#halibutpaw

Oilstripe hated the wait. 

All of RippleClan lingered in their camp’s clearing, the light of a central fire throwing shadows onto the shipwreck. A soft snowfall danced overhead, fizzling out well before it reached the warm camp. Everyone’s minds seemed far from camp, however. Weedfoot paced around the exit while Puddlespeckle watched her with a tired, but oddly soft gaze. Burdockcreek and Clammask silently shared tongues with Rustshade. Oilstripe sat close to the fire with Carnationspeckle and Applepelt. There were no StarClan spirits in camp that night to distract her. All she had were two friends stuck in the same state of mind.

“This seems like a formality, don’t you think?” Applepelt sighed, front paws kneading the sand. “AshClan hasn’t done anything since last moon’s Gathering. I don’t know why everyone is so tense.”

“We don’t know what Autumnstar thinks of us now,” Carnationspeckle said as Oilstripe groomed her long brown fur. 

“I know exactly what he thinks,” Applepelt chirped. “He’s terrified to face me again!” She rolled onto her back and batted the air. 

“Terrified to face StarClan, maybe,” Oilstripe scoffed. “His whole argument fell apart the moment Downstar came back to life. He can’t chase out a Clan accepted by StarClan, it’s in the code.”

“So StarClan’s truly real, is it?” Applepelt sighed. She squirmed deeper into the sand while Oilstripe gave a half-hearted laugh.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Oilstripe said.

“Applepelt, scoot away from the fire, your whiskers will catch,” Carnationspeckle chuckled. 

“Make me,” Applepelt cooed. “It’s too quiet tonight. I’m gonna ramble for a while. Smack me if you wanna stop me.” She rolled back onto her belly. She ranted about WheatClan stories she picked up at the last Gathering, but Oilstripe tuned her out. She and Carnationspeckle groomed knots out of each other’s fur as the fire crackled and spat.

Soon enough, Downstar and Rabbitjoy both entered the camp. Weedfoot stopped pacing and joined them on their way to the Shiprock. Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe both kicked Applepelt, pausing her story mid-sentence. Applepelt seemed ready to whine, but spotted the returning leader and sat up. 

“All cats old enough to catch their own prey, gather below the Shiprock for a Clan meeting!” Downstar called before she even got to the rock. Halibutpaw had been sitting quietly outside the apprentice’s den but now called his littermates into the clearing. The small Clan huddled around the fire. Their eyes shone in the dim light like Silverpelt brought down. Rabbitjoy sat at the bottom of the Shiprock. Oilstripe put her paw over Applepelt’s and her tail over Carnationspeckle’s as she held her breath. Downstar could only keep her serious expression up for so long, though.

“It’s over, everyone!” Downstar yowled, tail high. “RippleClan and AshClan are at peace!” A great cheer tore through the clearing. Oilstripe’s muscles melted like her namesake. “AshClan will hereby acknowledge our position as a Clan ordained by StarClan. As the moons pass, we will establish the same relationships we have with the other Clans. AshClan will allow us to walk along the border to visit the other Clans.”

“Finally,” Halibutpaw scoffed. Graypaw batted his ear.

“Aww, you afraid of a fight?” Graypaw laughed. “You’re the warrior apprentice. You should be sad you can’t show AshClan what’s what anymore.”

“Maybe I don’t want another friend to die, Graypaw,” Halibutpaw snapped. Graypaw stepped back, blinking wildly.

“Alright, alright,” James cooed, stepping between the pair. “That’s quite enough. When I lived with humans, they always celebrated special moments with a good meal. I say we do the same!”

“I like that idea, James,” Downstar chirped. “Carnationspeckle, you’re the best swimmer we have. Would you take Graypaw to the coast and find some fish for the Clan?”

“The ocean’s freezing, Mom,” Graypaw whined. “Can’t I help at the oven?”

“You’ll be a caretaker soon, Graypaw,” Downstar sighed, shaking her head. “If I ask you to do something, you’ll need to do it. It won’t take long.” Graypaw muttered something, but didn’t put up anymore fight. 

“We have a bit of flaxseed oil from WheatClan!” Clammask said, jogging over to the portion of the shipwreck where the Clan stored jars and pots and baskets. “Let’s use that tonight!”

“Wonderful,” Downstar purred, hopping off the Shiprock. “We could use a feast. Enjoy yourselves tonight, everyone!” Weedfoot, Shadowpaw, Halibutpaw, and Rustshade surrounded Downstar. Carnationspeckle stretched and touched noses with both Oilstripe and Applepelt.

“I’ll catch a fish for us to share,” she promised. With a wave of her feathery tail, Carnationspeckle led Graypaw out of camp. 

“My humans used to catch fish, did I ever tell you that?” Applepelt chirped.

“A few times already, yes,” Oilstripe purred, her heart as warm as the fire.

“You should have seen the fish they would bring in,” Applepelt laughed, stretching her legs as far as they could go. “Some of them were this big! I’ve never seen others of them before, either. I think they got on a ship and caught them, but I don’t know how that works. I know James helps build rafts sometimes, but they couldn’t go far enough to catch these fish. I don’t know if I could call some of them fish…” 

Applepelt continued on, describing spider-like masses of flesh and fish with more teeth than she could count. As her words washed over Oilstripe, the ginger historian’s eyes drifted over the apprentice’s den. A cream-colored cat stood outside the den, shining as bright as the fire. Oilstripe nodded to her sibling and enjoyed her Clan’s victory.

(Oilstripe: 24, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Applepelt: 29, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Carnationspeckle: 22, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Downstar: 79, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Halibutpaw: 12, male, warrior apprentice, impulsive, quick witted, lover of stories)

(Graypaw: 12, female, caretaker apprentice, bloodthirsty, careful listener)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Clammask: 14, female, caretaker, righteous, lore keeper, good teacher)

Two apprentices graduate from their training without their brother. Shadowpaw was held back to catch up on missed training from whitecough.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Graythroat pose. Under Halibutdusk, it says LEVEL UP! HALIBUTPAW -> HALIBUTDUSK, IMPULSIVE -> GLOOMY, QUICK WITTED -> CLEVER, LOVER OF STORIES -> GREAT STORYTELLER. Under Graythroat, it says LEVEL UP! GRAYPAW -> GRAYTHROAT, BLOODTHIRSTY -> FIERCE, CAREFUL LISTENER -> VALUABLE INSIGHT.]

(Halibutdusk: 12, male, warrior, gloomy, clever, great storyteller)

(Graythroat: 12, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)

Graythroat attacks a fox without hesitation, but merely freaks it out.

[Image ID: Graythroat faces down a fox while Fennelspot and James watch in the corner. Under Fennelspot, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: GRAY & GRAY (OMEN).]

---

Fennelspot loved having a proper selection of caretakers to help him manage his gardens. It could be hard to properly tend to the selection of herbs he had begun cultivating in the southern half of the territory, but with caretakers, Fennelspot could focus on his medical and spiritual duties while they made sure the herbs grew well. Yes, it was the last moon of winter, and most of the growths wouldn’t begin showing up until the next moon, but it was the perfect time to plant some of his seeds. Besides, James and Graythroat hadn’t had much experience with the garden, so this was as good a time as any to introduce them.

“Humans have their farms and gardens,” Fennelspot explained as Graythroat and James walked behind him with baskets of thyme and sage seeds. “That taught us how to start our own fields and rise a step above herbal scavenging. There are a lot of plants we let grow wild, but some, like the sage and thyme seeds I’ve kept in storage all winter, grow well in gardens. I found the areas near the southern edge have better conditions for maintaining a garden.”

“Do you expect me to dig?” James scoffed, his words muddied by the basket in his mouth. “I don’t dig. I can barely tolerate the constant sand between my paws, I will not willingly coat myself in mud.”

“We’re caretakers, that’s our job,” Graythroat grunted.

“The mud’s not as bad as you think it is, James,” Fennelspot said, some of this enthusiasm seeping out. “It reminds me of SlugClan. It’s nice. At least I won’t ask you to help smoke out beehives. I don’t think you’d stay in RippleClan if you had to do that.” Fennelspot chuckled awkwardly as James tilted his head. The face Graythroat made told him all he needed to know on the subject.

The gardens were a section of an open field west of the RippleClan graveyard. At first glance, it seemed like any other field, but the grass was only half-grown and the remnants of plants that did not survive the winter sat in rows that would never have formed without an intelligent paw to guide them. A dusting of snow covered the gardens, but it wouldn’t stop the patrol.

Fennelspot was about to direct Graythroat to tear up the dead plants while he explained planting to James, but a gray shape on the other side of the gardens made him pause. It was a silver fox; its black fur was dusted white as though it had been caught in the snow. Brilliant orange eyes stared at Fennelspot. It stood in profile, watching the three cats, completely frozen.

“It’s likely passing through,” Fennelspot whispered as his companions noticed the fox. “We’ll wait for it to leave and come back later.”

“No,” Graythroat huffed, dropping her basket. “This is our territory. No fox is going to steal our prey.” Graythroat bolted past Fennelspot and James before either could respond. Graythroat hissed and screeched, catching the fox’s attention. The fox screamed at Graythroat, ears pulled back as far as they could go. Graythroat launched at the fox and dug her claws and fangs into its silver coat.

“Graythroat!” Fennelspot yowled. “It’s done nothing to us. Leave it alone!” StarClan, he wished there was someone in the Clan who could speak to foxes. James set his basket of sage seeds down and stood in front of Fennelspot, ready to defend the cleric.

