"Wolfgaze… Wolfgaze… Wolfgaze, Wolfgaze, Wolfgaze!"

"I'm still awake, I promise," Wolfgaze yelped, blinking wildly and shaking the exhaustion from her thick fur. Thank StarClan she didn't fall over. She'd claimed a spot on the Resting Place immediately after her ceremony, providing a great vantage over the camp. Yet the lulling waves behind her and the empty, clouded sky above were the perfect recipe for a long nap. Weevilpaw stood with her front paws on the log, her entire body standing straight with excitement.

"Downstar said I could fetch you," Weevilpaw chirped. "You made it! Your codekeeper's vigil! How did it feel?"

"Long," Wolfgaze yawned. She stumbled off the Resting Place, licking her lips. "Where are the others?" Potterypool, Currentsmoke, and Yarrowclaw had been sitting outside the camp the last time Wolfgaze looked. Now the entrance was barren, all thorns, brambles, and stones.

"They already fell back into camp," Weevilpaw chuckled. "Currentsmoke was so tired, I thought he would fall on his face!"

"I'm ready to see my graduation gift," Wolfgaze sighed as Weevilpaw rubbed against her. The tortoiseshell cleric helped her sister into camp, laughing as Wolfgaze's eyes drifted shut. With the sun peeking over the sea, Wolfgaze expected the Clan to set out for the day's patrols, but to her surprise, she found most of RippleClan gathered in the center of camp. Downstar sat on the Shiprock, gazing down at the activities below her. Potterypool, Currentsmoke, and Yarrowclaw stood at the edge of the crowd, trying to see what caught their kin's attention.

"What's going on?" Wolfgaze asked, morning clarity clearing her thoughts. She and Weevilpaw joined the newly graduated cats, who were all largely ignored by the rest of the Clan.

"The artisans are doing something," Yarrowclaw explained.

"I think it has something to do with that big chunk of wood they brought in last night," Currentsmoke pointed out. "Remember? Elmsprout and the artisans pulled the sled out and came back to camp with a huge piece!"

"It was a slow night, Currentsmoke," Potterypool hummed, gently nudging her friend. "I think she remembers." Wolfgaze did not, in fact, remember, but she pretended she did.

Wolfgaze braced herself and squeezed between Splashtuft and Wildclaw. She weaved around her Clanmates until she broke into the center of the circle. Mitespark, Elmsprout, Rabbitjoy, and Rattlepelt stood around a wooden sculpture. Ravenpaw sat near them, listening carefully as Rattlepelt explained what they were doing. They picked at the wood with their claws, their teeth, and a few specialized tools; sharp stone picks that could be wrapped around the paw with leather straps, perfect for detailed work on pottery and woodwork. Elmsprout was the first to notice Wolfgaze.

"Wolfgaze!" she called, gently stepping back from the sculpture. "You finished your vigil! Congratulations! Your sisters made your nest in the warrior's den. I'm certain you'll like their gift."

"What are you doing, though?" Wolfgaze asked.

"Oh, that's right, no one told you," Elmsprout gasped softly. "Mitespark, let her see!" Mitespark carefully pulled her carving pick from the wood's surface and moved to the side. It was a bust, a cat's face from the tip of their ears to their collarbone. They were a smooth-faced cat with round features, shaped almost like a triangle sitting on its tip.

"We debated whether to carve in her stripes or paint them," Rabbitjoy explained, "but I think we're going to paint them."

"Is this someone I'm supposed to recognize?" Wolfgaze asked.

"We carved it from memory," Mitespark admitted, "but imagine gray fur and deep blue eyes…"

"Weedfoot!" Wolfgaze suddenly gasped. "You carved Weedfoot's face?"

"James and Scaleripple are making paint for her," Rattlepelt explained. "We told James he could rest and enjoy the finished product, but I guess he wanted to lend a paw for once."

"But why carve Weedfoot?" Wolfgaze asked, glancing at the crowd. "Why is everyone so excited?"

"A Clan's leader and deputy carry all of us on their backs," Rabbitjoy said, brushing against the newly named codekeeper. "They affect all of us, and we all grieve them when they pass. It's a part of our history fading away. The whole camp was up last night sharing memories of Weedfoot, and Paleseed came up with this idea. We're thinking of doing the same for future leaders and deputies after they pass."

"We'll find a place to store them where the paint won't decay," Rattlepelt promised.

"It will be lovely," Wolfgaze purred. A yawn slipped through her words, despite her efforts to hold it back.

"It will still be here when you wake up," Mitespark laughed. "Go to sleep!" Wolfgaze bowed her head, her exhaustion flooding back with Mitespark's simple order. She moved back through the crowd, who passed along a few more congratulations.

"Wolfgaze!" Billowhaze stepped out of the swarm just as Wolfgaze breached the horde. His whiskers twitched in casual mirth. "Anchovy and I are planning abig battle-training session with Estherfern's litter this evening. You should join us! With all the Spirits of Shadow out there, those five could practice against that stare of yours."

"I'm not sure," Wolfgaze gulped, her ears suddenly growing hot under Billowhaze's charming stare. "It might be too dangerous to leave camp just for a training session. With what happened to Silverpaw…" Silverpaw should have been sitting vigil with Wolfgaze that night. Wolfgaze shouldn't have had to spend those long moments wondering what happened to her sister, what Spirit of Shadow pulled her under, never to be seen again.

"That's why training will be good for them," Billowhaze insisted. "We can even bring Weevilpaw along if that makes you feel better. The Spirits of Shadow wouldn't match claws with our three star-blessed warriors, would they?" Billowhaze winked and turned back to Weedfoot's bust, trying to gaze upon the former deputy's face. Even through the chaos of recent moons and the overpowering desire to sleep, Wolfgaze still felt her heart flutter at Billowhaze's stare.

It seemed her life as a codekeeper was off to a good start.

