! StarClan, she never even knew Dad died! Why did this happen? Why did she have to kill Potterypool? I can't even decide if I love her or hate her! Augh!" Weevilsight sat in a huff, tail thrashing. She stared at the snowy ground, head spinning. Her jaw dug into her head so hard, she thought she'd break a tooth.

Paleseed crept past Darkkick and toward the rolling basket. She put a paw on the basket, stopping its retreat. She plucked the moss-ball from inside and stared at it. Her tail waved gently as she thought.

"Terracottafoot?" Paleseed asked. "Do you have any AshClan cats who'd like to play against RippleClan in a game of moss-ball?"

"I can ask around," Terracottafoot said hesistantly, still inching toward Weevilsight. "Shouldn't we help—"

"I don't need help, Terracottafoot," Weevilsight huffed at the ground, voice monotone.

"I seem to recall you being good with a moss-ball as a kit," Paleseed said. She tossed the moss-ball to Weevilsight. It rolled to a stop in front of her paws. "Want to put that rage of yours to good use? It would be an insult to Clan pride if we let AshClan beat us."

"If that's the alternative, I'm playing," Darkkick huffed, joining Paleseed's side.

"Should I be offended?" Terracottafoot asked.

"Go get your Clan, kit," Darkkick scoffed. Terracottafoot cocked their head, but eventually sighed, chuckling at the same time. They jogged toward the larger crowd.

"For our players, I think we should recruit…" Paleseed hummed, studying the Gathering. "Boughfur, Stormjump, Yellowburst, Shrewflame, and Wolverineheart." Darkkick nodded along with Paleseed's assessment. "So, Weevilsight? Want to join?" Weevilsight gently snagged the moss-ball in her claws. She held it up to the light of the bonfire by the Leader's Stone. Did the color match Mosspounce's eyes? They had been so scarred at the end, Weevilsight almost couldn't remember…

"Let's kill these foxhearts," Weevilsight growled, tossing the moss-ball back to Paleseed.

"Metaphorically, though!" Paleseed chuckled awkwardly. "I'll go get the others." Paleseed passed the moss-ball to Darkkick and followed Terracottafoot's trail. Weevilsight sat next to Darkkick, unable to stop her thrashing tail.

"I'll help you hide the bodies," Darkkick chuckled.

A short time later, Weevilsight stood with her Clanmates in front of one of the baskets. Somehow, it seemed the whole group managed to escape the fog of grief imposed by Trumpetspore's death and laughed like kits as they prepared for the game. A gaggle of AshClan cats guarded the other basket across the clearing, throwing taunts toward the RippleClan cats. Paleseed and Terracottafoot stood in the middle, moss-ball sitting between them. A crowd of apprentices and warriors from the other Clans gathered to watch as they shared tongues.

"If it's been a while since any of you have played an organized game of moss-ball," Paleseed explained, "let us remind you. You are each on a patrol of seven cats, facing off against another patrol. Your job is to get the moss-ball past the enemy patrol and into their den, in this case the basket, to score points. No holding the moss-ball in your mouth, you have to catch it in your claws and toss it to your patrol members. If the other patrol has the moss-ball, you need to either make them drop it or grab it out of their paws, again, no teeth allowed. And no den guarding, you have to give the other patrol a chance to throw the moss-ball in. For this game, let's say… first to fifteen points wins. Any questions?"

"Do we have to be gentle with the cleric?" a dark red molly asked, nodding at Weevilsight.

"I won't be gentle with you," Weevilsight growled, ears tilted back. An excited bark of laughter and cheering rippled through the bystanders. The AshClan patrol laughed and yowled along with them.

"What about Darkkick?" asked a black and white tom, barely out of apprenticeship. "I feel bad fighting an elder."

"Darkkick fought Autumnstar, in the actual Dark Forest," Boughfur laughed, unweaving the blue flowers from her fur and placing them to the side of the game area. "I don't think you should be worried about hurting her, of all cats."

"Ready to run back to camp with your tails between your legs?" Shrewflame called, his tail high.

"I'm ready to feed you dirt, pretty kitty!" yowled the dark red molly.

"Aww, you think I'm pretty?" Shrewflame purred, wiggling his flank. "Why thank you!" Stormjump and Yellowburst laughed at Shrewflame, starting a wave of giggles across the crowd.

"Everyone go at my command!" Terracottafoot yowled, jogging out of the soon-to-be battlefield with Paleseed, leaving the moss-ball behind. All players shifted into battle poses. Weevilsight copied them as best she could. All eyes were on the moss-ball.

"Darkkick, stay in the back," Yellowburst whispered. "You can catch the moss-ball before it gets to the den."

"And miss out on clawing some AshClan fur?" Darkkick snapped in just such a way that Weevilsight couldn't tell if she was mad or teasing. "There's no chance of that."

As the pair argued, the AshClan patrol sparkled in Weevilsight's eyes. Ghostly doubles of the AshClan warriors launched toward the moss-ball. Sparkling premonitions of Weevilsight's Clanmates charged at the approaching patrol in return. Wolverineheart's future transparent form shoved into the dark red molly's shoulder. Her attack gave the black and white tom just enough time to slip around the charging enemy force and snatch the moss-ball in his claws. Weevilsight hadn't even seen that tom in the mass of cats yet-to-charge.

"Attack!" Terracottafoot cheered. Weevilsight's vision popped like seafoam. History repeated itself; the AshClan patrol ran at the moss-ball like stampeding horses. Wolverineheart led the RippleClan charge. No one noticed the black and white tom, running low against his taller Clanmates. He was invisible in the rush of fire-lit pelts. An afterimage of the tom's future position still flashed in Weevilsight's eyes.

Weevilsight lunged toward the empty space. Just as she neared it, just as she began to doubt her sight, there he was; the black and white tom, swooping past Wolverineheart to grab the moss-ball. Weevilsight smacked into him a whisker's length from the moss-ball. Weevilsight and the black and white tom tumbled back into the mass of swarming cats, each shocked at the other's appearance.

Stormjump rolled behind Weevilsight and snatched the moss-ball. She flicked her paw and sent the moss-ball soaring across the clearing. Shrewflame darted alongside the flying object. He jumped as though catching a bird mid-flight. Both front paws wrapped around the moss-ball.

Another premonition flashed within the mass of playful warriors. Shrewflame's ghostly paw launched a purple transparent moss-ball toward the AshClan den. A lilac and cream tortoiseshell streaked past her Clanmates and caught the moss-ball against her shoulder.

"Run with it, Shrewflame!" Weevilsight yowled as the black and white tom finally shoved her off. She fell onto her back, staring at the cloud-speckled night while the rest of the group hurried past her. All of the petals that clung to her pelt rubbed off in the snow and grass.