Morning light bounced off Graythroat’s pelt. The sun illuminated the fox’s fur, blending the white flecks into its black undercoat. In that light, Graythroat’s pelt looked just like the foxes. Gray fur scrambled over gray fur in a shiny mixture of rage. A sudden sense of familiar clarity flooded Fennelspot’s mind as the fox scrambled out from Graythroat’s clutches and bolted toward the trees, barking madly. This was a sign. No, not a simple sign. An omen. StarClan may not talk to him like they talk to Oilstripe, but by the stars, he was good at his job and he knew an omen when he saw it.

What the omen meant, however, he could not say.

(Fennelspot: 77, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Graythroat: 12, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

James escorts the WheatClan deputy to camp.

[Image ID: James stands in the corner as Valleybrook, a golden tabby with Rustshade’s markings and lavender in his fur, speaks to Rustshade and Oilstripe. He says “I wish we were talking under better circumstances, Rust.”]

---

There were a lot of cats Oilstripe would have expected to walk into camp, but her uncle was not one of them.

Oilstripe and Rustshade were sharing one of their rarer moments of peace, quizzing Shadowpaw on the code so he could catch up to his littermates. They were halfway through the Code of Caretakers when James entered camp. Oilstripe would have paid him no mind if a slender golden tabby didn’t follow him in. The tom was so star-struck by the bulking shipwreck that he didn’t notice Weedfoot jogging his way.

“Valleybrook?” Weedfoot called. Rustshade snapped his head around. 

Valleybrook broke out of his trance and faced Weedfoot, saying with an awkward sigh, “I’m sorry. I’m very impressed by your camp. A shipwreck makes quite the statement.”

“I was enjoying my afternoon when he waved me over from the WheatClan border,” James huffed, scratching an itch behind his ear. “He asked to come to camp.”

“Downstar’s out on patrol right now,” Weedfoot said with a slight cock of her head. “What brings the WheatClan deputy to our camp?”

“It’s something of a favor,” Valleybrook admitted. His gaze shifted to Rustshade and he said, “I was hoping to speak with my brother.”

“Rustshade, you never told me you’re littermates with WheatClan’s deputy,” Shadowpaw said as Rustshade wandered over to Valleybrook, his tail stiff behind him.

“They haven’t talked much since we left WheatClan,” Oilstripe whispered. From what she remembered of the first half of her kithood, Valleybrook had been a loving uncle, encouraging Oilstripe to learn all about WheatClan’s crops. He was always the perfect image of grace at Gatherings, but his soft eyes rekindled Oilstripe’s old memories of him.

“Hello, Valley,” Rustshade sighed, gracefully sitting in front of his estranged kin.

“I wish we were talking under better circumstances, Rust,” Valleybrook sighed. He spotted Oilstripe watching and called to her. “Oilstripe, join us, please.” With a worried glance at Shadowpaw, Oilstripe joined her father and uncle. Weedfoot and James stepped away in a feeble effort to give the group privacy.

“What’s so wrong that we couldn’t talk about it during the Gathering?” Rustshade asked matter-of-factly. “You’d only have to wait a few days.”

“I didn’t want you to be blinded by the news,” Valleybrook sighed. He tucked his tail over his paws and took a deep breath. “Sunstrike came down with some sort of infection. I don’t fully understand what happened. She passed away yesterday.” 

Well that didn’t make sense. Oilstripe would have seen her. She spoke to Sunstrike at Gatherings, they were polite to each other, she knew she cared that Oilstripe was happy. She wouldn’t head to StarClan without visiting her kits. Should she even be thinking of her mother’s death in such simple terms? Should she feel more than she did? Rustshade seemed similarly stunned, at least. His unreadable expression gave no clues as to how he felt.

“I see,” Rustshade said. “Thank you for telling us before the Gathering.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Valleybrook said. “If you two want to share soup together at the Gathering, I think that would be nice.” Rustshade nodded softly. Valleybook gingerly reached a paw out and placed it on Rustshade’s head. Rustshade stayed still. “I’m sorry, Rustshade. I know things haven’t been wonderful between you and your old mate, but I understand what it’s like to lose someone you shared so much of your life with.” Valleybrook couldn’t have been more obvious about what he meant, but Oilstripe couldn’t tell if her father noticed. 

“Do you want me to escort you back to the border?” Rustshade asked.

“That would be nice,” Valleybrook sighed, moving his paw and standing. “I hope it’s alright if I visit your dirtplace first.”

“There’s a path looping around the shipwreck for you to follow,” Rustshade explained, nodding toward the dirtplace path. Valleybrook nodded and his gaze lingered on his brother as he crossed through camp.

“Oilstripe,” Rustshade muttered into Oilstripe’s ear. “Clammask and Burdockcreek will be back from Downstar’s hunting patrol before I get back. Will you tell them about Sunstrike?” Oilstripe nodded absentmindedly, then realized exactly what that would entail.

“You want me to…” Oilstripe gulped, locking eyes with Rustshade. Rustshade sighed and nodded.

“If they haven’t figured it out themselves,” Rustshade explained, “they deserve to know now. They should get a chance to mourn their mother.”

“I’ll tell them,” Oilstripe promised. She couldn’t predict how they would react, but her father was right. It was important for them to know where they came from.

Valleybrook returned soon after and walked with Rustshade out of camp. Oilstripe dismissed Weedfoot’s questions of concern and went off to a quiet corner of camp to think. Well, not really think; look. She scanned the camp and the trees beyond and the humming waves that brought the shipwreck to its home. 

Sunstrike was nowhere to be seen.

(Oilstripe: 24, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Weedfoot: 68, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Rustshade: 64, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Shadowpaw: 12, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)

Carnationspeckle finds an abandoned kit while on patrol with Weedfoot.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and Carnationspeckle face a silver kit with a white left ear and copper eyes. Under the kit, it says NEW PLAYER: RATTLEKIT, 3 MOONS, FEMALE, INSECURE, PLAYS WITH PREY. Weedfoot asks, “What happened to your fur, little one?”]

---

“I wish I could say I’m surprised that Graythroat attacked the fox, but I’m not,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “She’s always been more ready to fight than she should be.”

She and Weedfoot were at the gardens, carefully planting some heal all seeds Rabbitjoy traded with SlugClan. The ground kept freezing as night fell, but Fennelspot insisted the frost wouldn’t hurt the seeds. The frost still clung to the grass when Carnationspeckle and Weedfoot arrived. Carnationspeckle found the simple practice of spreading seeds to be a mindful activity, allowing her to connect with the world around her. Weedfoot kept shaking mud out of her paws, but at least she was willing to help.

“If she wanted to focus on fighting,” Weedfoot huffed, “she should have trained as a warrior. Her brothers learned to curb their battledrive, I don’t know why she hasn’t.”

“StarClan only knows,” Carnationspeckle said. She studied the edges of the garden and asked, “Do you suppose there is a way to protect the herbs from rabbits and those sorts of creatures?”

“We would need some sort of wall,” Weedfoot muttered, tilting her small basket of heal all seeds onto the ground. “I don’t know how we would keep other animals out but let ourselves in.” Carnationspeckle hummed softly and shoved dirt over the heal all seeds.

“Mom?” a high-pitched voice called. Weedfoot and Carnationspeckle’s ears shot up. The wild growth beyond the garden was quiet, but distant plants swayed as an unseen figure pushed past them.

“Hello?” Carnationspeckle called into the trees. A soft gasp reached her ears and the plants shifted while the figure hurried toward the garden. Weedfoot tensed up and took a cautious step toward the approaching form. 

A silver face peeked out from the half-alive plants beyond the garden. Dark orange eyes shone in the light of the early morning. Carnationspeckle held back a gasp as she realized the silver coloration was not fur like it should have been, but skin. The kit lacked a single hair anywhere on her face. Wrinkles settled over her body like fluff. Her left ear was shiny and white like a fin sticking out of the water. Her face soured at the sight of Carnationspeckle and Weedfoot.

“You’re not my mom,” she huffed. She stepped back into the trees.

“Wait!” Carnationspeckle yelped. “Come back!” The kit emerged once more, studying Carnationspeckle just as the brown molly studied her.

“What happened to your fur, little one?” Weedfoot asked softly, getting down to the kit’s level.

“I never had any,” the kit said, hesitating. “Who are you? Have you seen my mom?”

“I’m Weedfoot,” the deputy explained. “This is my friend, Carnationspeckle. What does your mother look like, little one?”

“Like me,” the kit explained. “Have you seen her?”

“I’m sorry, we haven’t,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “What’s your name?”

“Rattlesnake,” the kit muttered. As she stepped further into the garden, Rattlesnake shivered violently. Carnationspeckle hurried up to her. Rattlesnake yelped, but Carnationspeckle brought her close and pressed her into her long pelt.

“You’re freezing,” Carnationspeckle gasped. “Stay here, please. I can keep you warm.” Rattlesnake shivered so hard, she almost knocked Carnationspeckle over. The skin of her needle-like tail was red and blistered. 

“She’s no Clan kit,” Weedfoot sighed. She sat next to Carnationspeckle. “Rattlesnake, when did you last see your mother?”

“She woke me up and brought me to the forest,” Rattlesnake explained. She buried her bony face into Carnationspeckle’s fur. 

“So you’ve been out here all night?” Weedfoot mumbled.

“Weedfoot, she has frostbite,” Carnationspeckle said, draping a paw over Rattlesnake. “I can’t warm her up here.”