(Weevilpaw: 13, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)

(Wolfgaze: 13, female, codekeeper, thoughtful, connection to StarClan, good speaker)

(Yarrowclaw: 13, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

(Currentsmoke: 13, male, caretaker, loving, good climber, skilled toolsmith)

(Potterypool: 13, female, caretaker, sneaky, great singer)

(Elmsprout: 45, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

(Rabbitjoy: 115, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Mitespark: 20, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)

(Rattlepelt: 61, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Billowhaze: 13, male, historian, loyal, good kitsitter)

Boughpaw found a forget-me-not flower growing in the frost and decided to keep it.

[Image ID: Boughpaw now wears a forget-me-not flower. Under her, it reads + ACCESSORY: FORGET-ME-NOTS.]

(Boughpaw: 10, female, historian apprentice, righteous, constantly climbing)

While collecting samples of ichor for a banishing ritual with Estherfern, Anchovystrike, and Mosspounce, Foampaw swears she hears Shrewkit crying in the distance. When she and Mosspounce go to investigate, only Mosspounce returns alive with horrified tales of a manykit and a new spirit composed of frost-covered leaves.

[Image ID: Foampaw is a StarClan spirit.]

(Foampaw: 10, female, caretaker apprentice, troublesome, always wandering)

Slushtrail spends time with her family.

[Image ID: Tallowheart, Oilstripe, Slushtrail, Shrewkit, Carnationspeckle, Rattlepelt, and Wildclaw gather together.]

---

Slushtrail knew, as soon as Downstar ordered everyone to stay in camp unless absolutely necessary, Longest Night would truly be a long, long night.

Three torches sat before the main bonfire, separate from the other memorials. A withered dandelion sat in front of the tallest. A silver stone necklace hung from the second. Salt crusted the base of the third, dipped in sea foam. It was a lot like the Longest Night Slushtrail remembered from her kithood. The artisans danced and sang, the historians told stories, the caretakers prepared a late night meal. The fire still roared against the never-ending night, a refusal to bow to the cold and decay. Slushtrail could tell, however, that it hurt some of her Clanmates to keep up the fight. Estherfern ranted to her remaining kits, relaying all she had learned in those last few moons about the Spirits of Shadow and their dangers. Mosspounce laughed a bit too loud at one of Lemmy's comments. Lavendertwist sang just loud enough to hurt Slushtrail's ears. Rattlepelt fought to keep Ravenpaw's attention, trying to demonstrate a special dance. RippleClan was clawing at the edge of a cliff, trying to pull themselves back up, unable to think anything but "it will be okay" when their hearts spoke the opposite.

Honeybuzz brushed his tail against Estherfern's shoulder mid-rant. She paused, and Slushtrail could see Estherfern's breath catch and fog around her. She touched her nose to each of her kits and followed Honeybuzz to the side, where Troutpool and Weevilpaw waited. Slushtrail couldn't hear them, but they sat close and carried torches in their eyes. Best to leave them be for now.

The rest of Slushtrail's family sat in front of the nursery. Tallowheart worked with Oilstripe on an old story; a great war between WheatClan and SlugClan and a friendship that healed their wounds. Carnationspeckle listened closely with Rattlepelt and Wildclaw while Shrewkit hid under Rattlepelt's fox pelt, shivering. With one more look over the rest of the Clan, Slushtrail joined her mothers and siblings.

"How do you like Longest Night, Shrewkit?" Slushtrail asked.

"I don't like the cold," he huffed, pulling his face under the fox pelt. "My mom's probably freezing her flank off tonight."

"I'm sure wherever your birth mother is," Carnationspeckle sighed, lifting the kit's cover away, "she's just happy you're growing up somewhere safe and warm. Can I warm you up?" Shrewkit nodded and crawled closer to his grandmother. Carnationspeckle licked Shrewkit's fur the wrong way, warming his blood.

"So can leaders really give cats whole new names?" Shrewkit asked, turning to Tallowheart and Oilstripe. "Like the warrior in your story?"

"I'm a living example of that!" Wildclaw chirped, gently bunting her son. "Have we told you I used to called Graythroat? Downstar gave me a new name because of how fiercely I defend RippleClan."

"More like because you have a death wish," Oilstripe chuckled. Tallowheart hid a snicker.

"I've outgrown it!" Wildclaw insisted with a laugh.

"Mostly," Rattlepelt hummed, rolling her eyes. Wildclaw batted her mate's muzzle, and Shrewkit laughed.

"Well I never want to lose my name," Shrewkit declared. "My mom named me Shrew, and that's who I'll be, forever. The kit part is extra." When he sat taller, he nearly head-butted Carnationspeckle's jaw into her skull.

"It works well for you," Slushtrail purred.

And for that night, everything was alright.

(Slushtrail: 14, female, mediator, wise, clever, talented weaver)

(Shrewkit: 2, male, kit, bossy, never sits still)

(Carnationspeckle: 80, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Wildclaw: 70, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Oilstripe: 82, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Rattlepelt: 61, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Tallowheart: 14, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)

Troutpool hopes Trumpetspore notices her.

[Image ID: Troutpool stares at Trumpetspore.]

---

Troutpool stared at Trumpetspore from the medicine den as Trumpetspore and Brightpaw showed Shrewkit how to perform a hunter's crouch. There wasn't a lot of room to practice, since almost everyone was in camp, safe under the divine protection Troutpool and her peers summoned. It was the same protective ritual they performed during Harvest Moon. The clerics could only pray it would guard the Clan long enough for them to strike back against the Spirits of Shadow. Yet despite her chronic fear of them, Trumpetspore proved more confident in Troutpool's rituals than the cream cleric was.

"Keep your flank a little lower," Trumpetspore said, nudging Shrewkit's high flank down. "You're doing well." Troutpool didn't care if others laughed at Trumpetspore's nervousness or groaned at her panic. There was a keen-eyed warrior under that blanket of anxiety; a warrior Troutpool wanted to know more. Troutpool's eyes softened as she watched the black warrior move with such ease between Shrewkit and Brightpaw, eager to train despite the danger.

"You're staring." Troutpool startled a bit. Scaleripple stood outside the den, expressionless. He held a paw to his chest. A large thorn jutted out from his pads.

"I was just marveling at how well Shrewkit's adapted to Clan life," Troutpool stammered with a lick of her chest. "Here, that thorn looks awful, I'll help you get it out." That was obviously why Scaleripple was there, why did Troutpool have to say it like that?