Weevilsight hurried back to her paws, only to see she was too late; the lilac and cream tortoiseshell stopped the moss-ball with her shoulder, just as predicted. But would Weevilsight let that go? Absolutely not. She had to sit by while her mother was exiled, while her father died, while her Clan suffered not under the claws of some Spirit of Shadow, something Weevilsight was born to fight, but mortals and the dangers of the everyday. She didn't have to let this go.

Weevilsight was not going to lose this game.

Weevilsight scrambled as the AshClan tortoiseshell tossed the moss-ball to the dark red molly. Darkkick thundered past Weevilsight, catching the eye of the dark red molly. Weevilsight yowled and sprung at the dark red molly. Weevilsight's sheathed paws batted the dark red molly's head. The dark red molly swung at Weevilsight, but the moss-ball slipped from her claws in the process. Darkkick swiped it from underneath the fighting mollies and batted it back toward the AshClan den. The dark red molly turned to follow, but Weevilsight shrieked and dragged the AshClan molly back by the tail. Her mouth burned with the taste of cat fur, that awful scent of combat that she still despised after so many moons, but the thoughtless rage bubbling in her throat forced her to remind herself, training grip, training grip, training grip.

A cheer ripped through the bystanders. Weevilsight let go of the dark red molly's tail. Boughfur had jumped into the AshClan den, moss-ball stuck to her claws. She looked like a rabbit crawling into a hole. Weevilsight laughed, but it was more like the cauterwaul of a rabid beast than anything funny.

"Clerics are mad," the dark red molly grumbled, hurrying back to her Clanmates.

Mad? Oh that was the right word for Weevilsight at the moment, as her patrol cheerfully regrouped by their den for the next round. Weevilsight was certain the actual grief would hit her when she got back to camp. But in that moment, with the freedom to run and scream and tackle and fight? Weevilsight could be as mad as she needed to be.

(Weevilsight: 27, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)

(Paleseed: 58, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

(Darkkick: 140, trans female, elder, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Downstar: 151, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Boughfur: 24, female, historian, righteous, great climber)

(Shrewflame: 16, female, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)

(Yellowburst: 23, female, caretaker, adventurous, great mediator)

(Wolverineheart: 24, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

(Stormjump: 23, female, caretaker, charismatic, incredible cook)

Midnightkit is scolded for sneaking outside camp.

[Image ID: Midnightkit and Valleykit face Carnationspeckle, both in trouble. Midnightkit says "Why didn't Rattlepelt come get me?" Under Midnightkit, it says + NEW SKILL: ALWAYS WANDERING. Under Valleykit, it says + NEW SKILL: AVID PLAY-FIGHTER.]

(Midnightkit: 1, male, kit, polite,always wandering)

(Valleykit: 1, male, kit, quiet, avid play-fighter)

(Carnationspeckle: 94, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

SlugClan attacks RippleClan in hopes of recovering Icekit and Pearkit for their newest members, Nimblestep and Quickkit.

[Image ID: Lettucestar, a white tom with a scar, and Lighttrail face Downstar, Wolverineheart, Wildclaw, Yarrowclaw, and Leathermask. Lettucestar says, "I'm sorry, Downstar, but I can't take no for an answer. Nimblestep is their mother, not Puddlewhisper." Under Downstar, it says LIVES LEFT: 1. Under Leathermask, it says LEVEL UP! NERVOUS → CONFIDENT.[

---

Downstar could tell it would be a late spring as she stepped out of her den on the last day of the year and into the thick, dry snow. It had snowed from one sunset and through another without stopping, leaving snowdrifts as tall as cats against the rocks and trees. It wasn't a bitter cold, though, like the one that plagued the Clans a few moons prior. This was a cold that energized Downstar's aching muscles and told the whole Clan to have a bit of fun!

The kits were certainly taking advantage of the heavy snowfall. Pearkit and Icekit dug at the snow like dogs while Midnightkit and Valleykit watched, wide-eyed. Stormjump groomed herself outside the warrior's den in a pale attempt to hide her watchful eye resting on the kits. The clerics cleared snow out from around the medicine den, but there was a shine to their eyes that brought a purr to Downstar's throat. Gingerpaw rambled to Weevilsight as the pair dug a path from the medicine den to the bonfire. Weevilsight laughed at one of Gingerpaw's silly faces, further easing Downstar's heart. If the recent heartbreak of the season could be forgotten, even for a moment, there was hope for RippleClan.

There was no hope of telling the time that day, save for the natural rhythm of day and night inside every cat. The sky was an endless silver expanse. Not a single cloud could be distinguished from another. It was as gray as a clear day's sky was blue. The unbroken bright light reflected off the snow stunned Downstar's eyes. Were it not for her nose, she might have bumped into Oilstripe, who trotted toward the leader's den.

"Good morning, Downstar," Oilstripe reported, ears perking up in front of her leader. "We have a few patrols out already. Vervaincough and Darkkick joined Billowhaze, Whitepaw, and Boughfur on an expedition to study the snow, but they promised to mark the southern border while they were there. Carnationspeckle, Tallowheart, and Drumtooth are fishing along the northern coast. Lastly, Rabbitjoy took Mitespark and Frostpaw to trade with WheatClan. They'll be gone the longest."

"Busy morning," Downstar hummed.

"Everyone wants to be out of camp today," Oilstripe sighed, stretching her front legs.

"I can manage the camp if you want to lead a patrol," Downstar said. She flicked her ears toward the camp exit. "This will likely be our last bit of snow until next winter."

"That's alright, Downstar," Oilstripe said a bit too quickly. "We have a lot to clear out of camp. I should manage that." Downstar grabbed Oilstripe's gaze and didn't let go. She studied her deputy's cyan eyes, so strangely blessed. Oilstripe's whiskers twitched uncomfortably, unable to view Downstar's thoughts as easily as she viewed hers.

"It's no good to have a distracted deputy," Downstar said. She sat in the curve of the Shiprock where the snow was thinner. "You're lingering around camp for another reason. Deputies should be open with their leaders."

"I can't tell if you're teasing me or reprimanding me," Oilstripe sighed. She sat next to Downstar, her focus drifting past her leader. The only sign of Downstar's hesistancy was the shift of her tail; she knew when she chose Oilstripe that she'd have to tolerate her ghost sight and the weird, almost blaphemous intrusion into the privacy of the visiting dead. She was good at that by now, and with a hard blink to wipe her mind, Downstar focused back on Oilstripe.