“Rattlesnake, can we bring you to our home?” Weedfoot asked. “We have some warm leather and a fire you can sit by.”

“Mom said not to go with anyone unless they were a Clan cat,” Rattlesnake gulped, eyeing Weedfoot.

“Then you’re in luck,” Carnationspeckle purred. “We’re from RippleClan.” Rattlesnake purred and rubbed her cold nose against Carnationspeckle.

“I’m going to run ahead and make sure the Clan’s ready for her,” Weedfoot explained. “Will you escort her to camp?”

“I won’t leave her side,” Carnationspeckle promised. The pair touched noses and Weedfoot took off, grabbing the seed basket and leaving deep pawprints behind her. Carnationspeckle reached for Rattlesnake’s scruff, but paused. Without fur, would Carnationspeckle’s teeth pierce her gentle skin? She decided against it.

“Rattlesnake,” Carnationspeckle whispered, “have you ever had a horse ride?”

“What’s that?” Rattlesnake asked, peeking out from Carnationspeckle’s fur. Carnationspeckle crouched down so her belly touched the ground.

“Climb onto my back and hold on tight,” Carnationspeckle chuckled. Rattlesnake hesitated for a while, one paw gently reaching toward Carnationspeckle. Eventually she scaled Carnationspeckle’s back. Carnationspeckle gently stood and adjusted her stance for Rattlesnake’s weight. 

“Here we go,” Carnationspeckle chirped. She waddled out of the garden as quick as she could as Rattlekit’s tiny claws poked into her skin.

It was a long walk back to camp, but at least the frost melted underneath Carnationspeckle and Rattlesnake didn’t shiver so intensely. When the shipwreck came into view, Fennelspot was waiting for her outside camp.

“Let me see the frostbite,” Fennelspot gulped as Carnationspeckle ran toward him. Fennelspot walked alongside Carnationspeckle and studied Rattlesnake. Downstar and James tended a fire in the center of camp while Rabbitjoy set out a few soft leather pelts beside it. Weedfoot waited anxiously by the fire.

“Set her down here,” she said when Carnationspeckle got close. Carnationspeckle laid on her belly so Rattlesnake could drop off. She purred as she curled up on the soft vole pelts. Fennelspot examined her tail and ran a paw over the blisters. The rest of RippleClan watched from the sidelines.

“It’s in its early stages,” Fennelspot explained. “I can treat this easily. Put a pelt over her. She needs warmth.”

“I didn’t know cats could be born without fur,” Downstar muttered as Fennelspot jogged to the medicine den. Rabbitjoy set a rabbit pelt over Rattlesnake, furry side up.

“I know a furless cat!” Parsley stepped out of the crowd. “When I lived in the barn, I heard stories of a furless molly the humans kept as a breeder.”

“What do you mean?” Carnationspeckle gasped.

“Humans sometimes keep a molly around so she can keep kitting litters,” Weedfoot explained with a sneer. “They don’t care how exhausting it is.”

“What an awful fate,” Carnationspeckle growled. “Why did her mother leave her out here? If she could leave, why wouldn’t she join her daughter?” Rattlesnake had fallen asleep by this point. Her whiskers twitched peacefully in her dreams. Fennelspot returned with a salve in a small jar and spread it over Rattlesnake’s tail.

“Maybe she couldn’t leave for long,” James suggested. “If humans like the cat living with them enough, they’ll look for them if they leave. You said her mother wanted her to go with Clan cats, didn’t you? Perhaps she thought her daughter would have a better life without her.” Carnationspeckle curled around Rattlesnake and groomed her wrinkly head.

“She will,” Carnationspeckle promised. She met Downstar’s eyes and said, “I’ll raise her. I can’t let her sleep in the nursery alone.”

“I’m not surprised,” Downstar purred.

“It’ll be hard to explain this to her,” Weedfoot sighed, sitting by Rattlesnake and Carnationspeckle. “She can’t be much older than three moons.”

“Do you think she’ll want a Clan name?” James hummed. 

“If she does,” Carnationspeckle purred, “we could call her Rattlekit. That’s what you did with my name.” Downstar and Weedfoot nodded as Carnationspeckle rested her head by her new daughter. Yes, that was what she would be. The decision was as clear to Carnationspeckle as a cloudless sky. The small furless molly would not go through life without a mother.

(Carnationspeckle: 22, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Weedfoot: 68, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Rattlekit: 3, female, kit, insecure, plays with prey)

(Fennelspot: 77, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 79, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

Apple Cider has decided to join the Clan!

[Image ID: Apple Cider stands in the center of the screen, saying “Hehe, hi again!” Under her, it says LEVEL UP! APPLE CIDER -> APPLEPELT.]

---

There hadn’t been too many skirmishes with AshClan since Downstar’s kits took matters into their own paws, but Oilstripe was still glad Scrubmask led the hunting patrol to the river rather than the border. Carnationspeckle wanted to teach Graypaw how to prepare fish (since Downstar was keeping the apprentices in camp as much as possible), so it was up to the patrol to catch suitable subjects for the lesson. The Great Northern River had turned cold, and Oilstripe shivered whenever the water touched her paws, but she pushed on.

It seemed everyone else in the patrol was far more skilled at fishing than Oilstripe. Burdockpaw surpassed Oilstripe moons prior and now carefully sat on one of the stones jutting out of the river, waiting for fish to bite at the small lure Puddlespeckle built. Scrubmask took to traditional fishing and stared unblinking into the water. Even Locustpaw, freed from their mentor for the day, was totally engrossed in their task and proudly waded through the thinner currents in search of prey. Oilstripe was stuck on a rock near the opposite side of the river without a single piece of prey to show for her time. 

Maybe Oilstripe should take a nap. The river’s hum was quite soothing after all. It reminded her of when she pushed her nest close to Weedfoot and heard her purr in her sleep. There were no ghosts around to bother her and earn weird stares from her younger siblings (she knew cats saw her when she spoke to a visitor, but what could she do?). Oilstripe laid her chin on one paw and closed her eyes as a soft mist dusted her whiskers.

Such rest could not last long, sadly. The gentle crackle of fallen leaves brought Oilstripe to her paws. As she turned, a warm brown figure stepped out of the late afternoon shadows.

“Hehe, hi again!” Apple Cider chirped.

“Oh, hello!” Oilstripe gasped. “I haven’t seen you since the storm last moon! I was worried about you!” She leapt onto the shore beyond RippleClan. Apple Cider’s ears tilted back and they glanced about, unable to lock onto Oilstripe.

“About that…” Apple Cider groaned, whiskers twitching, “my humans were out of the den when the storm hit. They didn’t come back.” Oilstripe’s spine shivered. She knew the storm had been bad; it was never a good sign when spirits of StarClan gathered around like they did by the AshClan border that night, as though waiting for a new friend. Still, she had never imagined the storm was strong enough to kill humans. Humans could build grand ships and had a mastery of wood and tools the Clans had yet to figure out. How could a storm take them from this world?

“I’m sorry,” Oilstripe sighed. “I know kittypets can be close to their humans.”

“I wasn’t that close,” Apple Cider stammered. “I was mostly there to catch mice for them. I figured I could stay in the den for longer, but new humans moved in. I don’t think they like cats.” They rubbed a paw into the wet ground. “I don’t want to live alone. I’m not very good at that. I was wondering if I could hear more about your Clan?”

“Yes!” Oilstripe laughed. “I’d love to talk to you! Come across the river with me.” Oilstripe hopped across the slick rocks, glancing about at Apple Cider at each step of the way. Apple Cider perked up and hurried through the water. The pair caught Burdockpaw’s attention before they got halfway across.

“Oilstripe, why are you letting Apple Cider across the river?” he huffed, placing a paw on his fish.

“She wants to learn about RippleClan!” Oilstripe explained as Scrubmask and Locustpaw joined them.

“I’ve heard others say you’re a little strict,” Apple Cider admitted, eyeing each new cat, “but who knows? You might be fun to live with. Do you have any good stories?”

“That’s a historian’s whole job,” Burdockpaw said, sitting tall. “We remember the Clan’s history and tell it to future generations.”

“Can I do that?” Apple Cider asked with a sparkle in her eyes.

“You don’t know any stories,” Scrubmask said bluntly, looking the warm brown cat up and down.

“Burdock and I can teach her,” Oilstripe said, bridging the gap between Burdockpaw and Apple Cider. “Apple Cider can hunt, and we can teach her how to fight! We need the extra paws!”

“I’m not arguing with you,” Scrubmask said, flicking her ears to the RippleClan side of the river. “We need to talk to Downstar. Let’s collect our prey and return home.”

“Oilstripe, Burdockpaw, Downstar…” Apple Cider hummed as Burdockpaw grabbed his fish. “Those are interesting names!”

“They’re designed to be changed as you grow up,” Oilstripe explained. She led Apple Cider the rest of the way over the river. “When I was born, I was Oilkit. When I was an apprentice, I was Oilpaw. Now I’m Oilstripe!”

“I want a name like that!” Apple Cider chirped, gleefully landing on RippleClan’s shores. “New life, new me! No more human names! Call me Apple… uh, Apple…” The brown cat glanced at the other cats, searching for a suffix. She looked at her own fur, and said, “Applepelt! Call me Applepelt.”

“I like that name,” Oilstripe chuckled. With her Clanmates carrying their catches, Oilstripe walked alongside the Clan’s newest historian all the way home.

(Oilstripe: 20, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Burdockpaw: 10, male, historian apprentice, loyal, interested in Clan history)

(Applepelt: 25, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Scrubmask: 33, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

Halibutpaw is left sore after intense battle training.

