#halibutkit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does that mean…” she gulped.

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

Carnationspeckle becomes a caretaker!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So back to games?” Duskkit asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fennelspot gives Puddlespeckle some forget-me-not flowers.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So this is…” Parsley asked as Scrubmask placed a red-brown square the size of Parsley’s paw in front of her.

“We call it pemmican,” Scrubmask explained. She sat politely next to Parsley’s nest, situated in a cozy corner of the medicine den. “Fennelspot is visiting StarClan’s Shrine tonight, and pemmican will give him enough energy for the journey and give the Clan a reliable source of food while prey returns to the territory.”

“I’m not one to insult culture,” Parsley chuckled awkwardly, poking the square, “but this looks like blood-stained tree bark.”

“Carnationpaw made it from a hare,” Scrubmask said. “You dry meat and berries, soak it in the animal’s fat, and it hardens into these blocks. I think. I don’t know, we don’t have an artisan.”

“I suppose I’ll try it,” Parsley groaned, sniffing the pemmican. She nibbled on the edge of the bar. “Huh. Ms. Scrubmask, what do you suppose that sharp flavor is?”

“Sweetness,” Scrubmask guessed. “I don’t know. I can’t taste sweet things.”

“Well, you are quite clever in making this!” Parsley said. 

“I didn’t have a paw in it,” Scrubmask sighed, staring out of the den. “Cooking seems like a waste of time to me.”

“Well I would have to politely disagree!” Parsley hummed. She took another bite of the pemmican and licked her lips. Scrubmask’s eyes drifted to Parsley’s cobweb-wrapped tail. The bleeding had stopped, thankfully, but most of the gray fur was hidden behind Fennelspot’s poultices and mixtures.

“How are you recovering?” Scrubmask asked. Parsley swallowed her pemmican and followed Scrubmask’s gaze. 

“It hurts to move it too much,” Parsley admitted. “I’m mighty grateful you and your friends brought me here. I couldn’t have treated it myself.”

“Hopefully you’ll recover soon and be on your way,” Scrubmask mumbled.

“Well, dear,” Parsley chuckled, placing her paw over Scrubmask’s, “I’ve been talking to Ms. Downstar. She’s a very nice molly, I must say. We got to talking about what I would do when I’m recovered and, well… I was wondering if I could join your little group. Officially, I mean.” Scrubmask’s droopy ears perked up.

“Do you mean that?” Scrubmask asked.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” Parsley purred. “Your leader told me how she wants to welcome more cats outside your little Clans into RippleClan, be a bit more open, a bit more diverse, all good things. I’m getting up there in moons, and I don’t want to fight off dogs and rats in a barn the rest of my days. I think I would like joining you on those patrols of yours.” For the first time since Parsley met the gloomy warrior, Scrubmask purred.

“That’s a good idea,” Scrubmask hummed. Parsley purred and munched on her sweet meal.

(Parsley: 104, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

(Scrubmask: 27, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

Duskkit sneaks out of camp and brings back some juniper after she gets stuck in a bush.

[Image ID: Duskkit has juniper berries tucked behind her ear. Underneath her, it reads + ACCESSORY: JUNIPER BERRIES]

---

“How could she get around you?” Downstar yowled as she paced around Oilstripe in the dim light of the crescent moon. The young historian squirmed under her leader’s furious eyes.

“I’m sorry!” Oilstripe groaned. “I stepped away for a few seconds to get Carnationpaw, and Duskkit was running out of camp before we got back to the exit! I’ve been guarding camp all night, how was I supposed to know Duskkit planned a breakout?”

“You still let her disappear,” Downstar hissed. “If she gets hurt out there, it’s on your paws, Oilstripe!” Oilstripe shrunk, lowering her head. Carnationpaw rubbed against Downstar.

“Downstar, even Puddlespeckle is out looking for Duskkit,” Carnationpaw cooed. “She wouldn’t go far. She’ll be okay.” Downstar groaned and marched over to Parsley by the nursery. The new addition to the group had volunteered to watch over the remaining kits while the rest of RippleClan scoured the territory. Rustshade’s litter were old enough to behave themselves and stay in their nests, but as for Downstar’s little troublemakers…

“We could help look for Duskkit!” Graykit suggested, playing leap-frog over Parsley’s wounded tail. Her adult eye color had taken over her baby-blues faster than anyone else in her litter, showing off a brilliant amber color. Those amber eyes screamed of mischief as Graykit eyed the exit.