"It's about Rattlepelt," Oilstripe groaned. "I don't want to leave her alone." Downstar eyed the nursery. The snow's reflected light easily showed Rattlepelt and Wildclaw inside the den, still asleep. Wildclaw snuggled deep into Rattlepelt's fox pelt, and Rattlepelt shifted closer to her mate.

"I hope you remember you aren't the only other member of RippleClan," Downstar gently reminded her deputy. "There's always someone in camp."

"I'm not doubting anyone," Oilstripe said. She flexed her paw, poking tiny holes in the snow. The gentle motion gave her time to find her courage. "I'm scared for her, Downstar."

"Do you think she could harm herself?" Downstar asked. She regretted the question as soon as she said it. She never would have thought something like that a moon ago. But then again, a moon ago Downstar still had her granddaughter. Oilstripe caught her breath.

"No," she huffed. "No… but then again, I didn't think Trumpetspore could, either. I don't think I can truly judge what's in someone's heart."

"Blame is a weight I've borne for far too many circumstances outside of my control. Don't let it crush you."

"But don't I deserve some of the blame? We're leading this Clan, Downstar. When someone dies like this, what does it say about us? And what about Lemmy? Could we have stopped her?"

"You're rambling, Oilstripe." Downstar raised her tail to pause her deputy's spiraling thoughts. "I'm going to tell you something that it took me a long time to learn. If you did the best you could with what you knew, then blaming yourself is useless." Oilstripe breathed deep, nodding along with Downstar's advice.

"I'll try to remember that," Oilstripe sighed.

"So," Downstar huffed, getting up, "do you think Rattlepelt needs an extra eye on her?"

"I think she's struggling," Oilstripe said, picking her words carefully. "It's like what happened after the Shardling incident. I don't want this to hurt Rattlepelt's relationship with Wildclaw or their kits. Rattlepelt didn't even leave the nursery to check on Midnightkit yesterday." Yes, Downstar had noted that; out of the two mothers, Wildclaw was usually the one with an eye on Midnightkit and Valleykit as of late, and when she went on patrol, Midnightkit tried to follow. It hadn't been Downstar's place to comment on Rattlepelt's absence, but everyone noticed it.

"As the mother of your daughter-in-code rather than your leader," Downstar sighed, "don't worry about how Wildclaw feels. I'll take her out. Try not to worry. We'll help Rattlepelt as best we can." Downstar touched her nose to Oilstripe's head. Oilstripe gawked at the touch for a moment, eyes widening. She then purred and dipped her head. Her whole body softened. Downstar's work there was done; now onto her daughter.

Downstar left Oilstripe to her thoughts and entered the nursery. Her paws trapsing through the snow quickly woke Wildclaw. The scarred gray tabby lifted her head off her mate and yawned deeply. Her scar-lined tail swayed lazily.

"Wildclaw, I'm taking a sunrise patrol to mark our northwest borders," Downstar explained in a whisper. "I want you to come with. I'll even let you pick out who we bring."

"I'll be right there," Wildclaw grumbled, still yawning and blinking sleep from her eyes. She crawled over Rattlepelt, stretching her hind legs so high they nearly eclipsed her head. Rattlepelt shifted and threw a paw over her eyes. Wildclaw glanced back to her mate and whispered, "Rattlepelt, I'm going on patrol. The kits are playing outside. Do you need anything?"

"I can get it," Rattlepelt mumbled. She squirmed under her red pelt, but didn't get up. Downstar softly padded back out as Wildclaw whispered something else her aging ears could not catch.

Downstar trailed through camp, navigating around the kits' digging, and waited by the exit for her daughter. A few moments later, Wildclaw emerged from the nursery and jogged to the warrior's den, nodding to Stormjump as she passed. She seemed like the reckless young molly Downstar remembered from so many years ago, but there was a wisdom to her step and a thought in her eyes. Yes, Downstar did not need to worry about Wildclaw. The fierceness her named honored was truly something to respect now.

Some time later, Wildclaw joined Downstar at the exit with Wolverineheart, Yarrowclaw, and Leathermask. Downstar wasted no time leading the patrol into the cheerful winter. Wildclaw slipped beside her mother and pranced through the snow like a deer. Soft winds blew powdery snow off the trees, making it look like a second snowfall. The snow retained the memory of the wind in its swirling, smooth edges and gentle dance across the ground. The smell of Carnationspeckle's patrol drifted past, a soft reminder that they were never alone in RippleClan territory.

"You know who Midnightkit and Valleykit remind me of?" Downstar said as the patrol trekked through the forest. "You and Halibutdusk."

"Really?" Wildclaw huffed. "I don't see it."

"Midnightkit is going to be just as troublesome as you were, I'm certain of it," Downstar chuckled. "Valleykit has Halibutdusk's pensiveness."

"Valleykit just learned what birds are," Wildclaw laughed. "I think you might be insulting Halibutdusk there."

"They fit into our family, that's what I mean," Downstar hummed, studying Wildclaw's face. "You and Rattlepelt have done a good job so far. Just like you did with Shrewflame and Whitepaw. You'll all be alright in the end."

"I know, Mom," Wildclaw assured her. Her ears tilted back for a moment as she added, "I just need Rattlepelt to believe that."

"You've been through worse," Downstar reminded her. She stopped to rub an irritating itch on her back against a pine. "If you keep doing what you have been doing, it will work out."

"Downstar!" The whole patrol paused, ears high. Pale gray markings framed the green eyes of the tom who emerged from the depths of the forest. Lettucestar? His deputy, Lighttrail, walked alongside him, all thick ginger fur and confidence.

"Stop right there!" Wildclaw barked. She dove between Downstar and Lettucestar, lips curled tight and her body slithering like a rattlesnake ready to strike.

"This has to be a joke," Wolverineheart scoffed. "I get you're a Clan leader, but you can't just stroll into our territory without an escort!"

"Do you want to get attacked?" Yarrowclaw growled, showing off her fangs.

"Wait, wait," Downstar huffed. She pushed through her protective Clanmates, tail high to still their sudden fury. "Let me talk to him." Leathermask bristled, back arched high as Downstar approached the SlugClan leader. Wolverineheart and Yarrowclaw kept their claws out, but gave Downstar her room. Wildclaw stayed where she was, face curling in and out of battle rage.

"I know I'm intruding on your territory," Lettucestar huffed, keeping his tail low as a show of peace. "Waiting by the border would have been inappropriate. In a sad way, my purpose here isn't much different from the war patrol you brought to my camp almost a year ago." There was a mild venom in Lettucestar's voice that made Downstar's ears grow hot with old grief.

"Except Downstar's not losing her mind," Yarrowclaw grumbled.