[Image ID: Halibutpaw stands in the middle of the screen. Under him, it says + CONDITION: SORE.]

(Halibutpaw: 8, male, warrior apprentice, impulsive, quick witted, lover of stories)

Eager to help her new Clan, Applepelt runs head-on into a border skirmish and is injured.

[Image ID: Autumnstar leers in the upper left, saying “If you want this land, you have to prove you-” but Applepelt runs up from the right, incoherently screaming. Under them, it says = CONDITION: CAT BITE.]

“Behind you!” Oilstripe yowled. Burdockpaw spun and swung his claws at the AshClan warrior launching at his flank. His claws connected with the warrior’s cheek and disrupted their launch. They tumbled over themselves, giving Burdockpaw the perfect chance to jump on their back. He bit into the warrior’s shoulder. The warrior squirmed and kicked, but Burdockpaw held on. Eventually, the warrior landed on their back and smashed Burdockpaw. They scurried deeper into the fight that raged along the AshClan border.

There were four cats in the battle patrol; Burdockpaw, Oilstripe, Weedfoot, and James. They hadn’t intended it to be a battle patrol, technically. It was an organized version of the younger apprentices’ mouse-brained plan, where they would move the border back in as a show of strength. AshClan was waiting for them, though, with their own five-cat battle patrol. 

Weedfoot tumbled out from behind a tree, her claws locked into Barkfur’s pelt. Barkfur dug into Weedfoot’s shoulder. As Weedfoot howled and Burdockpaw readied himself to help the beloved deputy, James charged into Barkfur. James was a giant compared to Barkfur and threw the scarred brown cat into a tree.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Weedfoot panted as Barkfur crawled off.

“I had to handle my fair share of challenges while traveling with humans,” James huffed, spitting brown fur out of his mouth. “That does not mean I enjoy it.”

“Thanks for coming along,” Weedfoot sighed. She noticed Burdockpaw scanning the battle and called, “Burdockpaw, with us!” Burdockpaw scampered up to Weedfoot and James. 

Weedfoot led them toward Oilstripe and Bearchaser. The AshClan warrior from earlier ran up to the fighting pair, ready to help Bearchaser, but James stampeded into them. Weedfoot and Burdockpaw dug into Bearchaser’s shoulders and pulled him off Oilstripe. As Weedfoot and Oilstripe turned on Bearchaser, fangs dug into Burdockpaw’s tail and pulled him back. It was a young apprentice, one Burdockpaw didn’t recognize. Her huge eyes bounced in her head. She was frozen, jaws locked on Burdockpaw’s tail.

“I’m sorry,” she gulped, letting Burdockpaw pull his tail free. “Don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.”

“Why would I kill you?” Burdockpaw snapped. “We’re Clan cats. We don’t kill each other.”

“You’re not a real Clan, though,” the apprentice whined.

“What?” Burdockpaw hissed, sneering. The apprentice’s back arched. She stepped back, eyes stuck on Burdockpaw.

“Nettlestep!” the apprentice cried. A loud snarl snapped Burdockpaw backed into the battle just as a golden-ginger molly threw him onto his shoulder.

“I’ve got him, Smallpaw!” Nettlestep yowled.. As Nettlestep glanced over her white-speckled shoulder, Burdockpaw freed his front paw and sliced his claws against Nettlestep’s belly. Blood dribbled between his pads. Smallpaw screeched as Nettlestep stumbled back and Burdockpaw scrambled free, throwing himself into a sparring position. Smallpaw ran to her mentor’s side and pushed against her, shaking.

“I’m okay, Smallpaw,” Nettlestep purred, curling around her belly.

“AshClan, fall back!” Bearchaser spat. The other AshClan and RippleClan cats all sported their fair share of torn fur, bruises, and scratches. James groaned and plucked brown fur out from between his paws while Weedfoot and Oilstripe stood back to back, panting. Barkfur and the other AshClan warrior gathered beside Bearchaser, who had a cut above his eye. Smallpaw watched Burdockpaw like a stampeding horse as she helped Nettlestep over to their Clanmates. RippleClan stayed put as AshClan slunk into their territory.

“We did it!” Oilstripe gasped. “We finally beat them! We beat them, Weedfoot! We beat them!” Oilstripe shoved her face into Weedfoot’s neck, purring deeply. Weedfoot purred back and groomed her former apprentice’s head.

“We need to mark the old border while we have the time,” Weedfoot sighed, glancing between James and Burdockpaw. “Can you two handle it?”

“I suppose,” James sighed, spitting out more fur. “I’m simply glad that whole ordeal is over.” 

“I’ll show you where to mark,” Burdockpaw said. He shook out his pelt (and the odd guilt that rippled out from his blood-soaked foot) and trotted up to James.

“You were great, Burdockpaw,” Oilstripe purred, still out of breath. “Really. We wouldn’t have driven them off without your help.”

“Thanks, Oilstripe,” Burdockpaw said, standing tall under the praise. A thought flickered over Oilstripe’s eyes. She moved away from Weedfoot and studied Burdockpaw. The red tom panted and rubbed his dirty paw into the grass.

“Burdockpaw,” Oilstripe hummed, tail rising, “how would you like to earn your name early?”

(Oilstripe: 21, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Burdockpaw: 11, male, historian apprentice, loyal, interested in Clan history)

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

(James: 93, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

Burdockcreek is honored for getting RippleClan territory back through an early historian ceremony.

[Image ID: Burdockcreek sits in the middle of the screen. Under him, it reads LEVEL UP! BURDOCKPAW -> BURDOCKCREEK, LOYAL -> CONFIDENT, INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY -> LEARNER OF LORE.]

(Burdockcreek: 11, male, historian, confident, learner of lore)

Although Halibutpaw feels better, now Shadowpaw pushes himself too far during training.

[Image ID: Shadowpaw sits in the middle of the screen. Under him, it reads + CONDITION: SORE.]

---

Shadowpaw had his mentor to thank for such a great sparring spot. There was a portion of the territory, north of the shipwreck, where the sand stretched further inland but the ocean only touched it at high tide. The sand mingled with grass and created a soft, effective place to throw his brother as hard as he could.

“Gentle, little Shadow!” Parsley laughed as Shadowpaw once more grabbed Halibutpaw by the scruff and shoved his face into the sand. “We don’t need your brother paying Mr. Fennelspot another visit so soon!” She sat with Rustshade at the edge of the sand, nibbling at an itch above her stump.

“I’m fine, Parsley,” Halibutpaw sighed. He pulled his head out of the sand and sneezed. 

“Now my neck hurts,” Shadowpaw groaned. He stretched his neck out but a ripple of pain ran down his spine.

“That’s why you only perform that move on smaller cats,” Rustshade sighed. He got up and stood between the two gray brothers. “You both need to learn how to pace yourselves in a fight. You have a habit of pushing yourselves too far at the start and straining your muscles.”

“That’s better than letting a codebreaker escape,” Shadowpaw said. He gently arched his back, but the muscles around his shoulders were stiff and ached when he moved. Rustshade’s attention shifted to the shipwreck in the distance, where the gentle smoke of the oven drifted into the sky.

“Go back to camp and have some of what Graypaw and Carnationspeckle are cooking,” Rustshade sighed. “I mean it, toms. Straight back to camp, no side-tracking.”

“You aren’t coming with?” Halibutpaw asked, nose twitching like there was still sand inside.

“I want to walk with Parsley for a while,” Rustshade huffed.

“About what?” Halibutpaw asked again. Rustshade’s uncanny eyes merely drifted over Halibutpaw, but that was enough to stop the young tom’s questions.

“Go home and rest,” Rustshade sighed, heading back to Parsley. He whispered something to the tortoiseshell and the pair walked into the trees beyond the beach.

“I might have to talk to Fennelspot,” Shadowpaw groaned as his neck twinged again. “Either that or sleep the rest of the day.”

“Alright,” Halibutpaw mumbled. He walked close to Shadowpaw in the direction of the shipwreck. Shadowpaw had no interest in an adventure at the moment, but he eyed Halibutpaw, just in case he got another troublesome idea. His stocky brother was silent, however.

“It was just a training session, Halibut,” Shadowpaw said, his usual confidence slipping as Halibutpaw’s fur sagged.

“That’s not the problem,” Halibutpaw groaned. “Do… do you think Mom was right to go to war against AshClan? They’re so much bigger than we are.”

“Weedfoot says violence is the best way to show them we’re a serious Clan,” Shadowpaw said. 

“I wish we hadn’t attacked Heronflank,” Halibutpaw grumbled. He dragged his paws in the cool sand. 

“We were a little excited,” Shadowpaw admitted, ears tilting back.

“I nearly blinded him,” Halibutpaw suddenly snapped, lips curled, “that’s more than being overexcited, Shadow! Ugh, I hate fighting! I hate war!” Halibutpaw kicked the sand. Shadowpaw decided not to point out that Halibutpaw was a warrior apprentice of all things.

“I’m sorry, I picked the wrong words,” Shadowpaw huffed, stopping for a moment. “We won’t fight AshClan forever! Besides, Mom keeps sending us back to camp when we see them. 

You probably won’t fight them again.”

“Please don’t tell Graypaw I said that,” Halibutpaw groaned. “She’ll call me a mouse-heart.”

“I’m not stupid,” Shadowpaw scoffed, rolling his eyes. “We’ll leave the bloodlust to her, does that sound good?”