“Duskkit is in enough trouble as is,” Downstar huffed.

“But we know Duskkit!” Halibutkit huffed from his cozy spot at Parsley’s paws. From the way his eyes gleamed, he seemed destined to have the same eye color as Graykit, adding another factor of confusion as to who was who. “We know where she would go!”

“You don’t know the territory,” Downstar reminded her son. A dark shape slunk in the corner of Downstar’s eye. “Shadowkit, you get back here right now!”

“You never let us have any fun,” Shadowkit whined. The stocky tom marched back to his littermates, dragging his paws in the sand.

“No one else is leaving camp!” Downstar groaned. “StarClan, you’re going to take one of my lives at this rate.”

“Mom, look what I got!” a tiny, proud voice called from the entrance to camp. Downstar spun around. Duskkit trotted back into camp with something tucked behind her ear. She acted like she had done nothing wrong. Oilstripe and Carnationpaw gawked at the black molly as she strolled toward the nursery.

“Duskkit, where have you been?” Downstar yowled. She raced to her daughter’s side and scooped her close. Graykit stepped on Parsley’s tail as she scurried up to the family reunion. Parsley yelped as the rest of the litter swarmed Duskkit.

“I went exploring!” Duskkit chirped. “It was great!”

“You are in so much trouble,” Downstar growled, pressing her nose into Duskkit’s fur. “You aren’t allowed to leave camp!”

“I know,” Duskkit chuckled. “That’s why I waited until Oilstripe looked away!”

“This is not my fault,” Oilstripe huffed.

“What did you see?” Halibutkit asked.

“Did you run into any cougars?” Graykit gasped.

“What’s that?” Shadowkit asked, staring at Duskkit’s ear. A small lump of juniper berries nestled into Duskkit’s fur.

“I was exploring the forest, and I ran into a bush!” Duskkit said, showing off the burrs and leaf-buds stuck in her fur. “I was really stuck in there, but then the black kittypet showed up and got me out!”

“A kittypet?” Downstar and Graykit said at the same time, albeit with drastically different tones.

“He had dark fur, like me!” Duskkit explained. “I got out and he told me to go home. I didn’t want to, but I heard Scrubmask yelling for me. I didn’t want her to carry me back like a kit! So I came home early.”

“And with a prize!” Shadowkit cheered, sniffing the berries stuck in Duskkit’s fur.

“I’m gonna keep them,” Duskkit declared. She showed off the berries in the faint moonlight.

“Duskkit, they’ll rot on your head,” Downstar sighed. She reached down to pull the berries out, but Duskkit nipped her paws and slipped out.

“No!” Duskkit whined. She ran toward the nursery, screaming all the way back. Her littermates yowled incoherently as they ran after Duskkit. Downstar groaned and slumped into the sand.

“Carnationpaw, go find our Clanmates,” she groaned. Downstar closed her eyes as her children rampaged through the nursery. She would deal with that in a minute. She could practically feel the stress eating at her first life. 

Why was he roaming the territory?

(Downstar: 69, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Oilstripe: 14, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Carnationpaw: 12, female, caretaker apprentice, compassionate, splashes in puddles)

(Graykit: 2, female, kit, impulsive, careful listener)

(Parsley: 104, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

(Shadowkit: 2, male, kit, troublesome, careful listener)

(Halibutkit: 2, male, kit, impulsive, quick witted)

By the time the new moon arrived, Weedfoot and Oilpaw had to decide on RippleClan’s funeral traditions.

They would need a vigil for Twinekit, as all Clans did to mourn. It was Oilpaw who suggested dressing Twinekit in her namesake rather than just the death-shrouding herbs Fennelspot needed to make the small kit presentable. Carnationpaw crafted a simple necklace of cedar bark twine and placed it around Twinekit’s limp neck. Oilpaw tucked a few dry catmint leaves into the necklace too, as eternal protection against the disease that took her little sister.

Rustshade had been silent since Fennelspot stepped out of the medicine den and made his solemn announcement. He wordlessly agreed to all of the Clan’s ideas for how to properly honor a life that never truly began. When Fennelspot placed Twinekit in the center of camp, Rustshade laid beside her and did not move.