Troutpool led Scaleripple into the shadow of the den. She grabbed a few cobwebs from the shelves (no need to waste a bandage on a simple thorn). She held Scaleripple's paw out and gripped the thorn between her teeth.

"You were staring at Trumpetspore," Scaleripple said right as Troutpool ripped the thorn out of his paw. Scaleripple hissed and licked the fresh flowing blood. Troutpool moved his paw back down and placed cobwebs on the small wound.

"Stay here for a while, and keep your paw off the sand," Troutpool said. "I'll take the cobwebs off soon. A wound that size will close quickly." Troutpool licked a strand of cobweb off her paws. Scaleripple stared at her, barely blinking. Did he want to talk about Trumpetspore? Well, if he did, he could just ask. Troutpool had no reason to be embarrassed by it. "You know Trumpetspore well. If I were to ask her on a date—"

"No," Scaleripple said so suddenly that Troutpool once again startled. They both stared at each other, one confused, the other certain in an unknowable, detached way. No? What did Scaleripple mean by 'no'? He wasn't Trumpetspore's mentor. Troutpool didn't need his permission! She must not have been able to hide her thoughts as well as Scaleripple did, for the gold and white warrior continued. "You told Trumpetspore her littermate was an omen. Why would she be your mate?"

"Scaleripple," Troutpool huffed, finding what little confidence she possessed and hardening her voice. "I only reported StarClan's sign. I didn't want to make Tempestshade's life hard. I revealed it at their trial because I didn't want them to be found guilty of murder."

"Instead you made everyone avoid them," Scaleripple said. He glanced at his bandaged paw with a soft huff. He tore off the red-stained cobweb and spat the wad onto the middle of the floor. "So, no. You don't get to ask Trumpetspore on a date. You don't deserve that." Scaleripple licked his paw once more and walked out of the den. It didn't seem to matter that he left Troutpool spinning, a dormant pressure rising in her chest. No, Scaleripple sauntered back into the packed clearing like nothing had happened.

According to him, nothing else should happen.

(Troutpool: 39, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Trumpetspore: 39, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Scaleripple: 31, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

RippleClan prepares a ritual to fight back against the Spirit hordes.

[Image ID: Troutpool, Honeybuzz, and Weevilpaw stand in a circle around Estherfern. Anchovystrike, Wolfgaze, Oilstripe, and Scaleripple watch from the sides.]

---

In Estherfern's faith, there was her God, who did His best to watch over her home, but there were also the Six Predators. The Wolf, The Fox, The Owl, The Hawk, The Rat, The Cougar. These vengeful, vindictive deities loved to toy with catkind, so Estherfern's home developed a dozen ways to combat their influence. Somewhere in the back of her heart, Estherfern wondered if they were the ones who tormented the souls of the Dark Forest, who gave birth to the Spirits of Shadow. Maybe they were the ones to kill Foampaw. Maybe they were laughing somewhere, saying "Look at Esther. Stepping above her station, making friends with the damned. Shouldn't she have known better? It's so fun to watch her destroy her family."

That night, Estherfern would spit in the faces of the Six Predators, of the Spirits of Shadow, of everything supernatural that roamed her new home, because no one got away with hurting her kits. Not even her.

"Estherfern, we don't have to tell anyone," Honeybuzz whispered as the procession trailed toward the beach. Honeybuzz and Estherfern kept to the back of the group, carrying baskets of supplies. Troutpool walked inside a circle composed of Weevilpaw, Anchovystrike, and Wolfgaze. Oilstripe and Scaleripple kept a sharp eye for strange shadows, ready to fight and protect the untrained clerics.

"What sort of justice would that be?" Estherfern huffed.

"The sort that keeps the peace," Honeybuzz said.

"Peace built on lies is no peace at all," Estherfern sighed. "When this is done… we're telling the Clan. May your ancestors and my God forgive me." Estherfern stared at the clouded sky. If StarClan was as strong as her Clanmates claimed, their presence would not be dulled by simple clouds hiding Silverpelt from view.

As the patrol approached the beach, it began to snow. Flakes danced on Estherfern's nose. Wolfgaze rubbed her fluffy pelt against her sister's thin fur as Weevilpaw shivered. Honeybuzz ran into the thicker circle of cats, quietly begging for extra warmth. Estherfern soaked in the cold. The cold meant she was alive. She was free. It was this freedom she sought to protect ever since she escaped the cat-minded human. Yet in seeing her kits as imprisoned in their bodies, had she not denied them freedom? Whenever she spoke with Wolverinepaw, the long-furred duplicate of Estherfern still stared a bit too hard. Thunderpaw still didn't ask Estherfern to repeat herself if she didn't catch what she said. Brightpaw squirmed in Estherfern's company, and Boughpaw stayed silent, forgotten in her normalcy. The truth would be the only thing that could fix their bonds, even if it destroyed them in the process.

"This is the place," Troutpool finally said. The patrol stood where the river met the ocean, dissolving into branches. Sand melted into mud and clay. A salt pool sat in the sand, the artisan's precious system to separate out the water and harvest the pure white crystals. The sea was nothing more than churning shadow. Estherfern and Honeybuzz set their baskets down.

"StarClan is watching," Oilstripe whispered, head spinning. "There are so many cats. I see Mousesong, and Weedfoot, Silverpaw… Estherfern, Foampaw is here." Estherfern steadied herself. She swallowed the rock in her throat.

"This is for you, Silverpaw!" Wolfgaze called into the dark, still pressed against Weevilpaw.

"They aren't saying anything," Oilstripe said. "I think they're just bearing witness."

"Foampaw, forgive me," Estherfern whispered.

"Oilstripe, Anchovystrike, Wolfgaze, Scaleripple," Honeybuzz said, taking dry mushrooms out of his basket, "you'll patrol around us while we work. Anchovystrike, how do we look?"

"There's ichor everywhere," Anchovystrike groaned, sneering at the sand. "The spirits roam the entire territory."

"It shouldn't be hard to draw them in," Weevilpaw huffed, standing taller. "I'll call out if I predict any of them attacking."