“What sounds good,” Halibutpaw sighed, jogging ahead of Shadowpaw, “is taking a nap!”

“Hey, you know I’m sore!” Shadowpaw yowled. Despite the aches biting at his shoulders, Shadowpaw ran after his brother, hoping he made things just a bit better.

(Shadowpaw: 9, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)

(Parsley: 111, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

(Halibutpaw: 9, male, warrior apprentice, impulsive, quick witted, lover of stories)

(Rustshade: 61, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

Rustshade and Parsley find a loner on patrol.

[Image ID: A reddish-brown cat sits to the left. Under her, it reads NEW PLAYER: RABBITJOY, 54 MOONS, FEMALE, CHARISMATIC, MASTER WEAVER. Rustshade and Parsley stand to the right. Rustshade says “You came back!”]

---

“Now Mr. Rust,” Parsley hummed as Rustshade led her deeper into RippleClan’s forest, “what was so important that you sent our Clan’s two troublemakers home alone?” Compared to Rustshade’s silent paws, Parsley thundered through the territory; her heavy paws had to land hard to make up for her missing counterbalance. She chose each step carefully, avoiding crunchy leaves while she questioned Rustshade’s intentions.

“I merely wanted to go hunting without those two on our tails,” Rustshade hummed. “You’re the first newcomer to RippleClan, but I don’t know you well.”

“Well isn’t that sweet,” Parsley chuckled. She caught up to Rustshade and walked alongside him. “My story is free to hear, but I’m afraid it’s rather dull. I spent my whole life tending that barn, and this is how the humans thanked me.” She wiggled her stump. 

“We’re glad to have you,” Rustshade sighed. “Let me know if the other Clans keep bothering you about your name. I’ll handle them.”

“How gallant,” Parsley chuckled. Her ears shot up as leaves crumbled somewhere off the small dirt path (carved from a year’s worth of cats following the trail to favorite hunting spots). Rustshade noticed it too, for his gaze shot into the trees.

“That was too big to be a squirrel,” he whispered. His tail stiffened and he tasted the air. Parsley smelled it too; it was a cat. She sniffed again, checking for the familiar woodsy scent of AshClan, but instead, the scent of hay and humans drifted through her whiskers.

“A loner,” Parsley hummed. “Must be new to the area. Speaking from experience, strays around here know better than to linger inside your borders.”

“You still have loner scent on you,” Rustshade muttered, flicking his tail toward the noise. “Speak to whoever is out there. Let’s not scare them.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Parsley hummed. She stepped off the path as more leaves crunched from behind a tree fox-lengths away. Parsley cleared her throat and called, “Excuse me! Hello? We don’t mean to frighten you, but are you aware you’re on Clan land?” The noises behind the tree stilled. “No need to be scared, whoever you are. We don’t go mauling kittypets around these parts. My name is Parsley. Care to share?”

“That’s not a Clan name,” a rattling voice muttered. The tip of a brown tail peeked out from behind the tree. Rustshade passed Parsley, his eyes huge and tail slowly rising.

“Rabbitfall?” Rustshade called. A reddish-brown cat stepped into the light of early dusk. Light blue eyes shifted from tight slits to an open, warming gaze.

“I changed it,” the cat chuckled. “It didn’t fit me anymore. Can you call me Rabbitjoy?”

“You came back!” Rustshade gasped. Rabbitjoy purred and strolled up to Rustshade. She touched noses with him and closed her eyes.

“I couldn’t stay away,” Rabbitjoy hummed. She stepped back and said, “Did you do it?”

“We’re RippleClan now,” Rustshade purred. He motioned for Parsley to come closer.

“After everything that happened,” Rabbitjoy sighed, her harsh purrs making her body shake, “I wasn’t sure RippleClan would survive.”

“We even have loners in our Clan,” Rustshade explained, walking around Parsley. “This is Parsley. She was the first loner we welcomed in.”

“I assume it is a pleasure to meet you,” Parsley said, eyeing Rustshade. “Care to introduce me to your friend?”

“Rabbitjoy was in WheatClan with me,” Rustshade explained, suddenly at Rabbitjoy’s side. “She was part of our group back in the day. She helped me break Weedfoot out of AshClan’s camp. I couldn’t have done it without her.”

“I shouldn’t have left like I did,” Rabbitjoy said, looking away from the two Clan cats. “Lavenderleaf was dead. I… I was going to make a life with her in a new Clan. I didn’t know how I could do that without her.” Rabbitjoy shook her head and straightened up, adding “That was Rabbitfall. I’m Rabbitjoy now. I don’t want my fear to keep me from home.”

“Does that mean you’re ready?” Rustshade asked. His eyes were more intense, more open than Parsley had ever seen Rustshade look. 

“I am,” Rabbitjoy said with a deep breath. “I promised I would come back when I was ready, and I don’t break my promises.”

“This way,” Rustshade said, racing through the trees. Parsley scrambled after him, but Rabbitjoy seemed perfectly at ease with Rustshade’s new-found energy. She pelted after Rustshade and slipped into a comfortable rhythm. 

“I want to hear everything I missed,” Rabbitjoy cooed as the shipwreck appeared through the trees.

“We’ll be happy to share,” Rustshade hummed. He slowed to a jog as the camp entrance came into view. Rabbitjoy lagged behind him. She stared at the massive shipwreck with eyes as big and helpless as a kit’s. 

“Take it from me,” Parsley purred, moving to Rabbitjoy’s side. Rustshade realized his friend had stopped and rejoined her. “This is one of the most welcoming bunch of cats I’ve had the pleasure to meet. The only thing you’ll get from them is a warm hello.” Rabbitjoy released the nervous breath billowing in her chest. She steadied her paws and marched into camp.

Weedfoot must have been telling Oilstripe and Locustpaw a story before the three cats entered camp, as Rustshade’s offspring were sitting beside her, but they were quiet, staring at Rabbitjoy. More faces turned Rabbitjoy’s way as the newcomer studied the sand under her paws, the wreckage that littered camp, the familiar and strange faces peeking out from each den and corner. 

Rabbitjoy’s focus settled on Weedfoot. Weedfoot couldn’t look away from the newcomer. Oilstripe stared at Rabbitjoy like she had descended from Silverpelt. Weedfoot’s whiskers quivered. Whispered questions fluttered about as Weedfoot walked toward Rabbitjoy.

“I’m ho—” Rabbitjoy purred. Weedfoot collided into Rabbitjoy. Her round head pressed deep into the soft fur of Rabbitjoy’s neck, which muffled Weedfoot’s crying.

“Rabbit, I’m sorry,” Weedfoot sobbed. “I’m so sorry, I tried to make her run, I’m sorry.”

“Weedy, you apologized when we got you out,” Rabbitjoy cooed, licking Weedfoot’s cheek. “I don’t blame you anymore. I forgave you moons ago.” 

Parsley backed up as a crowd formed around Rabbitjoy and Weedfoot. Rustshade vanished behind his daughter. Questions became as common as clouds, but Parsley walked around the Clan toward the warrior’s den. She knew when to give her friends room to breathe, even if others didn’t.

(Rustshade: 61, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Parsley: 111, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

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

(Oilstripe: 21, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

Graypaw pranks Rustshade with Shadowpaw’s help.

[Image ID: Graypaw and Shadowpaw run from Rustshade. Graypaw says “You’ll never take us alive!” Shadowpaw says “Sorry Rustshade, she made me!” Rustshade says “Get back here!”]

---

“What were you doing out alone like this to begin with?” Rustshade groaned as he raced behind Shadowpaw. 

“Just hurry!” Shadowpaw yowled. “She needs help!” Late summer warmth coated Rustshade’s pelt as he hurried over the stones and roots of RippleClan’s forest. Shadowpaw had only been an apprentice for a quarter moon, but he had a handle on the territory already. He scurried between the trees like he had wandered the land as long as Rustshade had. Shadowpaw’s dark gray fur blended with the stones scattered about.

“You’re going to kill me and your mother at this rate,” Rustshade grumbled. He rubbed his paws raw as he launched off rocks and matched Shadowpaw’s frantic pace.

Eventually, the gray apprentice screeched to a stop under the cover of a huge sugar maple. Thick green leaves sheltered the two codekeepers from sunhigh and dappled their pelts. Rustshade’s gaze dotted around the trees. His nose twitched and searched for the scent of blood or fear, but he smelled nothing.

“Shadowpaw, are you sure this is where you left her?” Rustshade said, intense eyes locking onto Shadowpaw’s. 

“I’m sure,” Shadowpaw said. There was a lightness to his voice that made Rustshade pause. Shadowpaw’s eyes flicked into the branches of the maple. Something skittered over Rustshade.

The ginger codekeeper looked up just in time to see Graypaw flying from the tree, a bloodthirsty yowl splitting the air, her paws stretched out toward Rustshade. He didn’t have time to react. Graypaw landed on top of him, shoving him into the dirt. She bounded off before Rustshade could kick her.

“You’ll never take us alive!” Graypaw cheered. She playfully shoved Shadowpaw and took off into the depths of the trees.

“Sorry, Rustshade!” Shadowpaw laughed, scurrying after his sister. “She made me!” Their dark fur blended with the shade of the trees.

“Get back here!” Rustshade snapped as he hurried to his paws. She shook the dirt off him and followed the trail of the troublesome apprentices.

(Rustshade: 58, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Shadowpaw: 6, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)

(Graypaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, bloodthirsty, careful listener)

Downstar’s patrol comes across a kittypet interested in Clan life.