Scrubmask had to explain the situation to Burdockkit, Clamkit, and Locustkit. Burdockkit seemed not to grasp what Scrubmask meant. It took many painful questions before Burdockkit understood that no, Twinekit was not asleep, and no, she would not wake up. Clamkit went back to the nursery as soon as she could, and none of Downstar’s gentle coaxing could lure her out. Locustkit was the only one who cried, clutching a moss-ball as he laid at Rustshade’s side, head pressed into Twinekit’s fur.

Twinekit passed in the middle of the day, which meant RippleClan still had to go about their daily tasks. Oilpaw lingered as long as she could before Weedfoot, finally free of her wicked cough, took her and Carnationpaw on border patrol. Puddlespeckle joined Scrubmask on a hunt and brought back a humble mouse. Carnationpaw cooked it in the smoker and coaxed the kits to eat. She finally soothed Locustkit’s cries and sent him and his siblings to nap.

Rustshade, meanwhile, did nothing. No one could drag him away from his daughter, and no one wanted to. He stayed at her side, silent, until the last moments of dusk turned him into another red beam covering the camp. It was at that late hour, when the whole Clan rejoined Rustshade in his vigil, that Fennelspot asked an important question.

“Where do we bury our dead?”

It was a question no one had thought to ask themselves when they arrived at the shipwreck. They’d managed over half a year without any deaths, after all. RippleClan’s faces were empty of ideas. Oilpaw pretended to study the thick ceiling of clouds to hide her own lack of imagination.

“We’re the only Clan to live near the sea,” Scrubmask finally noted. “We could send the body out on the waves.” RippleClan’s empty faces filled with horror as all the adults stared at Scrubmask. Rustshade sneered at the pale ginger molly.

“We won’t disrespect her like that,” he growled. His voice was rough, as though he ate sand.

“LynxClan leaves their dead in the mountains all the time,” Scrubmask said, ignoring the outrage rippling through camp. “Twinekit’s spirit is gone. This is just her shell. We can’t disrespect her if she’s not here.”

“I think we need a different tradition,” Downstar sighed. She sat next to Rustshade and groomed his head until his face dropped and he relaxed back into Twinekit’s body.

“I have it,” Weedfoot gasped. She jogged across camp, almost knocking into Puddlespeckle. She jumped on the stones bordering the camp and flew over the brambles.

“Weedfoot, what are you doing?” Oilpaw called. A few minutes later, Weedfoot trotted through the entrance with a stone in her mouth. She dropped it at her paws.

“Our territory is full of stones and planks,” Weedfoot explained. “When someone joins StarClan, we can mark their resting place with this.” She patted the stone. “None of the other Clans do this. It would be a pure RippleClan tradition.” Rustshade stood. His joints groaned as he did so. He slowly approached Weedfoot and her stone. The rock was wet and glistened with salt. 

“Can we have a few more?” Rustshade asked.

“Of course,” Weedfoot said. “I’ll be back.” She touched noses with Rustshade and hurried back out of camp.

“I suppose I’ll need to find a spot to bury her,” Puddlespeckle groaned, stretching.

“What?” Downstar scoffed. “No. I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable with our elders burying the dead. I don’t think it’s good for your health.”

“It’s perfect for my health,” Puddlespeckle grumbled, turning on the pregnant leader. “You wanna know why AshClan elders bury their dead? Because we’re the furthest on our path to StarClan. When you’re the one putting a body to rest, it makes death a little less scary. We know what’s coming. So if we’re brainstorming traditions, that’s what I want RippleClan to do. Am I part of this Clan or not?” Downstar sighed. Her paw drifted over her swollen belly. Eventually, she nodded.

“Puddlespeckle,” Downstar declared, “it is your responsibility to put Twinekit to rest and choose a place for RippleClan to bury their dead.” She waddled to Puddlespeckle and touched her nose to his forehead. “Thank you.” For the first time Oilpaw could remember, Puddlespeckle’s eyes were soft as he bowed before Downstar.

Soon after, Oilpaw joined Rustshade, Fennelspot, and Puddlespeckle on a long walk through RippleClan territory. Puddlespeckle carried Twinekit by the scruff while Fennelspot carried a basket of stones. Oilpaw kept slipping on slick snow clinging to steep slopes, but the others were sturdy on their path. Puddlespeckle took the lead, as though he had buried the dead dozens of times.

