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Although Weedfoot recovers from yellowcough, Twinekit dies of greencough.
[Image ID: Moonpaw faces Twinekit, who is now a StarClan cat. Moonpaw says “Hi, Twinekit. You’re okay now.”]
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)
(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)
Daughters of Flarepelt and Monsoonfur, baby sisters of Smoketail and Hawkwhisker
Locustkit- takes after her mouth and is a wild, boisterous child and wants to fight everything. Although she occasionally gets in trouble with her parents, Flarepelt is secretly very fond of the kit.
Flutterkit- is definitely more shy and withdrawn, she’d rather stay close to the safety of her mother, or older siblings than play with a daredevil like Locustkit.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
At the time of drawing this I had just gotten a new tablet & program (yay!) so the style does change a little as I figure it out!! At posting I’ve had it for like 3 months but that’s what happens when you get new supplies in the middle of building a backlog 🫠
It’s been literal months and I JUST realized I put the wrong name it’s Sleekmist her name is SleekmistS