[Image ID: Weedfoot, Oilstripe, and Downstar stand on the left beside each of their apprentices. A pale ginger and white tom with a dark blue ribbon is in the upper right corner, saying “Excuse me!” Underneath him, it says NEW PLAYER: JAMES, 90 MOONS, MALE, CHARISMATIC, DEN BUILDER, FORMIDABLE FIGHTER.]

---

Weedfoot prided herself on her social nature. She considered herself a happy, chatty molly, one who befriended others easily and eased the tensions with others. Sometimes she wondered if she was a mediator reincarnated; after all, she had befriended most of the other deputies (not Eelgrowl, though. Never Eelgrowl). She was beloved by her apprentices, both old and new, and all in all, her Clanmates liked her!

So why could she not ease the tension between Downstar and Oilstripe?

Oilstripe, to her credit, seemed unaware of Downstar’s aloof behavior towards her and continued on the border patrol with Burdockpaw like nothing was wrong. Downstar stayed well ahead of Oilstripe with Clampaw at her side. Weedfoot and Locustpaw took to the back of the group, noses alert and primed for unfamiliar scents.

“I bet I could make Downstar laugh,” Locustpaw whispered, their short neck craning up to Weedfoot’s level.

“Not right now, Locustpaw,” Weedfoot muttered as Downstar stopped. “We’re at the border.” 

AshClan scent was thick on the other side of the border that night. Weedfoot could hardly smell her own Clan through the mess. That was what it was to her now; a mess. The churning scent of a Clan who slaughtered her friends and left her wounds to fester. A Clan who let Paleshade die.

“Burdockpaw, come with us,” Downstar ordered. “We’re going to mark this stretch of the border. Weedfoot, take Locustpaw and Oilstripe along the other half. We’ll meet back here when we’re finished.” Burdockpaw trotted away from his mentor and slipped between Downstar and Clampaw. 

“Let’s get this done fast, and we can be back in our nests soon,” Weedfoot sighed, glancing at the starry sky above. She led her group along the border and refreshed RippleClan’s scent.

The trees were thick in this part of the territory, marked by AshClan caretakers as they harvested wood for their artisans. Weedfoot remembered strolling through the area as an apprentice, learning how AshClan learned to wield their excess of trees to their advantage. She’d much prefer to remember her various visits to the border with Oilstripe, wondering if they would see the Giant Frog of RippleClan once more, throwing clever insults at nearby AshClan cats.

“Weedfoot,” Locustpaw said, snapping Weedfoot out of her strange nostalgia. They had just finished marking part of the border and now glanced between Weedfoot and Oilstripe. “Weedfoot, she’s staring at nothing again.” Weedfoot looked over her shoulder. Oilstripe focused on a random spot beside Weedfoot, just over the border. She would have seemed attentive if she had been looking at anyone, but instead she looked like she needed a chat with Fennelspot.

“Are you alright, Oilstripe?” Weedfoot asked. Her paw touched Oilstripe’s shoulder. Oilstripe turned to her former mentor, but kept glancing at the empty space.

“I was just thinking,” Oilstripe muttered, tail twirling, “do you have any fun stories from this area? Something to teach Locustpaw maybe?” Weedfoot thought for a moment. In the past, the border had been a fairly mundane stretch of AshClan territory. There wasn’t much she could think of happening here, outside of her meeting with the Giant Frog, but she had told Locustpaw that story already. Suddenly, a gentle memory slipped to the surface and Weedfoot’s heart softened.

“Further into AshClan,” Weedfoot explained, pointing her tail through the dark, “there was this flat stone. We all loved to sunbathe on it in the summer. We’d spend our sunhighs sleeping there, away from the chatter in camp. Paleshade and I visited that spot a lot. Sometimes with friends, sometimes alone.” Weedfoot’s chest grew warm and she couldn’t help but purr. “That was where I proposed to her.”

“Wait, Paleshade was your mate?” Locustpaw gasped. “I thought she was your sister!”

“StarClan, no,” Weedfoot laughed. “Didn’t your father tell you this? Paleshade and I were quite the duo. We had a lot of ideas. We drove our mentors to the edge of sanity!” She shook her head with a soft laugh. “Paleshade and Weedfoot. They always said our names together.” Weedfoot stared into AshClan and mumbled, “I wonder if she would be proud of me.”

“She is,” Oilstripe stammered. “I mean, I think she would be. I think Paleshade would be really, really happy for you.”

“Oh, thank you, Oilstripe,” Weedfoot purred. She bumped heads with Oilstripe and let the warmth in her chest sink through her and into her former apprentice. “You can say the nicest things.”

“When you don’t put your tail in your mouth,” Locustpaw said softly.

“No chirpin’ Oilstripe,” Weedfoot chastised Locustpaw, gently flicking them with her tail. “Come along, then. We’ve marked enough of the border. Let’s meet Downstar.” Weedfoot and Oilstripe walked beside one another back to the meeting spot. Downstar, Burdockpaw, and Clampaw beat them there, chatting with one another until they spotted the rest of the patrol arriving.

“Good,” Downstar yawned. “Let’s go home.”

“Excuse me!” someone yowled. A bulky figure flew out of the bushes on the other side of the border. It was a pale ginger tom with leaves sticking out of his long, fluffy fur. A dark blue ribbon clung to his neck, ending in a pretty bow. His white underside was stained with mud. He flew over the border and trampled over Locustpaw. Locustpaw kicked him off. The kittypet tumbled over himself and landed at Weedfoot’s paws.

“Who are you?” she snapped as Burdockpaw and Locustpaw hissed.

“I’m very sorry,” the kittypet groaned, hurrying to his feet, “but I believe your neighbors are trying to kill me.”

“There he is!” A thin gray tom scurried out of the shadows with three AshClan cats at his side. Weedfoot’s fur bristled and her claws slipped out of her paws.

“Eelgrowl,” she hissed as Eelgrowl stopped his patrol a tail-length from the border.

“Weedfoot,” Eelgrowl huffed, cold brown eyes clawing into Weedfoot. “You have something of ours.”

“What’s going on?” Downstar asked as the kittypet’s raised fur made him grow to twice the size.

“We caught this kittypet hunting on our territory,” Eelgrowl explained. “He took prey from our kit’s mouths.”

“In my defense,” the kittypet growled, “I had no reason to believe I couldn’t catch mice on your land.”

“He didn’t even eat it!” the brown cat behind Eelgrowl, a warrior named Barkfur, hissed. “He played with it like a moss-ball!”

“We can’t let a kittypet who so willfully wastes prey leave unpunished,” Eelgrowl said. He took a bold step forward, his paw dancing on the edge of RippleClan territory. 

“He’s on RippleClan territory now,” Downstar huffed, standing between Eelgrowl and the kittypet. “We will handle him.” Downstar stared down Eelgrowl. Part of Weedfoot wanted Eelgrowl to try something so she could beat his face into the rocks. He had it coming, after all.

“You know what?” Eelgrowl snapped. “Fine. Keep him. Save us the hassle.” He stepped away from the border. “If we see you on AshClan’s land again, kittypet, I’ll have our artisans turn you into a rug.” Eelgrowl flicked his long, thin tail back. His patrol stalked away, eyeing the kittypet until they slipped from view. The kittypet sighed and smoothed his pelt.

“You don’t really do that, do you?” he gulped, glancing at Downstar.

“They’re bluffing,” Clampaw assured him.

“Who are you, then?” Downstar asked.

“My name is James,” the kittypet said, preening under the attention. “I come from the north. My humans had plans to move south, but I didn’t want to follow them. I’ve heard my fair share of rumors about Clan life, and thought I would join one instead. Clearly I will not be joining AshClan’s ranks.” He sneered across the border.

“You’re lucky you found us!” Burdockpaw declared. “We’re RippleClan. We’re all about welcoming kittypets and such!”

“Where was this enthusiasm when we met Apple Cider?” Oilstripe scoffed, whiskers twitching.

“Oh yes, I met her on my way here,” James chirped. “Friendly cat.”

“There’s a lot of work to do in a Clan,” Downstar said. “It can be rewarding, but you would need to respect our laws. We kill prey to eat it, not to play with it. We cannot afford to disrespect those lives in such a way.”

“What do you play with, then?” James asked, cocking his head.

“Something other than prey,” Weedfoot chuckled, shaking her head.

“We’ll escort you back to our camp if you’d like,” Downstar explained, nodding toward the unseen coast. “You can decide if Clan life is really suited for you or not.”

“Very well then,” James said, bowing to Downstar. “Lead on, dear lady. I look forward to seeing how many of the rumors about your Clans are true.” Downstar purred a bit at the title, then flicked her tail and led the patrol away from the border. Burdockpaw and Locustpaw walked on either side of James, each eyeing the newcomer for trouble. Weedfoot and Oilstripe wandered behind them. 

“For the first time in moons,” Weedfoot muttered to Oilstripe, “AshClan actually gave us something.” Oilstripe laughed and playfully bumped against Weedfoot.

(Weedfoot: 63, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Downstar: 73, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Locustpaw: 8, nonbinary (they/them), historian apprentice, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)

(Oilstripe: 18, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(James: 90, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Clampaw: 8, female, caretaker apprentice, lonesome, interested in Clan history)

“AshClan won’t be happy,” Fennelspot groaned as Downstar led him, Rustshade, Clampaw, and Shadowpaw along the border between AshClan and WheatClan.