"Yarrowclaw, you will not disrespect Gorgestar's memory in front of me," Downstar suddenly growled, turning on the brown and white molly. Yarrowclaw stiffened under Downstar's amber glare. "He was a good leader and my friend. You of all cats should know better than to make a joke of something like that." Yarrowclaw stared down, unmoving under Downstar's assault. Downstar bit back a hiss of frusteration; why in the world did Yarrowclaw have to make a comment like that? Now Downstar seemed like a weak leader! She would handle Yarrowclaw's coldness later; she had intruders to manage.

"It's once again an issue of miscommunication," Lettucestar sighed. "Lighttrail, you're the better storyteller of the two of us. Explain the situation to Downstar and her warriors." Lighttrail stepped forward, clearing his throat. He looked like a kit in Downstar's eyes. Then again, at Downstar's age, most cats looked like kits.

"Recently, SlugClan encounter a loner queen and her kit by the river," Lighttrail said. "The kit was sick with feather-head, so we offered to provide treatment. The queen grew to trust us, and the pair decided to join SlugClan. They are now known as Nimblestep and Quickkit, though you would have known the queen as simply Nimble." Nimble. So much had happened that winter, Downstar almost forgot that Puddlewhisper was not Pearkit and Icekit's birth mother.

"Wait," Leathermask grunted. "Nimble joined SlugClan? No, she hates the Clans."

"Her mate hated the Clans," Lighttrail said with the patience of a mentor with their apprentice. Downstar couldn't stop her jaw from tightening at the tone. "Nimblestep supported and followed Achilles, but once she understood we only wanted to help Quickkit, she learned to trust us."

"It's not like we didn't try to do that!" Wolverineheart whined. "She wouldn't listen to us!"

"Your Clanmates murdered Achilles in cold blood," Lighttrail scoffed, twitching his whiskers. "Would you listen to yourselves?"

"No more comments, all of you," Downstar hissed, thrashing her tail. This was no time to be debating the details.

"She told us about her other kits, Downstar," Lettucestar finally sighed. "A silver tom and a pale ginger molly. They're Icekit and Pearkit, aren't they?" Wildclaw paced behind Downstar. Her jaw twitched with unspoken words. Her paws crunched heavily into the snow, turning it to slush.

"They are," Downstar admitted. "Nimble ran—Nimblestep ran from our patrol, but only took a brown kit. Quickkit, I assume. She abandoned the rest of her litter."

"A mistake she wants to correct," Lettucestar said, stepping closer to Downstar. "We're here to take Icekit and Pearkit back to their mother."

"Take?" Downstar and Wildclaw yowled in unison. Lighttrail unseathed his claws and crouched into a battle stance. Lettucestar hovered his tail over his deputy's shoulder. Downstar steadied her breath and grounded her paws flat, letting the cold sap her sudden anger.

"Lettucestar, Icekit and Pearkit are RippleClan cats now," Downstar said slowly. "All they've known is RippleClan. Puddlewhisper is raising them. Taking them would be cruel. Nimblestep abandoned them to what she thought would be their deaths. How can we trust she has their best intentions at heart?"

"She's a SlugClan warrior now," Lettucestar said, his words just as slow and restrained as Downstar's tone. "We will help her raise the kits, just as I'm sure your caretakers help Puddlewhisper."

"I'm happy to discuss Nimblestep visiting our camp," Downstar huffed. "If she wants a relationship with Icekit and Pearkit, I don't want to deny her that. But simply taking them? They aren't prey. Do you think they'd ever be loyal to SlugClan if you forced them from their home?" Lettucestar sighed deeply. He closed his eyes and pulled his tail away from Lighttrail. His claws peeked out of his paws. The RippleClan patrol slunk closer to Downstar.

"Warriors!" Lettucestar yowled. The snow behind Lettucestar shifted. Pelts peeked out from the white and gray terrain, shoving off snowy coverings and emerging from behind trees and rocks. The RippleClan patrol hissed and snarled. There was an entire war patrol of SlugClan cats, hiding just fox-lengths away! The SlugClan warriors glistened with snow melting into their fur. Narrow eyes bore into Downstar, ready to tear and bite.

"I'm sorry, Downstar," Lettucestar sighed, shifting into a battle stance, "but I can't take no for an answer. Nimblestep is their mother, not Puddlewhisper. You can't claim her kits. I wanted us to agree on this, but if you won't take us to your camp, we'll just go through you."

"Yarrowclaw, warn camp, now!" Downstar yowled. Yarrowclaw leaped over Leathermask and skidded across the snow. She raced like a rabbit along the patrol's snowy prints, tail weaving between the trees.

"Don't let her get reinforcements!" Lettucestar ordered. Half of the SlugClan patrol bolted after Yarrowclaw, stomping and kicking their way through the snow. Leathermask yowled and launched himself into a lilac tortie, the war-hungry Carvingfur. The pair rolled back behind an ancient pine.

"Wolverineheart, help Yarrowclaw!" Downstar ordered as Lighttrail lunged for her. "We'll hold them back!" Wolverineheart ran after Yarrowclaw's hunters as Lighttrail smacked Downstar into the snow. Downstar raked her claws along Lighttrail's white chest. Blood immediately dripped from his pelt onto Downstar's face.

Lighttrail stumbled off, shrieking, as the rest of the patrol converged on Downstar and Wildclaw. There were three or four SlugClan warriors for each remaining RippleClan cat. At least Lighttrail wouldn't be a problem; he stumbled against a pine trunk and pressed his bleeding wounds into the snow.

"I'd like to see you take me, foxhearts!" Wildclaw cried. She hooked her claws into Carvingfur as she and Leathermask rolled back into the crowd. Wildclaw ripped Carvingfur off Leathermask and dug her teeth into the tortoiseshell's soft ear.

Sharp claws slashed Downstar's ankle. She tumbled forward into a black molly. A cream-colored tom pounced on Downstar's back. His claws tore into her ginger patches. Blinding pain ripped through Downstar's blood.

Lettucestar crouched by Lighttrail as the SlugClan warriors beat Downstar into the ground. The leader and deputy whispered to one another, mute under the screech of battle. With a decisive nod from Lighttrail, Lettucestar hurried past the fight toward the unseen coastline and RippleClan's camp.

Leathermask and Wildclaw fought back to back against Carvingfur and the other SlugClan warriors. They spun to face every blow. Nicks and scratches riddled their faces. Neither could get to Downstar.

The black molly and the cream-colored tom stepped off Downstar, blood staining their paws. Downstar's ears rang. She stared into the now pink snow. Her legs shook. The pain coursed through her back and toward her paws. Downstar couldn't get up. She couldn't help her daughter. Yarrowclaw and Wolverineheart had to get to camp. They had to protect the kits. That was what mattered.