“Here,” Puddlespeckle finally said through Twinekit’s scruff. He stopped at the top of a slope overlooking a more open field. The trees were fewer and farther apart below the slope. Oilpaw could imagine plenty of herbs and tall grasses growing there come the new year. If Oilpaw focused, she could see human dens far in the distance, toward WheatClan’s land. 

The old tom led the group down the slope and into the field. He stopped at a spot where the snow was thin, merely speckling the dead grass. He set Twinekit’s body down and began to dig.

“Why here?” Oilpaw asked as Rustshade joined Puddlespeckle.

“It’s a corner of the territory you’re almost certain not to lose in any conflicts with other Clans,” Puddlespeckle huffed as dirt piled behind him. “This way, she’ll never be defiled.” 

Puddlespeckle and Rustshade finished digging soon after. Fennelspot set his basket down and muttered a gentle prayer. Oilpaw picked up a few words and mumbled along. Puddlespeckle grabbed Twinekit’s scruff and set her in the hole. Rustshade stepped back as Puddlespeckle filled the hole back in. Oilpaw kept her eyes on the basket until Puddlespeckle was finished. 

“Grab a stone, everyone,” Fennelspot sighed. He plucked a sea-worn stone from the basket and set it on the mound. Puddlespeckle and Oilpaw placed their stones beside Fennelspot’s. Rustshade crowned the pile with his stone, carefully placed on top. 

“Hold on,” Oilpaw muttered, glancing back into the basket. “What’s this?” Oilpaw pulled a worn moss-ball out of the basket.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Fennelspot sighed. “Before we left, Locustkit gave me his moss-ball. He wants Twinekit to have it. He said it would give her something to do in StarClan.” Rustshade groaned in a voice so soft that Oilpaw mistook it for wind at first. She put the moss-ball next to the rock pile.

“Let’s put this in a place of honor,” Puddlespeckle sighed. He moved the moss-ball on top of the rocks. “There we go. Rustshade, what do you think?” Rustshade nodded silently. He sat at the edge of the mound and rested his chin on the disturbed dirt.

“I’m gonna stay here with him,” Oilpaw whispered to Fennelspot. “Is that okay?”

“I think Weedfoot will understand,” Fennelspot sighed. He picked up his basket and made his way back up the slope. Puddlespeckle stopped by Rustshade and rested his tail on the ginger tom’s back. Rustshade purred softly and brushed his own tail against Puddlespeckle’s foot. With that, the rosetted elder followed Fennelspot home.

Oilpaw settled next to her father. She didn’t feel cold next to him, but her guilt dragged her down. How much anger brewed under Rustshade’s fur? Did he hate Oilpaw for not talking to Sunstrike? Sure, Rustshade could be a lying, stuck up hypocrite, but he was still Oilpaw’s dad. He still raised her when Sunstrike couldn’t. 

“I can’t tell her,” Rustshade groaned softly. He turned his face away from Oilpaw and the rock pile. “I can’t face your mother now.” Oilpaw pressed her head into Rustshade’s side before she even thought to do so.

[Image ID: Oilpaw and Rustshade face a small stack of stones with a moss-ball on top. A transparent version of Twinekit stands behind the stones. Oilpaw says “I’ll tell her, Dad. You were right. She deserves to know.”]

“I’ll tell her, Dad,” Oilpaw gulped. “You were right. She deserves to know.” Rustshade curled himself around Oilpaw, like when she was a little kitten and settled by his belly for a nap. Oilpaw purred and rubbed against Rustshade as the codekeeper closed his eyes.

“Is this for me?” a small voice asked. Oilpaw’s heart spasmed. Her eyes locked onto the grave marker. Twinekit stood beside the stones, sniffing the moss-ball. Her twine necklace dangled against her chest. Her pelt was soft and lucious. When the light caught her fur at the right angle, it sparkled like a star. Oilpaw could see through her little sister’s body to the snow beyond. 

Oilpaw didn’t dare to breathe as Twinekit grabbed the moss-ball. The moss-ball itself did not move; rather, Twinekit picked up an identical copy as transparent as Twinekit. Oilpaw looked to her father, praying he saw the miracle too, but he stayed oblivious, eyes squeezed tight as he fought through waves of grief.