“I know that,” Downstar huffed. “I don’t really care if they’re mad at this point. I gave Autumnstar our ultimatum. I’m not bowing down to him anymore.” 

Clampaw walked between Downstar and Rustshade with a basket in her jaws. Flint shards littered the bottom of the basket and gently clattered together. Their shiny black surfaces caught the light of late dusk. The leaves around the RippleClan patrol were just starting to turn into their brilliant autumn colors. Shadowpaw, who wandered beside his mentor, stared at the shadows that pooled under the leaves. The human farms in WheatClan territory bloomed with the yearly harvest; fields of flax shimmered in the distance. The patrol walked in an unbroken line, with Downstar strolling along the border itself.

“I don’t like this,” Rustshade grumbled, glancing toward AshClan territory. 

“When are we going to get an actual artisan to trade with the other Clans?” Shadowpaw groaned. He shook out his pelt and walked closer to Rustshade.

“We’ll have to recruit more cats like Parsley and James,” Downstar explained. She slipped around the patrol and walked on the other side of her son. “I’m sure someone will want to be an artisan.”

“James doesn’t even do anything,” Shadowpaw grumbled with a sneer.

“He’s only been with us half a moon,” Downstar chuckled, nudging Shadowpaw. “Give him some time to adapt. He helped prep the apprentice’s den for autumn, didn’t he?”

“And then he complained about splinters,” Rustshade muttered.

“You’re supposed to be on my side, Rustshade,” Downstar laughed. Rustshade purred softly and rolled his eyes. “James is fine. We’ll all be fine.”

“So you made good on your promise,” a loud voice called. Downstar could smell Autumnstar and his patrol before she saw them as a stiff wind shoved their woody stench over her whiskers. Autumnstar shoved through the browning foliage and into a brilliant orange sunspot. The setting sun turned his orange pelt into fire and the scars around his mangled tail into currents of blood. Bearchaser, a crooked old tom who looked like a darker version of Puddlespeckle, stood at Autumnstar’s side, glaring at the RippleClan patrol. Bile rose in Downstar’s throat as she remembered Weedfoot’s horrified retelling of just what those two did to her and her friends.

“That we did,” Downstar said, marching in front of her Clanmates. “It’s just like I told you at the Gathering last night. We’re going to trade with the other Clans whether you approve of it or not. We’ll be sticking by the border, just like LynxClan does when they visit you.”

“We don’t want you wandering through our lands,” Autumnstar huffed. “All we ask is that you wait for us by our border and let us escort you past!” Autumnstar stomped up to Downstar with Bearchaser lurking behind him. The tortoiseshell leader could feel his hot breath against her whiskers. “We let you trade with the other three Clans, we let you attend Gatherings, we let your antsy little cleric there freely visit StarClan’s Shrine, what more do you want from us?”

“Respect,” Downstar hissed. “We’ve had it with your bullying, Autumnstar. We are a sovereign Clan! We will conduct our own business with our neighbors and we will not let you hound after us!”

“StarClan would not allow a band of traitors to so easily enjoy the well-fought privileges you demand from us,” Autumnstar hissed. He stepped back and glared at each member of the patrol. Clampaw squirmed next to her father and Shadowpaw lifted his chin at Downstar’s side, forgetting the fact that he was half of Autumnstar’s size. “Everything you have is because of charm and pity. You’ve won nothing by the strength of your own claws. How can we ever respect a Clan that is too afraid to stand its ground?”

“Meet us by the border, and we’ll show you who can stand their ground,” Downstar snapped. “If our words mean nothing to you, we’ll show how strong we really are. RippleClan, we’re leaving.” Rustshade nudged Clampaw onward. Fennelspot lurked behind Downstar, glancing over her back at Autumnstar’s burning yellow eyes. 

“Good job, Mom!” Shadowpaw whispered as the stiff winds that whistled through the trees sent clouds over the half-set sun. Downstar looked over her shoulder toward Autumnstar and Bearchaser, but the duo were already returning to their territory.

“Downstar, did you just declare war on Autumnstar?” Fennelspot gulped, scampering in front of her. “They have so many cats! Downstar, we have maybe ten cats who can actually fight them off!”

“I wish we didn’t have to,” Downstar groaned, stepping around Fennelspot, “but Autumnstar won’t respect us without a fight. We need to get back to camp quickly. I need fresh paws. Hurry, everyone!” Downstar ran along the border. The sound of clattering flint was her only indication that the others were following her. Fennelspot ran alongside her, the worry as evident on his face as the clouds were evident in the sky. A few drops of rain speckled Downstar’s pelt as she ran to inform her Clan of what she hoped was the best decision.

(Fennelspot: 72, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 74, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Rustshade: 59, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Shadowpaw: 7, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)

(Clampaw: 9, female, caretaker apprentice, lonesome, interested in Clan history)

Despite wishing Autumnstar would listen, Downstar feels forced to send a border patrol out to the AshClan border and prepare for an assault.

[Image ID: Downstar and Weedfoot face each other. Weedfoot says, “There will be other battles. It’s too dangerous out here!”]

---

The clouds that overtook the sunset brought a strong rain with them. It was the sort of rain that glued Weedfoot’s fur to her skin and turned the ground into slick mud. She helped Oilstripe, Scrubmask, and Parsley keep their footing as they made their way to the AshClan border. Downstar led the way, her soft and fluffy fur transformed into a soaked mess. The cold rain turned the world gray and nearly blinded Weedfoot. The only way Weedfoot could tell they were at the border was by the sight of those ever familiar trees with AshClan scratches lining the trunks.

“Mark as much of the border as you can!”  Downstar yowled as the sky rumbled.. “Be ready to challenge any AshClan cats you see!” 

“Downstar, the rain is going to wash away any scent we leave behind!” Oilstripe called, her belly fur sagging with water weight. 

“I know Autumnstar,” Downstar snapped, “you don’t! He won’t wait for the rain to pass to show his strength. If our scent isn’t fresh, he’s going to come here and claim our territory! We need to make a stand tonight! We’re walking the whole border tonight.” Downstar pushed past Oilstripe and marched along the border. Scrubmask looked half-drowned from the rain, but she dutifully searched for a spot to mark.

“If there’s one thing I miss about my old barn,” Parsley groaned, shaking herself out, “it’s the water-proof roof.” Her paws slid in the mud, but she followed after Downstar. Oilstripe pressed into Weedfoot as her dirty claws searched for solid ground.

“Weedfoot, I don’t like this,” Oilstripe gulped. She coughed out the ever-intrusive rain and said, “This is a big storm. It’s not safe to be out here!”

“Downstar’s right,” Weedfoot huffed. The mud sucked at her paws as she followed the rest of the patrol. “With what she’s said to Autumnstar, he’ll be looking to reclaim the territory we took from him. Fresh scent markers may deter him for a bit.”

“I can’t even smell you, Weedfoot!” Oilstripe whined. Her eyes bounced around as though searching for hidden enemies. “Weedfoot, if we stay here, I think one of us is going to die.”

“It’s just a storm, Oil,” Weedfoot promised, touching her nose to Oilstripe’s ear. Thunder grumbled once more as distant lightning flashed in the clouds. Oilstripe jumped into Weedfoot and nearly knocked her over.

“Weedfoot, do you trust me?” Oilstripe yowled.

“Always,” Weedfoot said immediately.

“Then get us home before something horrible happens,” Oilstripe snapped. Up ahead, Downstar and Scrubmask were marking the border. The rain disrupted their process, but they closed their eyes and pressed on. Weedfoot hurried through the mud, squinting as the wind blew the rain into her eyes.

“Downstar, let’s head back!” Weedfoot yowled.

“We’ve only marked a portion of the border!” Downstar snapped, turning her face against the wind. “If we don’t mark more of it, Autumnstar will swipe it for himself! Winter is coming, we need this land!”

“We have the entire ocean!” Weedfoot cried as lightning screamed somewhere in the distance. “We’ll have enough prey! It’s just land, Downstar! Storms like this send trees and mudslides down. We can’t get stuck here. Think of your kits!”

“I am!” Downstar yowled. Rain dripped from her face into her wild amber eyes. She hissed and shook out her pelt, but the water came right back. A new crack of thunder echoed through the Clans with such force that the entire patrol jumped. Downstar’s back arched as high as the Shiprock.

“There will be other battles,” Weedfoot promised, reaching a mud-soaked paw toward Downstar. “It’s too dangerous out here!”

“StarClan’s telling us to go back,” Oilstripe huffed, slipping beside Weedfoot.

“You aren’t a cleric, Oilstripe, you don’t know what StarClan wants,” Downstar hissed.

“I can guess!” Oilstripe yowled as more thunder roared overhead.

“Even the humans huddle inside in a storm like this, Ms. Downstar,” Parsley added, mud clinging to the back of her legs. “There’s no shame in it. Autumnstar’s a fool if he brings his cats out here, and I’m sorry, but you’d be a fool to make us stay.” Downstar’s back slowly smoothed out. The ground was more water than mud at that point. Downstar’s paws splashed rather than sunk into the ground. She stared at the puddle she found herself in.

“Then we’ll go home,” Downstar huffed. Her ears sunk as she turned away from the border. Oilstripe bolted ahead, any patrol decorum lost in the face of such a loud storm. Downstar took the hint and picked up the pace. Weedfoot helped Parsley and Scrubmask through the mud as her neck burned under the eyes of unseen AshClan warriors.

(Weedfoot: 64, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Oilstripe: 19, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Downstar: 74, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Parsley: 109, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

(Scrubmask: 32, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

Halibutpaw convinces his siblings to defend the border with him.