A brown and white mass of long fur flew past Downstar's blurry vision. The figure landed on Carvingfur just before the tortoiseshell could claw at Leathermask's eyes. Carnationspeckle! Her hunting patrol! Drumtooth and Tallowheart dove into the fight behind their patrol leader. Tallowheart pulled Wildclaw and Leathermask out of the mess. Drumtooth whipped around the SlugClan warriors like a fish. He'd land one blow, then kick back at a sneaky warrior.

"They're going for camp," Wildclaw yowled over the ringing in Downstar's ears.

"Yarrowclaw got there first," Tallowheart gulped. The fighting in front of Downstar blurred. Downstar rested her chin on the cold, stained snow.

"Mom!"

It took a while for Downstar to die. From what she could tell, she drifted in a melting mass of dreams and noise until her strength finally left her. She couldn't tell how much time had passed, and could barely hold on to a single thought. The sounds of the battle rose and fell. They blended into orders and questions, making the line between war and peace impossible to see. Were the clerics there? They should focus on the camp. SlugClan would not have those kits!

Summer warmth licked Downstar's pelt. That oh-so-familiar ocean hum replaced the ringing in her ears. Her back no longer burned. Downstar rubbed her cheek on the sand. Oh Downstar had missed the summer. RippleClan needed that light and warmth once more.

StarClan's coastline was the same as ever; mountains far behind the forest, pure salty water nuzzling the shore. Sunhigh glistened at the top of the sky, honey-bright and as welcome as a warm nest at the end of a cold night. Now Downstar didn't want to get up at all. For now, she could breathe.

Yet who would greet her this time? She was never alone on that lovely beach. Locustseeker, Duskkit, Fennelspot, Rustshade, Scrubmask… someone always had a kind word to say. Who would be there this time? Maybe Downstar had to go find them.

Despite the tempting warmth of the sand, Downstar got to her paws. She stood quicker than she expected. Old age didn't plague her in the strange land of Silverpelt. Downstar scanned the shore. Down the coast, paws dipping into the slowly rising tide, a black tabby sat, waiting. Downstar's granddaughter was unmistakeable, even with the newly gained glimmer in her pelt.

"I shouldn't be surprised it's you," Downstar called. Trumpetspore turned at her grandmother's voice. Her ears pressed backward. She snapped her eyes down.

Downstar strolled down the beach. Her heartbeat matched the gentle pull of the waves. She slowed the closer she got to Trumpetspore. Trumpetspore's head dipped lower and lower.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm sorry, Downstar. I should have talked to you. I missed them so much, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to hurt anyone."

"Oh, Trumpet," Downstar cooed. She placed her chin on Trumpetspore's warm head. She wrapped herself around Trumpetspore as the ageless black warrior shook. The hum of the ethereal ocean hid Trumpetspore's whimpers.

"I should have hung on," Trumpetspore whined.

"I know, I know," Downstar whispered. "It'll be alright now. I know, you're sorry."

Downstar wasn't sure how long she sat with her granddaughter. Those visits to StarClan rarely aligned with time in the living world, after all. Downstar just let the salt water soak her flank as she offered Trumpetspore a familiar shoulder.

"There are things I need to say," Trumpetspore eventually croaked, "before you go back." The pair pulled away, leaving imprints of each other in their pelts.

"I understand," Downstar sighed. "Tell me first, though. Did Lettucestar take the kits?"

"No," Trumpetspore said, clearing her throat. There was a shift in her starry eyes, a soft dance of light cascading across her glittering pelt. Her gaze drifted to something Downstar could not see. "Puddlewhisper hid them in the medicine den when Yarrowclaw got to camp. She pretended they were in the nursery until Lettucestar's patrol had to retreat."

"As clever as her mother," Downstar purred. Good, the kits were safe. For now, at least.

"Happier moons are ahead," Trumpetspore promised as her focus returned to Downstar. She stiffened and glanced down as she added, "If I had known that earlier…" Downstar had no comforting words for that. Trumpetspore breathed deep and stood taller.

"You're on your last life, Downstar," Trumpetspore said. Her voice gained the sort of regal, knowing tone Downstar had grown used to hearing from StarClan cats. "The next time you wake up on these shores, you will not return to RippleClan."

"I understand," Downstar said. She could feel her body pulling her down. The weight of her many moons flowed back through her muscles. She laid on the sand, which now felt more like moss and leather. Downstar's body was likely in the medicine den. "One thing before I wake up. Can you pass a message to Shadowdrop and your siblings?"

"Anything," Trumpetspore gulped. Downstar purred at the light in Trumpetspore's eyes.

"Tell them I love them."

(Downstar: 151, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Oilstripe: 96, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Wildclaw: 84, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Rattlepelt: 75, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Wolverineheart: 24, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

(Yarrowclaw: 27, female, warrior, cold, fire master)

(Leathermask: 40, male, warrior, confident, good fighter, eloquent speaker)

(Carnationspeckle: 94, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Tallowheart: 28, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)

(Drumtooth: 40, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

Potterypool killed Achilles. At least, she helped, if what Vervaincough and Venturedapple reported was true. It would explain the long brown fur found in her wounds. But Achilles could not have killed Potterypool or Lightningrunner. There was someone else involved. And as Waspdawn thought it through, the faceless spirit that haunted RippleClan over the course of an entire moon began to speak its name.

"I'm not sure you're well enough for this, Waspdawn," Oilstripe muttered as Waspdawn bit an itch just under his bandages. It hurt whenever the tip of his tail touched anything, and his fever came and went, but he still stood in the leader's den with Oilstripe, explaining his theory as night began to fall.

"It's a conversation," Waspdawn huffed. "If she puts up a fight, there are plenty of souls in camp to help me."

"We should just send Wolfgaze to fetch her," Oilstripe sighed, peering around Waspdawn and into the snowy camp. "She can freeze her and bring her for questioning."

"I need to be sure," Waspdawn grunted, moving back in front of his deputy. "Before we do anything, I need to talk to her. I need to understand. Can you be my backup, Oilstripe?" Oilstripe stared at something to Waspdawn's side. A spirit? He could only guess when Oilstripe's eyes wandered. If it was Potterypool or Lightningrunner's ghosts, maybe they could just confirm Waspdawn's accusations and they would all be done with it. But that wasn't how Oilstripe's powers worked, was it?

"She's on Downstar's hunting patrol," Oilstripe finally sighed. "It's nearly last light. They should be back soon. I'll let you have your confrontation, but I'm stepping in the moment she tries to run. Do you understand?" Waspdawn nodded deeply, chin touching his chest. Oilstripe sighed again, shaking out her inner fury.