"This will take some time, so stay alert," Honeybuzz said. "Weevilpaw, help me build this side of the circle. Troutpool, Estherfern, take the other half." Estherfern gently grabbed a mouthful of mushrooms, which grew damp in the snow, and started on her side of the circle.

The circle would be far bigger than the one in Estherfern's cursed den. Yes, it was similar to that original circle, composed of the same mushrooms that connected the living world to the Dark Forest. Yet here, the design was not based on those damned traditions, but Estherfern's faith. While the mushrooms formed the curves of the circle, rather than filling the interior with an herbal sludge, Estherfern's basket held a purer replacement; the spirit-rebelling charms from Harvest Moon. In Estherfern's home, the charms would have had the gentle face of God, with tufts of fur representing each of the Six Predators replacing the mushrooms.

"Is this safe?" Scaleripple asked. He sat in the branches of a chokecherry, carefully watching the shore.

"We're summoning Spirits of Shadow and sending them back to the Dark Forest," Weevilpaw scoffed as she set down a few more charms. "There's a lot of risk involved here. But it's what we have to do if we have any hope to get rid of them all."

"I don't mean the spirits," Scaleripple said softly. "These gods that Estherfern fears… are they real?"

"Of course they are," Estherfern snapped, almost knocking a mushroom out of its place. "They may not dwell over your lands, but they dwell over mine."

"What if we summon both the spirits…" Scaleripple said, "and your Predators?" Estherfern's paw clenched over a charm. Was the white-speckled warrior right? Estherfern knew so many tales of the Six Predators and the way they destroyed lives. They did not need to feed, they did not have that excuse for their mayhem. It was fun for them. They spread their domains with no care for each other or any living creature. Was Estherfern repeating her earlier mistakes? Was she, in her effort to fix one problem, inviting something far worse?

"Esther," Honeybuzz said. He met Estherfern's eyes from the other side of the circle. He set the last mushroom in its place. "It's our best option. There are too many." Estherfern nodded. She settled the last of her charms in the circle and turned to Troutpool. The head cleric nodded in return.

"Everyone, stay back, and stay quiet," Troutpool called as Estherfern stepped into the circle. "Honeybuzz, Weevilpaw, are you ready?"

"I'm not a very good singer," Weevilpaw chuckled. She rubbed snow out of her eyes and settled at the edge of the circle.

"You don't have to be," Estherfern said. "Just say the names clearly."

"I've never heard names like these," Troutpool muttered, tucking her tail over her paws.

"You wouldn't have," Estherfern said with a flick of an ear.

Weevilpaw, Honeybuzz, and Troutpool sat equal distance from one another, poised outside the circle. Scaleripple jumped out of the tree and joined Oilstripe. Wolfgaze and Anchovystrike lingered near Weevilpaw. Snow dusted the mushrooms and charms.

"The ichor isn't happy, I can already tell," Anchovystrike muttered. Wolfgaze put her tail to his muzzle.

"Predators of the Great Glowing Lands," Estherfern yowled into the snowy night. "We bind you to this place with your true names!" The four clerics closed their eyes. The song came naturally to Estherfern, embedded into her very being. It wasn't hard to teach it to her compatriots.

Luponthoth

Vulpo Thun

Strigart

But-oro

Rapendazera

Punai'kema

The gentle voices of the clerics rose through the snow in a soft, yet tense melody, like bird song. Estherfern dropped out of the song and opened her eyes. Oilstripe and Anchovystrike's hackles rose, their heads bouncing to sights only they could see.

As Honeybuzz, Troutpool, and Weevilpaw carried on the song, Estherfern yowled, "We know of your appetites! We know of your boredom! This land is filled with wicked spirits! We have formed their path to safety, and they'll think they can escape. Have fun!"

The cleric's song cut off as a violent gush of wind battered their voices, flinging snow into their eyes. Wolfgaze yowled, bracing herself against Anchovystrike. The leaves that decorated Oilstripe's pelt flew off. Estherfern's heart raced as the snow bit her nose. Yet a few moments later, the wind receded. Estherfern breathed deep. Scaleripple shook out his pelt while Honeybuzz shivered. The humming ocean made Estherfern's ears ring.

"Stay where you are," Estherfern warned her companions. Her fur spiked when a sudden realization washed over her. "Anchovystrike, close your eyes."

"Why?" Anchovystrike asked.

"Foxdung!" Weevilpaw suddenly cried, jumping with her back arched. "They're… from the forest! Watch out!"

"Anchovystrike," Estherfern yowled as something tumbled through the trees, "you see the unseen influence of the supernatural. If you see the Predators as they really are, you will go mad! Now close your eyes!" Anchovystrike obeyed just in time.

Terrified howls echoed through the forest. Black sludge dripped from the grass onto the sand. It tumbled faster and faster like a newly formed river, racing toward the circle. Oilstripe and Scaleripple scrambled back as the ichor slammed into the circle. It launched at Estherfern with a steaming, bubbling sound. Estherfern held her ground. The ichor plunged into the sand around her like a fox leaping into snow. It stained the sand black and burrowed deep, deep, deep.

Then the monsters came. They howled and shrieked and cauterwauled, running through the trees as fast as they could. There were darkhounds, thundering along with massive paws and bloody jaws, yipping like pups. There was forsaken prey, decayed and rotten yet moving and squealing just as they did in their final moments. Leatherwaste flopped and flew about, and something new, something without a proper name, some storm-spun bundle of dull brown leaves and glistening frost, slithered toward the circle.

"Stay down!" Weevilpaw yowled, belly dropping to the sand. All except Estherfern mimicked the cleric apprentice. The Spirits of Shadow raced alongside the trail of ichor and into the circle. They dug and clawed at the sand, following their lifeblood back into the depths. But they were the lucky ones.

Estherfern could not see them, but she could see their power unfold. Unseen talons snatched spirits by their backs and flung them into the sky. Eager, invisible jaws snapped and bit into the sticky flesh of the spirits. Something dragged unlucky spirits into the shadows, screaming. They sank into the earth before they reached the circle. They dissolved into steaming piles of ichor with torturous wails.