“Are you ready to go now?” someone groaned. A familiar white figure trotted out from behind a tree. She was a molly with soft green eyes. Unlike Twinekit, this newcomer’s pelt was solid, but glistened with the beauty of a hundred stars. She left no paw prints in her wake. 

“Look what Locustkit gave me!” Twinekit chirped through a mouthful of moss. The mysterious stranger laughed and batted at the moss-ball.

“I love it,” the stranger laughed, “but are you ready?” Twinekit shook out her pelt. Her form grew solid and starlight surrounded her, just as it surrounded the stranger. Twinekit nodded, earning another laugh from the stranger. Oilpaw forced her fur to stay flat. Despite her best efforts, her pelt spiked when the stranger locked eyes with her.

“So you can see me!” the stranger gasped. “I knew it! Do you remember me? You saw me on that beach patrol with the dog.” Oilpaw nodded stiffly. Shouldn’t she say something? She couldn’t make herself talk. “This is really interesting. I can’t stay long, but you should at least know who I am.” She pulled Twinekit close and fluffed up her chest. “I’m Moonpaw, mediator apprentice extraordinaire! If you can see me know, you’ll probably see a lot more of me. Now, if you’ll excuse us…” 

Moonpaw nudged Twinekit along. Twinekit waved her tail goodbye, purring. Oilpaw carefully lifted her own, unsure of what her eyes told her. Moonpaw walked beside Twinekit, leaving stars in their wake. The pair walked behind a tall pine and did not appear on the other side. Oilpaw watched the tree for a long time, her breath quick and mind blank.

“We’ll be okay, Oilpaw,” Rustshade mumbled. He groomed Oilpaw’s head with half-open eyes. Oilpaw tucked herself closer to her clueless father. Her grief had been ripped away and replaced with a deep unease that squeezed her guts.

(Weedfoot: 57, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Oilpaw: 12, female, historian apprentice, charismatic, morbidly curious)

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

(Rustshade: 65, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Fennelspot: 65, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Scrubmask: 25, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Burdockkit: 2, male, kit, bossy, interested in Clan history)

(Clamkit: 2, female, kit, lonesome, interested in Clan history)

(Locustkit: 2, male, kit, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)

(Downstar: 67, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Puddlespeckle: 134, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

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

Downstar doesn’t feel ready to be the mom of four kits, but she promises the tiny flailing limbs at her belly that she’ll do her best, she swears on StarClan.

[Image ID: Downstar sits above four newborn kits; Halibutkit, an impulsive male; Duskkit, a troublesome female; Graykit, an impulsive female; and Shadowkit, a troublesome male. Beside Downstar, update text reads - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH]

---

For a while, Downstar thought the pain would never end. Her contractions started at some point in the middle of the night, and only grew worse over the course of the day. Fennelspot never left her side, helping her through each terrible spasm. According to him, the delivery was perfectly normal, but Downstar was certain she would lose one of her nine lives that day. She had the lives to spare; if she had to give one up to bring her children into the world, she would gladly do so.

Night blurred into day and back into night. Slowly but surely, each of Downstar’s kits popped out and settled by her belly. She was too focused on the next delivery to truly soak in the small body suckling next to her, but Carnationpaw, who stuck with Downstar as much as she could, assured her that each kit was beautiful.

“It’s a tom,” Carnationpaw said of the first kit when Downstar was too delirious to think straight. “He’s a sort of silvery-gray color. A mackerel tabby, I think. The color looks a bit like Weedfoot. Oh, wouldn’t it be cute to name him Weedkit?”

“I’ll name them later,” Downstar groaned through the stick in her mouth. 

The second kit, a black molly, came out soon after her brother, just as dusk hit the camp. Her tiny paws kneaded and poked at Downstar’s belly in a violent search for milk. Downstar couldn’t help but laugh. It was like the small kit knew just what to do to distract her mother from the pain.

The third kit took a while to arrive. Twilight had almost faded completely from the territories before a little molly slipped out. Carnationpaw oohed and awwed as Fennelspot cleaned the squirming kitten up.

“Wow, Downstar!” Carnationpaw laughed. “She looks just like your first kit! Same colors, same stripes… you have a pair of twins on your paws!”