The two cats left Downstar's den, eyes sharpening with the brilliant glow of the camp's bonfire. Oilstripe paced around the Shiprock, but Waspdawn lingered close to the nursery. Deep within the warm den, Puddlewhisper laid with her back to the world. Waspdawn could hear the gentle sniffles and shuffles of his new niece and nephew inside, hidden at his sister's belly. Barely a day together, and Puddlewhisper seemed perfectly content with the pair. Try as he might, the same warmth that filled his chest when Gingerpaw and Frostpaw were born simply wasn't there this time. These kits were meant for a different life, a life stolen from them by not just their selfish mother but by Potterypool and the culprit that would soon return home. Those kits deserved an answer to the question of their lives.

As the last creeping vines of sunlight snaked deeper into the forest and out of sight, Downstar entered the camp, a large fish in her jaws. Her fluffy pelt stuck up at odd angles, damp from saltwater. Oilstripe and Waspdawn jogged to meet her.

"Remind me to bring Drumtooth on more rafting patrols," Downstar purred, gently setting her salty catch down. "He's a natural diver." Drumtooth and Asterblaze, both as damp as their leader, whipped around Downstar, Oilstripe, and Waspdawn with their own catches, quickly placing them on the fresh-kill pile and racing for the bonfire. Downstar's good mood dimmed as the expressions on Oilstripe and Waspdawn's faces sunk in.

"I'll explain over here," Oilstripe muttered as the culprit crept between the thorns lining the camp entrance, her pelt perfectly dry, her yellow collar standing out like a sunbeam with the fire's glow. Waspdawn forced his eyes to soften as Oilstripe guided Downstar to the side of camp.

"Lemmy," Waspdawn said casually. "Good hunting?"

"You'll have to thank Drumtooth, not me," Lemmy sighed with a dismissive twitch of her whiskers. "I stayed on shore and made sure the raft didn't capsize." She moved as though about to walk past Waspdawn, but paused and stared closer at him. "You seem tense." Her own face dropped, ever so slightly. "Something happened to Mosspounce."

"No, no," Waspdawn stammered, quickly shaking his head. "No, Mosspounce is alright, he was sharing tongues with Washington when I last saw him." Lemmy's prickly fur relaxed. "No, I just wanted to talk to you, in private. Can we sit at the Resting Place?"

"If you need to," Lemmy hummed, stretching her back out. "Let's make this quick, though. I'm ready to sleep." Lemmy strolled back out of the camp. Waspdawn glanced at Oilstripe and Downstar. The former whispered in the latter's ear, relaying everything Waspdawn had told her. Downstar's mouth drooped open, ears twitching in tiny movements as she absorbed the truth of it all. Waspdawn left them to their revelation and followed Lemmy to the log outside of camp.

The Resting Place was covered in snow, but imprints of lounging cats marked its surface. Lemmy sat with her tail dangling off the log, waiting for her fellow codekeeper. Waspdawn jumped up and sat beside her. He grit his teeth when his tail rested against the decaying wood.

"Should you be out here with your tail?" Lemmy asked.

"Like you said, this will be quick," Waspdawn said, swallowing the pain. He settled his gaze on the dark sea. "We learned that Achilles is dead today. I don't think you've had a chance to hear." Lemmy flicked an ear.

"It's better for all of us that he's gone," Lemmy said. "I knew him well. You would never have convinced him you weren't a threat to the Other Side. He could have attacked us at any time."

"I won't deny that," Waspdawn said. "Do you want to know how he died, Lemmy?" Lemmy flicked an ear again. She matched Waspdawn's cold stare into the freezing ocean beyond. "A witness told us Potterypool killed him. Not alone, though. We didn't get to hear much else, but do you want to hear my theory?" Lemmy stayed still this time. Waspdawn shifted his gaze to the tortoiseshell killer. "I think Potterypool did kill Achilles. She killed him because you asked for her help. And then you killed her."

Lemmy said nothing. Her tail dusted snow off the Resting Place. A boreal owl hooted somewhere in the forest. The wind echoed in Waspdawn's ears. His tail was no longer his biggest source of pain.

"Here's what I think happened," Waspdawn said. "You were out of camp at the same time as Potterypool. You met along the river, likely by coincidence. At that time, you saw either Nimble or Achilles. If Venturedapple knew who Nimble was, I assume you'd know her from stories at least. Nimble built her kitting nest not far from the river, and she was close to her mate. It would make sense for both of them to make camp and hunt along the river. Regardless of which cat you saw, you decided it wasn't safe for the Clan to have Achilles at our border. Potterypool agreed. So you both crossed the river and hunted Achilles down.

"Potterypool took the brunt of Achilles' attacks, as her wounds tell us. Eventually, though, you both killed him. But Nimble was watching. I think Potterypool realized Nimble was pregnant and regretted taking a father from his kits. She was going to confess your shared murder, but you disagreed. You argued, and it escalated until Potterypool was dead at your paws." Waspdawn sneered as he talked. "You buried her in hopes no one would find out, and you cleaned yourself off before you returned to camp, as though nothing happened.

"But you still weren't safe. Lightningrunner was out of camp too. I think she saw something, likely the burial. She didn't realize what she saw until later, she may not have fully understood, even then. That's because I believe she spoke to you about it in private, and you knew you had to silence her. So you tracked her to Battle Beach and ambushed her when she was alone! Tell me I'm wrong, Lemmy!"

Lemmy didn't respond for a while. Waspdawn's claws poked through the snow.

"You're wrong," Lemmy said. Waspdawn held his breath. "I didn't kill Lightningrunner. I had no part in that. But Potterypool…" Lemmy sunk off the Resting Place. She sighed deeply. "I couldn't let Achilles hurt anyone else in RippleClan. He nearly killed your brother. His death was justified, but Potterypool didn't understand. It all went too far. I'm… sorry, Waspdawn."

"If you're sorry," Waspdawn growled, voice struggling not to spike, "then you'll come with me and face trial for both of their murders. You don't get to deny Lightningrunner's death. You can't hide your ruthlessness."

"You're an intelligent cat, Waspdawn," Lemmy huffed. "You figured out nearly everything that unfolded with Potterypool. But Lightningrunner? Your story is just that. A story. You have no proof she and I ever interacted."

"She had a conversation with Mosspounce, it stuck with her," Waspdawn snapped. "She realized what she saw."

"You're searching for an easy way out," Lemmy snapped back. "If I killed Lightningrunner, where was my scent? I was hunting that day. Do you think I found the time to catch a fish and kill Lightningrunner, all the while escaping her patrol?"