The world went white. The loudest, strongest clap of thunder Estherfern had ever heard reverberated through her skeleton and stayed singing in her ears. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear. Her skin buzzed. In a moment of clarity tucked within the chaos, Estherfern wondered if this is what her kits felt. A path without sight, without sound, heart pushing out of your chest, is a blessing compared to the fate that awaits the rot.

It took some time for Estherfern's vision to clear. She and her Clanmates were still standing, unharmed. The ichor and spirits were gone. There was no sign they had been there at all, save for a few mushrooms missing from the circle. The other cats groaned, rubbing their ears and eyes. They were alive. The spirits had left RippleClan.

Something drew Estherfern's gaze up. Clear shapes formed within the clouds, backed by a pale glow. Each cloud looked perfectly like its subject; a wolf, a fox, an owl, a hawk, a rat, and a cougar. Where their eyes would have been were balls of lightning, sparking and dancing, glaring down at the Clans in hunger.

The creatures of the glowing sky do not rule this land, but visitors cannot be denied. The stars shall extend their power, and the beasts shall fill their bellies. So it has been for you, so it shall be for all.

"Foampaw?" Estherfern gulped, barely capable of hearing herself.

"Can I open my eyes now?" Anchovystrike gulped. He still had his paws over his face.

"They're gone!" Weevilpaw cried. She ran into the circle and plowed into Estherfern. The old molly looked back to the clouds, but they were now a simple sheet of gray against black. Honeybuzz and Troutpool joined them, pressing against Estherfern.

"Is StarClan still watching over us?" Wolfgaze asked, hopping into the circle.

"They left when the ritual began," Oilstripe stammered, staring across the river, "but they've returned. They're watching from afar. I can't tell what they're thinking."

"They're on our side," Honeybuzz promised, waving the others into the circle. "I petitioned them myself at the last half-moon. We wouldn't have done this if StarClan disapproved."

"They may not have disapproved," Estherfern muttered, "but that does not mean they are proud."

"I think they are!" Troutpool chirped. "It was scary, but we've banished the spirits. We can walk our lands freely again. We wouldn't have saved the Clan without you, Estherfern." Troutpool nuzzled Estherfern, but the old molly still stared at the clouds.

"I don't understand you, StarClan," she whispered, not caring whether the cats pressed into her overheard. "You ask my God to send me here, you stand by while I summon your enemies, you allow me to draw the gaze of something far worse on your descendants. Why?" The stars shall extend their power… the voice in Estherfern's head had been as clear as when Foampaw last stood by Estherfern's side. Was it somehow better for the Clans to attract the attention of the Six Predators? Was it an earnest decision, made for the betterment of the five Clans? Did StarClan desire more power, more control, more souls?

Estherfern sighed. She would find no answers that night. She would be the one providing answers soon enough.

(Estherfern: 112, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Honeybuzz: 26, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Troutpool: 39, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Oilstripe: 82, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Wolfgaze: 13, female, codekeeper, thoughtful, connection to StarClan, good speaker)

(Anchovystrike: 13, male, warrior, playful, deep StarClan bond)

(Weevilpaw: 13, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)

(Scaleripple: 31, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Moon 74, Part 2)

Estherfern’s kits become apprentices.

[Image ID: Estherfern’s five kits now have apprentice sprites. Under Thunderpaw, it says LEVEL UP! THUNDERKIT → THUNDERPAW, BULLYING → ADVENTUROUS. Under Boughpaw, it says LEVEL UP! BOUGHKIT → BOUGHPAW, QUIET → RIGHTEOUS. Under Brightpaw, it says LEVEL UP! BRIGHTKIT → BRIGHTPAW, SKY → LONESOME, + PERMANENT CONDITION: SOCIAL ANXIETY. Under Foampaw, it says LEVEL UP! FOAMKIT → FOAMPAW, UNRULY → TROUBLESOME. Under Wolverinepaw, it says LEVEL UP! WOLVERINEKIT → WOLVERINEPAW, SKITTISH → COMPASSIONATE.]

---

“Let me be the first to say that you five have a hard apprenticeship ahead of you,” Downstar declared over the camp as Estherfern sat behind her kits. All five sat as groomed as Estherfern could get them, trying to remember their mother’s lessons on decorum. Brightkit shook harder than anyone else, ears threatening to tilt down. Wolverinekit and Foamkit’s tails poked at the other, unable to keep their excitement hidden. Thunderkit sat just a bit closer to the Shiprock while Boughkit remained the only one still and politely attentive, as Estherfern taught her to be. The rest of RippleClan listened with similar captured attention to their leader.

“On top of some of the personal struggles you face,” Downstar continued, “I’m afraid you won’t have the same freedoms most of your Clanmates had at your age. We can’t risk you being caught unawares by the spirit that claimed our beloved deputy.” Estherfern would make sure of that. She had already performed a ritual over the apprentice’s den with Honeybuzz and Weevilpaw, guarding the incoming apprentices from harm.

“Despite that,” Downstar said, “RippleClan will ensure you are ready for the challenges ahead. The five of you have reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. Thunderkit, from this day forward until you receive your full name, you shall be known as Thunderpaw. You have expressed interest in the path of a caretaker, and I have chosen Drumtooth as your mentor.” The newly named Thunderpaw jumped up, scanning the crowd behind her mother for her new mentor. Drumtooth slipped around Estherfern and the other kits. Thunderpaw was almost Drumtooth’s size, making it easy for her to touch his nose. Her whole pelt shivered with excitement. 

“In order to give you the best pawhold on your future,” Downstar added as Drumtooth and Thunderpaw returned their gaze to her, “Troutpool and Paleseed have arranged for you to receive some lessons in Clan-sign from Mummichogleap, a deaf warrior of SlugClan. I’ve already informed Drumtooth of this arrangement and with his help, you shall become an excellent caretaker.”

“I’ll try, Downstar,” Drumtooth promised with a deep nod.

“Me too,” Thunderpaw chirped.