[Image ID: Shadowpaw, Graypaw, and Halibutpaw gather in the bottom left corner. Halibutpaw yowls “And stay out!” at a distant gray and white tom in the upper right corner.]

---

The storm a quarter moon prior made the territory look more like mid summer than early autumn. The rain and thunder had knocked the colored leaves off their trees, leaving only those still clinging to their green glory. The ground had finally dried, at least, allowing Halibutpaw and his littermates to journey across the territory with dry feet.

“Mom will be so mad at us when we get back,” Graypaw giggled, wiggling her flank.

“How can she be?” Halibutpaw scoffed. “This is our job.”

“Technically, it’s our jobs when we’re with our mentors,” Shadowpaw reminded him. He walked on Halibutpaw’s right and kept an eye out for other cats, AshClan or RippleClan. 

“Yes…” Halibutpaw admitted, dragging his back foot for emphasis, “but don’t you think they’ll be impressed if we can get some of our territory back?”

“Autumnstar may respect our gusto,” Shadowpaw said with a flick of his whiskers. “He seems like the sort to appreciate a move like this. It’s what he did to us during the storm.”

“We’re here!” Graypaw said. She ran in front of her brothers and eyed the land ahead. The siblings were partway through the forest northwest of camp. If Halibutpaw climbed a tree, he could probably see the old border, but it was too shrouded in shrubbery and trees to see from where he stood. AshClan scent drifted off each rock and stained the earth around them.

“According to Weedfoot,” Shadowpaw said, sniffing the new border, “this is where AshClan territory used to end before Mom founded RippleClan.”

“The patrol should have stuck around,” Graypaw huffed. She scratched at the grass. “If they hadn’t come back to camp, Autumnstar might not have moved the border.”

“They also might have died,” Halibutpaw groaned, one ear turned to Graypaw as he sniffed for fresh scent. “Either way, it’s the same; Mom starts moping around camp like she did right after Duskkit died.” For a few moments, Halibutpaw wondered what his older sister would have done had she become an apprentice. She probably would have suggested their little adventure days earlier. 

“Shadowpaw and I came up with this little trick a while back,” Graypaw said, trotting up to a tall fir. “It’s sunhigh, so whatever unfortunate soul Autumnstar picked for border patrol should be coming around any minute now. If we wait up here for them, we’ll show them we’re serious when we move the border.” Graypaw scurried up the fir, sending crumbs of bark tumbling after her. Shadowpaw was at her heels, and Halibutpaw climbed up a moment later. Graypaw and Shadowpaw delicately balanced on the thicker branches of the fir, studying the ground below, while Halibutpaw wrapped his paws around the branch and kept still. His tiny heart flew into his throat.

“Halibutpaw, even if you fall, you’ll land on your feet,” Shadowpaw scoffed.

“I know!” Halibutpaw huffed, staring dead ahead. “I just realized that I… don’t like heights.”

“Scaredy-mouse,” Graypaw sang, swaying her tail back and forth.

“I am not a scaredy-mouse,” Halibutpaw snapped. “Now stay focus! AshClan could be here any minute!”

“This is so exciting!” Graypaw cheered in a whisper. 

It didn’t take long for someone to appear. It was a silver and white tom with laurel leaves tucked into his fur. From the way his white pattern laid on him, it was like his front half was dipped in white dye.

“Anyone recognize him?” Halibutpaw whispered as his littermates noticed the new arrival.

“That’s Heronflank,” Shadowpaw explained. “He became a codekeeper last moon. I met him at the Gathering. He’s a nice tom. Maybe we should wait for someone else.” His paws shifted back.

“AshClan won’t be back here for ages!” Graypaw groaned. “We’re doing this.” She glared back at Shadowpaw, who stiffened and crouched along the branch. “Halibut, unclench!”

“I don’t think I can,” Halibutpaw gulped.

“Then you can just watch us,” Graypaw purred, eyeing Heronflank below like prey. The unassuming codekeeper carefully marked the new border, yawning as he did so. Graypaw and Shadowpaw danced on their feet, stalking closer and closer. Graypaw raised her tail high. Halibutpaw swallowed hard and slowly unpried his front legs from around the branch. His unsure paws dug into the wood. Before Halibutpaw could pry his feet up, Graypaw and Shadowpaw jumped from the tree.

The two gray tabbies landed on Heronflank before he realized what was happening. Heronflank yowled and screeched, batting at the two as Graypaw attached herself to his back. He smashed her into the fir trunk while Shadowpaw clawed at his side.

“Who’s a coward now?” Graypaw laughed as she fell off Heronflank. 

Heronflank spun and kicked Shadowpaw in the jaw. He pinned Graypaw down and bit into her scruff. Her scream ripped Halibutpaw’s feet off the branch. He launched off the tree, claws unseathed and eyes shut, yowling the whole way down. His claws struck something soft as they flailed. Heronflank screamed as Halibutpaw landed on all four paws in front of him. Halibutpaw inched an eye open as he processed the fact that he hadn’t died. A long claw wound ran down Heronflank’s right eye. Blood dripped into his eye and turned it from green-yellow to brown. Heronflank stumbled back, desperately blinking the blood out. He scrambled back into AshClan territory as the blood trickled down his jaw.

“And stay out!” Halibutpaw yowled, panting.

“Ha ha ha, yes!” Graypaw cheered. “We scared him off! Come on! Let’s move the border before he brings reinforcements!” Graypaw hurried over the border. Halibutpaw stared at his feet. Blood and fur stuck to one of his paws. 

“Did I just blind someone?” Halibutpaw gulped as Graypaw moved the border further into AshClan territory.

“AshClan has a good cleric,” Shadowpaw said, rubbing his chin on his shoulder. “Heronflank should be fine. Let’s help Graypaw before she yowls at us.” Shadowpaw joined Graypaw further into the trees. Halibutpaw rubbed his paw into the grass and ran after the others.

[Image ID: Parsley, Rustshade, Carnationspeckle, Oilstripe, and Burdockpaw stand in a line on the bottom half of the screen. In the upper half, in the distance, we see AshClan cats; Barkfur, Eelgrowl, Autumnstar, a ginger tom, and Bearchaser, in that order. Carnationspeckle says “StarClan, what did they do?”]

Halibutpaw, Graypaw, and Shadowpaw took a chunk out of AshClan’s new border, marking as much of it as they could. They made it all the way to the WheatClan border before Halibutpaw suggested they turn back. Sunhigh had passed, and the rest of RippleClan was certainly looking for them. 

“Do you think Rustshade will be impressed with me?” Shadowpaw asked.

“He’d be a fool not to!” Graypaw laughed. “Oh, did that bite draw blood earlier?” She lowered her head. Shadowpaw and Halibutpaw stared at her scruff.

“I think he bruised the skin,” Halibutpaw said. Graypaw groaned and kicked a small stone. Shadowpaw chuckled, but his ears perked up. 

“Do you two hear something?” Shadowpaw asked. Halibutpaw and Graypaw tilted their ears. Somewhere in the distance, voices yowled through the trees.

“Graypaw?” the voices called. “Shadowpaw? Halibutpaw? Anyone?”

“That’s Carnationspeckle,” Graypaw chirped. “Let’s tell her what we did!” 

As Graypaw preened in her imagined praise, shapes danced within the bushes. Halibutpaw dropped as figures ran through the trees toward Carnationspeckle’s cries. The brown molly herself slipped through the scrub with Parsley, Rustshade, Oilstripe, and Burdockpaw behind her.

“Halibutpaw?” Shadowpaw gulped. Before Halibutpaw could say anything, a wizened gray tom soared into view and collided with the patrol. Shadowpaw and Graypaw dropped as Autumnstar raced toward RippleClan with Eelgrowl, Barkfur, and a ginger tom thundering beside him.

“StarClan, what did they do?” Carnationspeckle yowled as she pulled the gray tom, Bearchaser, off Rustshade.

“My son was doing his job, you fox-hearts!” Bearchaser screeched. “You nearly blinded him!” Halibutpaw pressed his full body into the earth as AshClan collided with RippleClan. 

“Our first battle!” Graypaw gasped. “We need to help!” Autumnstar and Parsley locked into each other’s shoulders. Burdockpaw faced down Barkfur and held his focus as Oilstripe attacked from the side. Bearchaser turned on Carnationspeckle and slammed her head down.

“You realize Bearchaser fought an actual bear?” Halibutpaw hissed. “Do you know what he might do if he sees me?”

“We can’t stay here!” Graypaw huffed. 

“You’re not going to.” The three gray apprentices yelped and spun around. Rustshade loomed over them, a tuft of fur torn off his shoulder.

“How did you get over here so fast?” Shadowpaw stammered.

“We’re going back to camp, now,” Rustshade hissed. He pulled Shadowpaw to his feet.

“But the others!” Halibutpaw gulped.

“They’ll handle it!” Rustshade snapped. “You’re not ready for this. Hunter’s crouch, all of you. Stay low and stay quiet.” Rustshade dropped into a low crouch and glared at the apprentices. Slowly, each one copied the ginger codekeeper. He shoved them forward and kept his eyes locked on their identical pelts as they snuck away from the disaster of their own creation.

(Halibutpaw: 7, male, warrior apprentice, impulsive, quick witted, lover of stories)

(Graypaw: 7, female, caretaker apprentice, bloodthirsty, careful listener)

(Shadowpaw: 7, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)

(Carnationspeckle: 17, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

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

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

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

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