"If you're sorry for Potterypool's death," Waspdawn hissed, jumping off the Resting Place, "then why aren't you sorry for killing my sister?"

"Take me prisoner," Lemmy growled, sitting with her tail over her unseathed claws. "You found me out, and I won't run from it. I'll tell the truth. I'll take my punishment. I know what I did was wrong. I'll tell it all at my trial, whether you like what I have to say or not."

The moments after that blurred in Waspdawn's memory. Escorting Lemmy to the quarantine den, gathering her family, informing the codekeepers… it all happened in a flicker of light, the flap of a wing. Had Waspdawn done it? Had be outed the Clanmate who had his sister's blood on her paws?

Or was Lemmy, for the first time in a moon, telling the entire truth?

(Waspdawn: 56, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Oilstripe: 94, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Puddlewhisper: 56, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, keen eye, ghost sense)

(Downstar: 149, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Lemmy: 66, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond, good mediator)

Honeybuzz and Estherfern ask Lemmy for a favor.

[Image ID: Honeybuzz and Estherfern approach Lemmy.]

---

Lemmy asked for no visitors. One of the few things she dared to ask of RippleClan now. What could she say to her mate, to her daughters and her friends? She would say it all at her trial and face her execution with dignity.

It had been a few days since the truth came out, at least what Waspdawn declared to be the truth. She had been caught, that was true, but Lightningrunner's blood did not stain her fangs. That murderer was still out there. She owed it to RippleClan to make them see that. For now, though, in the late night before her grand trial, she stayed under guard in the quarantine den, eyes closed, yet not asleep. Simply waiting.

Soft voices outside the den stirred her from her few thoughts. She opened one eye. Honeybuzz and Estherfern stood outside, speaking with Rapidleaf and Brightreed. Lemmy couldn't hear their words. She turned with her back to the newcomers, tucking her face into the worn moss of her prisoner's nest.

"How is this den so cold?" Honeybuzz asked, shivering as he and Estherfern entered the den. "We keep patients here! We can't let it get this chilly!"

"Focus," Estherfern huffed. Their pawsteps grew closer. Lemmy could feel their breath on her back.

"Is this some sort of death rite?" Lemmy sighed, giving into their presence. She sat up, her collar twisting against her neck. To her surprise, she could no longer see Rapidleaf and Brightreed's vague forms outside.

"You're not going to be executed," Honeybuzz insisted, sitting beside the damned molly's nest. "Downstar just brought it up because—"

"Because I won't admit to a murder I didn't commit," Lemmy huffed, lips curling. "My story will be the same at the trial. I am not Lightningrunner's killer."

"We're trying to help you, you stupid kit," Estherfern suddenly spat, matching Lemmy's expression.

"Do you care about justice or a simple solution?" Lemmy snapped. Her whiskers nearly touched Estherfern's as the two mollies growled at each other.

"You're not the only cat we're trying to help, Lemmy," Honeybuzz hissed, forcing himself between her and Estherfern. Estherfern huffed and sat in the remnants of an old nest. Honeybuzz's cicada wing necklace bounced against his chest as he settled back down. "Now, can you please listen to us? The rest of the Clan thinks we're here to help you clear your conscience. We know you didn't kill Lightningrunner, but we need you to admit to it anyway." Lemmy stared unblinking at Honeybuzz. Honeybuzz met her intensity and raised it, desperation mixed into his natural confidence.

"The Clan is in danger so long as her true killer is out there," Lemmy growled. "Lightningrunner was killed from behind, without mercy. Why would I protect them?"

"You don't know the full story," Estherfern muttered.

"The Clan thinks you're guilty now," Honeybuzz explained before Lemmy could probe Estherfern's ominous statement, "but if you insist on your innocence with Lightningrunner's death, eventually cats will start asking questions again. For the good of the Clan, we can't have them ask questions. It would shatter families. I don't want anyone else to go through what my family is feeling." While it was far from the first time guilt gripped her guts, a new regret itched inside of Lemmy. She stole Honeybuzz's sister from him, yet Honeybuzz didn't call for Lemmy's blood to stain the forest floor like Vervaincough and Halibutdusk had upon the reveal.

"Who killed her, then?" Lemmy asked softly. Honeybuzz glanced at Estherfern. The old brown cleric nodded. Then Honeybuzz said a name, the last name Lemmy could ever imagine tearing into the back of Lightningrunner's neck.

"Whitepaw."

(Lemmy: 66, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond, good mediator)

(Honeybuzz: 38, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

Weevilsight is sorry, but she still isn’t ready for a romantic relationship with Anchovystrike, despite caring for him too. Anchovystrike slinks off, rejected. He goes hunting with Currentsmoke, Billowhaze, and Whitepaw to calm down.

[Image ID: Whitepaw, Billowhaze, Anchovystrike, and Currentsmoke speak in a group. Under Billowhaze, it says - CONDITION: RUNNY NOSE. Under Currentsmoke, it says LEVEL UP! SKILLED TOOLSMITH → INVENTOR AND INNOVATOR. Behind Whitepaw and Billowhaze, a gray and white kit with green eyes approaches, yowling "Clan cats!" Under him, it says NEW PLAYER: DOVEKIT, 4, MALE, IMPULSIVE, ACTIVE IMAGINATION.]

---

"Um, Mr. Anchovystrike?" Whitepaw gulped from the back of the patrol. "I don't want to be rude, but…"

"You're making us all depressed," Billowhaze huffed. "You might be taking this a bit too hard."

The mentor and apprentice weren't wrong. As Anchovystrike led the pair and Currentsmoke toward the heart of the territory to hunt, he couldn't help but let his ears dip and his tail slag. Even the bright bird song and glittering glow of early afternoon couldn't uplift his heart. Anchovystrike knew he'd been through worse, but that didn't stop his chest from hurting and his teeth aching with the tension in his jaw.

"We don't have to call each other mates," Anchovystrike muttered, staring at the grass as he walked. "I just want to take her out of camp sometimes."

"You've been best friends as long as any of us can remember," Currentsmoke purred, rubbing against his brother. "Weevilsight obviously loves you, or at least cares! It'll be alright."

"I have to be blunt here, Anchovy," Billowhaze sighed. He looped around his brothers and stood in front of them, his pelt dappled with the light passing between budding branches. "Do you really expect Weevilsight to be interested in mates right now? Her parents have barely been dead a season." Whitepaw stayed at his mentor's side like the dutiful apprentice he was. With bright green colors breaking through tan grass and colorful flowers peeking out from the bases of old trees, Whitepaw's pelt burned against the land like the pale center of a flame.

"I thought it would take her mind off everything," Anchovystrike mumbled as his ears grew red.