Clan-sign? Estherfern had never heard of any lesson plans. She was Thunderpaw’s mother, why hadn’t she been informed? She found Troutpool to the side of the crowd, seated with Tallowpaw and Slushpaw. Troutpool’s focus was on Thunderpaw as she and Drumtooth moved aside for the next kit of the litter to earn their name. Why would Troutpool agree to these lessons? How much time would this Clan-sign take away from Thunderpaw’s important lessons? Why did she have to learn such a trick when she should use that time to hone her survival skills? If they had to talk to someone outside the Clan for these lessons, obviously no one in RippleClan knew Clan-sign. What would be the point of learning something no one else understood?

Estherfern got so caught up in herself, she nearly missed when Boughkit stepped forward and Downstar delivered her new name.

“From this moment on,” Downstar declared, “until you receive your full name, you shall be known as Boughpaw. You have chosen a historian’s path, and I have chosen Oilstripe as your mentor.”

“You did?” Oilstripe muttered so quietly Estherfern barely heard her. She crept out of the crowd, focus shifting between Boughpaw and Downstar.

“Weedfoot taught you well, Oilstripe,” Downstar sighed with a slow nod. “I want you to continue following in her pawsteps by training a new apprentice.” Oilstripe held her breath at the mention of the former deputy. She sighed, bowing softly with a quiet purr. She softly touched noses with Boughpaw and escorted her to the side.

“Brightkit,” Downstar called. Brightkit didn’t move at first, eyes locked on Downstar, paws stuck in the sand. Foamkit head-butted him from behind, making him skitter forward. He fought to his paws, staring up in awe at his leader. “From this day forward until you receive your full name, you shall be known as Brightpaw. In order to craft you into the best warrior you can be, Trumpetspore shall be your mentor. Her wisdom and skill shall guide you down the path you’re destined to follow.” Estherfern hid her disappointment when Trumpetspore came up. The black molly was too awkward for Estherfern’s tastes. Brightpaw needed a mentor with strength and confidence to supply him with what he lacked. Estherfern bit her tongue as Trumpetspore and Brightpaw touched noses.

“Foamkit,” Downstar said, but the ticked molly was up and ready before her name was even called. “From this moment on, until you receive your full name, you shall be known as Foampaw. You have decided to be a caretaker like your sister, so I have chosen Mosspounce as your mentor. Don’t get into too much trouble, now.” A chuckle rose through the Clan as Mosspounce bounded to his new apprentice. The pair smacked into one another’s faces in their eagerness to touch noses. Now if only Foampaw was a warrior and Brightpaw was a caretaker. Their mentors would have been good influences then. 

“Now Wolverinekit,” Downstar sighed, focusing on the youngest and fluffiest of the litter. “You have yet to tell me what path your paws wish to follow. As such, I will place you as a warrior apprentice, and you may change this path if you feel called to do so at any time. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Downstar,” Wolverinekit said. Estherfern tensed. Why was her confident, curious daughter unsure what to train as? It was her vision, Estherfern was sure of it. She felt insecure in her skills, she had to. How could she not? There had to be a way to cure her vision, no matter what anyone else said. Estherfern would find that cure.

“Then from this moment on, until you receive your warrior name,” Downstar declared, “you shall be known as Wolverinepaw. Leathermask shall be your mentor.” The Clan began to cheer before Leathermask even got close to Wolverinepaw.

“Thunderpaw! Boughpaw! Brightpaw! Foampaw! Wolverinepaw!” What a long chant! It seemed undignified for a priestess to raise her voice like everyone else. Still, her children deserved the honor. Estherfern yowled along with her Clanmates as her five kits beamed in the praise. 

“Can we all train together?” Thunderpaw asked, gently pawing Drumtooth’s shoulder. “Can we go see Battle Beach?” Wolverinepaw and Foampaw’s eyes glinted at the idea. 

“Maybe we should get you all settled in the apprentice’s den first,” Oilstripe suggested. “It’s almost sunhigh. We might as well make sure you all have a place to sleep, considering how little room there is in there.”

“I’m making my nest next to Vervainpaw!” Foampaw yowled. She charged across camp, ignoring Estherfern entirely.

“I already said I’m sleeping next to her!” Wolverinepaw huffed, running after her sister. The other cats trailed after the excited mollies, accepting the congratulations of their Clanmates as they passed. However, only four apprentices headed for the apprentice’s den. Brightpaw whispered something in Trumpetspore’s ear. Trumpetspore listened intently and nodded. Brightpaw scurried off toward the warrior’s den. Now what was so important that Brightpaw would run away as soon as his ceremony was over?

Estherfern trailed through the dissipating crowds after her only son. Brightpaw paused at the edge of the den, looking in and out. Estherfern paused outside the artisan’s supply den, pretending to nibble an itch on her paw. Spikecrash padded to the warrior’s den with a big yawn. From the corner of her eye, Estherfern saw Brightpaw paw at Spikecrash before she could enter. She turned her ear to the conversation.

“That was horrible,” Brightpaw gulped. “I thought you said the ceremony wouldn’t be bad!”

“It wasn’t, I promise,” Spikecrash insisted, tail to Brightpaw’s shoulder. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“My heart makes me more scared than I need to be around others,” Brightpaw muttered, head sinking, “but I need to trust my heart too, don’t I?”

“Social anxiety can be a deceitful disorder of the mind, Brightpaw,” Spikecrash said. “When it comes to these moments, your heart wants to run away, but just remember, you don’t have to. Whatever you may think, it’s not what everyone else thinks. Try to remember that the next time you have to talk to a lot of cats.” 

Social anxiety? Now what was that? Estherfern had never heard of a disorder of the mind before. She knew mediators dealt with those sorts of issues, but she had dismissed them as simple emotional problems. Was Brightpaw sick? How long had he been talking to Spikecrash? Why had he not told Estherfern what was wrong? Another kit of hers, sick, set apart from the Clan, placed at disadvantage…

Estherfern would not stand for this.

(Downstar: 133, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Estherfern: 108, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Brightpaw: 6, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, lover of art)

(Wolverinepaw: 6, female, warrior apprentice, compassionate, always asking questions)

(Foampaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, troublesome, always wandering)

(Thunderpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, adventurous, moss-ball hunter)

(Boughpaw: 6, female, historian apprentice, righteous, constantly climbing)

(Drumtooth: 22, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Oilstripe: 78, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Trumpetspore: 35, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Mosspounce: 35, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Leathermask: 22, male, warrior, nervous, good fighter, eloquent speaker)

(Spikecrash: 49, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

Stormkit is worried about Lightningkit, who whimpers in her sleep.