“In SlugClan,” Fennelspot said as he guided the kit to Downstar’s belly, “identical kits are a sign from StarClan. Their lives will be forever intertwined. They will complement each other well.”

Downstar’s fourth and final kit arrived just as Scrubmask and Rustshade returned from night patrol. The little tom was black, like his oldest sister, but had stocky stripes and a lighter tint to his fur that better matched his other sister. 

“Not a single ginger pelt in the group,” Carnationpaw chuckled. “That’s impressive.” As the pain began to fade and her Clanmates’ congratulatory purrs filled the nursery, Downstar studied her beautiful kits. They were so alive. Each one wiggled, squirmed, and mewled as loud as they could.

“We couldn’t have asked for a better delivery,” Fennelspot purred. He rubbed against Downstar’s head. “How do you feel?”

“Overwhelmed,” Downstar laughed. “I was certain something would go wrong.” But it didn’t. She was a model mother, but would that last? Could she lead both a new Clan and four new lives?

“What will you name them?” Carnationpaw asked, leaning close to the kits.

“It’s better to wait,” Fennelspot said. “Sometimes, StarClan sends one of its spirits down in the form of a kit to guide the others before returning to the sky. It would be insulting to name someone who already has a name.”

“Do you mean one of them could die?” Carnationpaw gulped. “But you said they were all healthy!”

“They are!” Fennelspot stammered as Downstar’s heart ached. “The nature of birth is tricky. It’s best to wait a quarter moon before giving them proper names. I’m hopeful, though. They all look strong.”

“I already have names for them,” Downstar admitted.

“I’ll tell the Clan you’re doing well,” Fennelspot sighed, nuzzling Downstar once more. “You can have visitors in the morning.”

“I promise I’ll help however I can,” Carnationpaw said, licking Downstar’s ear. “I’ll make sure your kits are never lonely.” Downstar nuzzled her apprentice as a deep purr rippled through her. Fennelspot guided Carnationpaw outside and left Downstar in the cool dark of the nursery, illuminated by the small fire built just beyond the den.

“You’ll be Halibutkit,” Downstar mumbled, nuzzling her oldest son. “It’s a type of fish from the ocean. I found one washed on the shore when we settled in camp. It’s a good omen for RippleClan.” The black molly squealed, as though offended that she did not get her name first. “I’m getting to you, little Duskkit. Do you like that name? You were born at dusk. I think it fits.” Next, Downstar studied her gray daughter. “You’ll need a good name so I don’t confuse you for your brother. How about Graykit?” Graykit mewled softly and continued her suckling.

Downstar studied her youngest for a while. He looked so much like the proud, sturdy tom who trained her, who taught her how to care for others, who gave her a life for that very purpose.

“Is that you, Shadowsun?” Downstar whispered. She sniffed the dark gray tom’s sleek pelt. “Did you come to guide my kits? Or are you your own tom?” She licked the kit’s head. The lookalike squealed and flailed his little legs about. “Well, if you’re staying here, I’m going to call you Shadowkit.” Downstar tucked her paws under her and rested her head, never taking her eyes off her four kits. It was a big responsibility, but she had managed as leader so far. She would do her best as a mother, too.

(Downstar: 67, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Fennelspot: 65, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Carnationpaw: 10, female, caretaker apprentice, compassionate, splashes in puddles)

(Halibutkit: 0, kit, male, impulsive)

(Duskkit: 0, kit, female, troublesome)

(Graykit: 0, kit, female, impulsive)

[Image ID: Burdockkit says, "Now that Downstar’s kits are older, I like to pretend I’m their mentor and have them do chores for me. They’re pretty bad apprentices."]

[Image ID: Clamkit says, "I’m not sure. I’d rather listen to one of Weedfoot’s stories than play games."]

[Image ID: Duskkit says, "Does sneaking out of camp count as a game? Because I try to do that a lot. Mom gets annoyed, but Fennelspot says she was just like me when she was little."]

[Image ID: Graykit says, "I call it “which kit am I?” Halibutkit and I switch places and we make cats guess who is who. Our scents are totally different, but everyone is still awful at telling us apart!]

[Image ID: Shadowkit says, "Halibutkit and I have this game called Eagle Eye! We pretend we’re eagles flying over the whole territory and we have to guess what the other eagle is looking at."]