"Give her a little time," Currentsmoke said. "Just being her friend can be enough for now, right?" Anchovystrike let our a mrrow of laughter. Currentsmoke and Billowhaze were right. Of course they were. Anchovystrike was just being a mouse-brain about it all. Whitepaw shuffled his paws, uncertain of his place in the brotherly conversation.

"Maybe we can at least catch some birds for her?" Anchovystrike suggested. "She loves—"

"Clan cats!" Whitepaw jumped at the sudden yowl, back arched high. A figure stomped through the young growth behind Whitepaw and Billowhaze, tail high. The wind finally carried the scent of a young tom to Anchovystrike's nose. Shiny green eyes blended into the blooming foliage. A gray and white face plunged into view. Every muscle in the tom's soft face pointed itself toward the RippleClan patrol. He had no Clan scent, but he was certainly younger than any wandering loner Anchovystrike had met. He was likely still a kit!

"Hello?" Currentsmoke gulped. He blinked wildly, laughing as the gray and white tom marched toward the group with huge pawsteps.

"Greetings!" the kit chirped, shimmering in the dappled light. Anchovystrike snorted at the strange choice of words. "I've come to join the Five Clans! Which one is this?"

"Um…" Anchovystrike snorted, trying to hide his laugh by clearing his throat. "You're in RippleClan, kit."

"I've come to join you as one of your fearsome warriors!" the kit declared. "Take me to your camp!" The four older toms stared at the loner kit. The kit stared back, blissfully unaware of the awkwardness choking the air.

"Alright, let us handle this," Billowhaze muttered to his brothers. He nudged them back with his hind leg. Billowhaze and Whitepaw moved closer to the kit. "Where did you come from, then?"

"Why does that matter?" the kit scoffed. "I'm a RippleClan cat now!" The kit's voice broke as he made his dramatic declaration, sounding more like a weasel than a warrior. Anchovystrike couldn't hide his snort at that.

"What Mr. Billowhaze is asking," Whitepaw quickly said, "is where your mother might be."

"I don't know," the kit chirped with a dismissive flick of an ear. "My humans adopted me ages ago. No idea where Mom is!"

"You're like me," Whitepaw muttered, eyes widening.

"I want to be!" the kit said. "All the Witch Hunters were talking about how big and strong the Clans were. You make a lot of stuff and trade it with the Witch Hunters. You must be really smart! I want to big and smart too! I could be a great warrior! That's way better than sitting in a human's lap all day!" Billowhaze hummed, tilting his head at the proud little kit.

"Well, you heard him," Billowhaze chuckled, glancing back at his brothers. "He could be a great warrior."

"Shouldn't we make sure no one's looking for him?" Currentsmoke asked.

"Who would be looking for me?" the kit asked, mimicking Billowhaze's head tilt.

"If he has a mother looking for him," Billowhaze muttered so the kit couldn't hear, "I'm sure the Witch Hunters will come by the border and ask for him. Besides, we should take him to camp. He's only…" Billowhaze paused, a thought catching his attention. He turned back to the kit and asked, "How old are you?"

"I don't know," the kit said innocently.

"Alright," Billowhaze groaned. "Whitepaw! Do you remember age markers? Can you figure out this kit's age?"

"Um…" Whitepaw said, tail twitching back and forth. "Have you lost any of your teeth, little one? Have they fallen out of your mouth?"

"Yesterday I ate the food my human left out," the kit explained in one breath. "My tooth fell out of my mouth but I just ate it with the rest of my food."

"Well," Whitepaw chuckled, "you still have kitten fur, so… I think you're four moons old."

"Good job," Billowhaze purred. "I agree. It's better to take him back to camp."

"I'm still going to ask Oilstripe if I can lead a patrol to the river," Currentsmoke sighed. "I don't want this to be a repeat of our problem with Nimblestep."

"Can we go hunting?" the kit asked, bouncing around Billowhaze.

"You need to see our leader first," Billowhaze said. He stopped the kit from wandering by placing his paw in front of him. "If you really want to join the Clans, there's a few things you'll need to do. What's your name, anyway?"

"I heard what Clan names sound like," the kit said, jumping onto a small root. "I picked my own! Doveclaw the warrior!" The gray and white kit dropped into a playful battle pose, growling.

"That's a nice name!" Whitepaw chirped as Anchovystrike once again laughed. "You'll have to earn that name, though. When you're young, we would call you something like Dovekit. Then you can become Dovepaw, like how I'm Whitepaw!"

"I can't be Doveclaw?" the kit—soon to be known as Dovekit—huffed.

"With hope," Billowhaze hummed, nudging Dovekit toward the rest of the patrol, "you will some day."

Anchovystrike took the lead back home while Currentsmoke, Whitepaw, and Billowhaze walked along Dovekit, prying him for more information and laughing at the kit's strange arrival. Anchovystrike couldn't stop laughing at Dovekit's random comments and insistence he could become a warrior as soon as he entered camp.

It seemed there would always be something to take Anchovystrike's mind off heartache and frustration.

(Whitepaw: 11, male, historian apprentice, nervous, active imagination)

(Billowhaze: 29, male, historian, loyal, good kit-sitter)

(Anchovystrike: 29, male, warrior, playful, unshakable StarClan link)

(Currentsmoke: 29, male, cartakr, loving, good climber, inventor and innovator)

(Dovekit: 4, male, kit, impulsive, active imagination)

A skirmish with LynxClan cats stealing crabs leaves Yarrowclaw with a mangled leg and Downstar with a mangled tail.

[Image ID: Yarrowclaw and Downstar face off against a black masked tabby with blue eyes and a scar across their muzzle. Under Downstar, it says + CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL, while under Yarrowclaw, it reads + CONDITION: MANGLED LEG. Oilstripe runs towards them, yowling, "Get off of my leader!" Under her, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

(Oilstripe: 98, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Downstar: 153, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Yarrowclaw: 29, female, warrior, cold, fire master)

Washington finally passes from his shipwreck injuries, but at least he died in a safe and loving home. Rabbitjoy decides to retire as a result, but since Downstar is weak, Oilstripe’s the one to give Frostpaw to Ravenweaver for the rest of her training.

[Image ID: Oilstripe watches over Rabbitjoy, Ravenweaver, and Frostpaw. Ravenweaver and Frostpaw face each other, now mentor and apprentice, while Rabbitjoy watches, pleased.]

(Washington: 222, male, elder, nervous, good mediator)

(Rabbitjoy: 130, female, elder, charismatic, master weaver)

(Oilstripe: 98, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Frostpaw: 11, female, artisan apprentice, strict, lover of stories)