[Image ID: Stormkit approaches Lightningkit, asking "Lightningkit?"]

---

The nursery was so different from the one Stormkit saw in her earliest memories. That nursery had been so packed with kits and queens, there was barely any room to move come nightfall! But now, with Estherfern’s litter in the now stuffed apprentice’s den, only two nests remained. Stormkit was getting too big to sleep with her father and littermates in the same nest, but she stayed close to the warmth of Waspdawn’s chest regardless, at peace with the weight of his chin on her back.

She wasn’t sure what woke her up at first. Her droopy eyes took a while to adjust to the dark and empty den. Sandkit and Yellowkit were thrown on top of each other, lost in their dreams. Waspdawn breathed slowly, his escaping breath tickling Stormkit’s fur. Their nest was a dark golden blur in the deep shadow. Puddlewhisper slept in the back of the den with Lightningkit and Cobaltkit. She, her siblings, and James took turns sleeping with Lightningkit and Cobaltkit in the nursery ever since Weedfoot left camp and returned as still and limp as Littlekit had once been. Whatever woke Stormkit, the noise came from the back of the den.

Stormkit pulled herself out from under Waspdawn’s chin. His head plunked into the nest. Stormkit froze, waiting for Waspdawn to wake up, but he remained asleep, breath now fiddling with the loose moss at the nest’s edge. Stormkit crawled out of the nest and peered deeper into the nursery. A tiny whimper caught her ear. 

“Lightningkit?” Stormkit whispered. Deep blue eyes burst to life at Puddlewhisper’s side. Really, did neither adult hear her denmate’s cries? 

“Huh?” Lightningkit gulped with a crack in her voice. “Stormkit?”

“Were you crying?” Stormkit asked. She snuck closer to the long-furred kit. Cobaltkit and Puddlewhisper were still deeply asleep, but Lightningkit, tucked by Puddlewhisper’s leg, blinked sleep from her eyes.

“Was I?” Lightningkit mumbled. “Sorry.” She rubbed her face in her nest.

“Are you alright?” Stormkit asked. She sat at the edge of the nest, studying her kin’s dark face.

“Maybe,” Lightningkit said. “I… think I was dreaming about my mom.” Her voice quivered and her whiskers shivered. “I thought Puddlewhisper was her for a moment. I really wish she was here.” Stormkit licked Lightningkit’s shoulder. She gently nuzzled the red molly.

“I wish I could bring her back for you,” Stormkit mumbled. 

“It’s too quiet in here,” Lightningkit gulped, no longer able to keep her sorrow from her words. She pressed into Stormkit with another whimper.

“Puddlewhisper and my dad won’t be too mad if we walk around camp,” Stormkit suggested, pulling her face out of the mess of Lightningkit’s long fur. “Let’s walk around.” She gently nipped Lightningkit’s paw, pulling her out of the nest. Lightningkit swallowed hard. She crawled away from Cobaltkit and Puddlewhisper. Stormkit leaned against Lightningkit, nudging her onwards. The two crept out of the dark nursery and into the camp clearing, dimly lit by a small fire.

It wouldn’t fill the nursery again, or the gaps in either molly’s lives, but it would help a bit. It was the best two kits could do for one another.

(Stormkit: 5, female, kit, know-it-all, loves to eat)

(Waspdawn: 40, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Lightningkit: 4, female, kit, self-conscious, always wandering)

Anchovypaw gets lost on patrol.

[Image ID: Anchovypaw is lost.]

---

Anchovypaw was not lost. He just wasn’t sure which part of the forest he was in. When you’re focused on the hunt, the trees all start to look the same! It wasn’t Anchovypaw’s fault. He was trying to feed his Clan! Still, the smell of autumn consumed his path from Halibutdusk and the rest of the hunting patrol. All he could smell were sharp orange leaves and the two dead mice in his jaws.

Anchovypaw set the mice at his paws and called, “Halibutdusk? Splashtuft? Billowpaw?” All he received in return was a flutter of leaves dancing overhead. One landed on top of his head. He chuckled and batted the leaf off. Alright then! If he couldn’t call out to his patrol, he would just go home. The camp was by the ocean; if Anchovypaw kept walking east, he would eventually hit the beach and would find his way back to camp in no time at all. Besides, being alone meant…

Anchovypaw pounced on a fat oak leaf. The crunch sent glee pounding through his pelt. He purred and wiggled his flank, no longer caring about the proper hunter’s crouch. He pounced on a pile of leaves blown into the crook of a thick trunk. He purred harder with each crack and crinkle. He rolled in the leaves, closing his eyes and enjoying the dappled light creating strange shadows on his eyelids.

Anchovypaw rested his head on the leaves and stared out at the mix of green, orange, and red that was the forest of RippleClan. Autumn was by far the best season to wash over the territories. Maybe he could convince Weevilpaw and Wolfpaw to sneak out and jump in the leaves. Except… no. It wasn’t safe to be out alone. No one else had been able to see the ichor covering Downstar as Rapidleaf carried her into camp, mixing with her blood. Not everyone understood what it meant for such danger to stain the walls of camp. Too many remembered the Shardling’s wild yellow eyes tearing into the nursery.

Anchovypaw hurried to his feet, the leaves scattering around him. Halibutdusk was likely getting nervous. No matter how much Anchovypaw wanted to enjoy the beautiful, cool day, he had to get home, for everyone’s sake. Yet as he reached for his mice, something black caught his eye. It had been hidden underneath the leaves at first, but now it absorbed the dappled light in the shape of a blurred paw print. The paw print was made of ichor.

Anchovypaw cleared away the leaves. He slapped and smacked them to the side, using his tail to clear as many as he could. He found three more ichor-stained paw prints under the leaves. They pointed toward the unseen ocean, but were thicker going the other way. The first paw print Anchovypaw found was the farthest along the stranger’s path, with only the slightest stain of ichor telling Anchovypaw what had happened. There was no way to know just where they were going, if they were heading for camp or somewhere else… but Anchovypaw could figure out where the paw prints came from. He had to. For his friends. For his siblings. For Robinkit and his mother.

Picking his mice back up, Anchovypaw traced the paw prints through the leaves and litter. He slowly followed the trail backwards, brushing aside leaves as he went. The trail looped around pines and firs, as though enjoying a humble stroll. But nothing that left paw prints like these could be considered humble.

The ichor pooled at the edge of a dark den dug under the weak roots of a thin tree. Anchovypaw took a deep breath, but could not smell anyone inside the den. All he smelled were herbs. Creeping around the thick paw prints, Anchovypaw peered inside the den.

A mushroom circle filled the interior of the den. Anchovypaw might have thought it natural at first glance, but each mushroom had been plucked, dried, and carefully placed within the den. A strange green poultice filled the holes in between the mushrooms. Anchovypaw couldn’t tell what herbs were used, but it reminded him of chats with Weevilpaw in the medicine den. The black ichor dripped out of the heart of the circle and into the dip near the den’s entrance. Someone made this strange circle, but who? Whoever left the ichor behind, Anchovypaw was the only one who could get rid of it. He would show the clerics, Weevilpaw, and Wolfpaw the den, but first, he had to handle the threat. This time, he’d be the one to defeat it. It was his gift to bring the things to life. It was his responsibility.

Anchovypaw set his mice aside and peered at the puddle of ichor. He could already taste it. It hadn’t been too long since the Shardling stampeded through the nursery, but in that moment, Anchovypaw felt both five moons and five hundred moons old, the tragedy both a day and a thousand days in the past. Anchovypaw dipped his muzzle into the ichor pool and grabbed hold. 

The ichor pulled from the pool like flesh ripped from prey. This time around, Anchovypaw could keep his feet firmly planted as the supernatural goop dragged itself out of the circle, collecting in Anchovypaw’s jaws. He braced himself as the Dark Forest energy manifested in his grasp. It was the size of an apprentice, only slightly smaller than himself. But the size didn’t matter. Anchovypaw would deal with it.

As the manifestation opened its red eyes, forming feline ears and a sharp, swishing tail, Anchovypaw threw it to the grass. The beast was only prey to him; dangerous prey that had to be snuffed out like a dying fire. Anchovypaw dug his teeth into the spirit’s throat. It screeched and gurgled like bubbling mud. Anchovypaw stood on its flank and pushed down, biting harder and harder. The creature clawed at Anchovypaw’s pelt, taking out chunks of brown and white fur. Anchovypaw dug his claws in in return. The ichor pooled between his pads. 

Anchovypaw didn’t let go until the creature dissolved into nothing but dripping goop, leaking like salt water from the apprentice’s bared jaws. All that remained was a small pile of ichor, sloshing like wet clay. Anchovypaw sat beside it, panting and gagging on the taste. StarClan, he hated that part. Whatever energy remained over the strange den, it was gone. 

But how did it get there in the first place?

(Anchovypaw: 9, male, warrior apprentice, playful, curious about StarClan)

Estherfern senses a presence on patrol.

[Image ID: Estherfern sees the ghost of Harvest. Under Estherfern, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: BEWARE (PROPHECY).]

---

Estherfern rarely got moments alone when she lived with the cat-minded human. That den had been so packed and chaotic, she considered anything that didn’t hurt to be a blessing. But when she did get time to herself, when she could quiet her mind, the realms of the spiritual opened to her. That’s what made her so good at connecting with the afterlife of the Clans, how she won the admiration of the other clerics despite her disdain for medicine, how she found security. She was good at it.

So why were her prayers unanswered now?

“This should fix it,” Estherfern grumbled as she rubbed the earthy poultice in the gaps of the mushroom circle. The poultice had dried up the last time Estherfern visited her private den; that was likely why she was met with silence on her last visit. Either that, or her offering had been unsuited for her guest. A little trial and error was to be expected; there was only so much she could ask Terracottafoot about these summoning rituals without raising the odd cleric’s suspicion. The rest of it was pieced together from Troutpool and Honeybuzz’s lessons on channeling StarClan spirits (a ritual Estherfern hoped to see in practice sooner rather than later).

Estherfern rubbed the last of the fresh poultice into the dirt and licked her paw clean. She stepped out of the den and grabbed her new offering; a tuft of Lightningkit’s fur, plucked from her nest while the kit played with her sister. Sure, Estherfern’s earlier attempts had been partial successes, but she had yet to have a full conversation. She had only managed to recreate a pool of that strange ichor that peeled off Rattlepelt’s skin moons ago, but that splashed and rolled deep into the forest before she could do anymore. Perhaps Estherfern shouldn’t have focused on stories of a long-dead cleric, but heeded one of Oilstripe’s stories; a tale of a father who would do anything for his kits. Perhaps this approach, with this offering and Estherfern’s earnesty, would prove successful.

“I call upon the spirit of Hawthornstealer,” Estherfern said as she placed the offering inside the circle, “banished from StarClan for his disastrous pursuit of his offspring’s legacy. Despite your sins, your assistance is required. Return to the Clans, if only for a moment. Speak to us.” Estherfern sat at the edge of the circle and closed her eyes. The summer sun beat onto her spiky pelt and lulled her mind. She kept her ears pricked, waiting for the sound of bubbling mud.

“Estherfern!” The brown cleric jumped, her head smacking into the ceiling of her makeshift den. She turned, slightly dazed. The sun crowned a brown and white figure outside the den. Glowing white eyes glared through Estherfern. Starlight sparkled and shifted across the figure’s pelt. Estherfern had not known her for long, but she couldn’t forget Harvest and the fury which she fought for her kits. A fury that was now turned to Estherfern.

“Beware, Estherfern!” Harvest yowled. Unfelt wind buffeted her pelt. Estherfern’s spine curled. “The spread of spores produces nothing but decay! They grow not in light, but darkness! A path without sight, without sound, heart pushing out of your chest, is a blessing compared to the fate that awaits the rot!”

And with that, she disappeared. The wind stirred Estherfern’s heart in the dead queen’s absence.

(Estherfern: 108, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)