#mousesong

Lavenderpaw was curious about Spike. Why wouldn’t he be? Shadowdrop, who had only recently come back from his punishment for causing one molly’s death, saves the life of another? A molly that most likely knew Cinderella?  Lavenderpaw was no historian, but it was quite the story! Of course he wanted to know more!

Despite that curiosity, Lavenderpaw didn’t get much of a chance to see Spike. Scrubmask loved to keep him busy. StarClan, that warrior was tighter than a leather strap! Every day, it was “Lavenderpaw, here’a why we patrol” and “Lavenderpaw, warriors help where needed”, there was no time for fun! Lavenderpaw’s littermates seemed to enjoy their apprenticeships. Palepaw learned from everyone she could about being a meditator. Wasppaw and Puddlepaw got to have fake arguments and pick apart famous trials of the past. Ripplepaw had a mentor that could interview ghosts! What could Scrubmask do? Snap at Lavenderpaw for humming?

Lucky for Lavenderpaw, his mother was deputy. While Weedfoot was still sick, she could boss cats around again. That’s how Lavenderpaw ended up Fennelspot’s apprentice for the day.

“Bubblemoon and I are some of the only living clerics to have dealt with broken backs,” Fennelspot explained as he darted about the medicine den. “We’ll be talking at the half-moon meeting for a while about Spike’s condition. I need to know that you can handle any sniffles or complaints the Clan may bring up while I’m gone.”

“You’ve given me a lot of medicine to help,” Lavenderpaw said, eyeing the vast assortment of ointments and powders along the walls. “If I have any questions, I can ask Palepaw.”

“And if it’s a true emergency, send Scrubmask to collect me,” Fennelspot reminded him. He placed a small jar into a leather pouch, tightened the twine around it, and slid it around his neck. “Carnationspeckle should be coming in sometime tonight for something to stop her milk. The kits stopped nursing a while ago, but Carnationspeckle’s still producing milk. I have a sage and parsley she needs to add to her next meal, give her the small pouch next to Spike.” Fennelspot and Lavenderpaw glanced Spike’s way. The loner spent most of her days lying quietly in her nest, silently watching visitors or turned to the wall. The latter was true that day.

Lavenderpaw leaned close to Fennelspot and whispered, “Should I do anything with her?”

“Just keep your eye on her and get her anything she needs,” Fennelspot said. “Spike? I’ll be back early in the morning. Lavenderpaw will help you while I’m gone.” Spike shifted her paw, the only sign she heard Fennelspot at all. Fennelspot sighed. He touched noses with Lavenderpaw and trotted out into the chilly winter sunset.

Lavenderpaw examined the den. Being cleric for a day would be fun! Just looking after the Clan, just like he already did. He had to admit, all the medicines were certainly interesting. He trotted up to Carnationspeckle’s prepared bundle and studied each herb and concoction. As his thoughts drifted, he settled on a song.

“Come join claw in paw, brave warriors all,

And rouse your bold hearts at fair liberty’s call;

No tyrannous acts, shall suppress your just claim—”

“Or stain with dishonor the dear Ripple’s name.” Lavenderpaw’s head spun toward Spike.

“You know The Movement’s Call?” Lavenderpaw gasped. Spike grew still. “Don’t go quiet on me! I love The Movement’s Call! How does a loner know that song?” Spike sighed deeply.

“Help me face you,” Spike muttered. Lavenderpaw bolted over. He carefully helped Spike stand on her front paws and, keeping her back straight with the brace, slowly spun her around. Lavenderpaw could smell the infection in Spike’s heavily covered wound. He wondered if Spike could groom herself with her injury. Surely Fennelspot was grooming her. So why was her fur so rough and ragged below her wound?

Lavenderpaw set Spike down with a thud. Lavenderpaw flinched as Spike hissed. 

“Sorry!” Lavenderpaw gulped. “Let me find something for the pain.”

“No, it’s fine,” Spike groaned, waving Lavenderpaw off. “I’ll tell you if it gets worse.”

“How do you know a Clan song?” Lavenderpaw asked, sitting beside the injured loner.

“Because, long ago,” Spike sighed, “my father lived in the Clans.” Lavenderpaw scooted closer. “I don’t know what else you expect from me. He knew the song, so he taught it to me.”

“Who is he?” Lavenderpaw asked. “Is he still alive? What Clan did he come from? Were you coming to join us when the horse trampled you?”

“You’re asking too many questions,” Spike huffed, her body tensing.

“You turned to talk,” Lavenderpaw pointed out. His smugness was as strong as the horse’s blow.

“My father is still alive,” Spike said, rolling her eyes. “He and my mother raised me until I was six moons old, at which point he went back to wandering. He stops by our den a couple times each moon to see how my aunt, mother and I are faring. Were faring. Until my aunt got pregnant and started bringing back all these Clan teachings my father never thought to share with us.”

“Cinderella was your aunt,” Lavenderpaw gasped. “We thought you were related!”

“And now I’m in the Clan that caused her death,” Spike muttered. She placed her head between her paws.

“In our defense, Shadowdrop got Cinderella pregnant. We had nothing to do with it. We helped you, didn’t we? We aren’t so bad.”

“You helped a dead cat. You have many skills in the Clans, but even you and your ancestors can’t fix an infected spine. I don’t get the dignity of dying around my kin, just like Cinderella.”

“You’ll see your parents again. I promise.”

“And who are you to make that promise?” Spike’s cold eyes hardened Lavenderpaw’s resolve.

“The deputy’s son, thank you very much.”

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Lavenderpaw stuck out his tongue. For the first time since he met Spike, the injured loner chirped softly, whiskers twitching in a quiet mirth.

“Oh, when my sisters were sick,” Lavenderpaw explained, “we visited all the time to keep their spirits up. Fennelspot said it helped them recover faster. Maybe if we spend some time together, your infection might go away.”

“I don’t believe that’s how infections work.”

“Please? I want to hear stories from a real loner, someone who knows what life is like out there right now.” Lavenderpaw couldn’t help but wiggle his flank in anticipation. Spike sighed once more, stretching out the breath until Lavenderpaw thought he would explode from the wait.

“What else do you want to know?” Spike groaned.

“Truthfully,” Lavenderpaw chuckled, sitting in a loaf in front of Spike, “I want to continue singing The Movement’s Call with you. You have a good voice!” Spike rolled her eyes, but cleared her throat.

“In freedom we’re born, and in freedom we’ll live;

Our hearts are ready,

Steady, Friends, steady.”

(Lavenderpaw: 8, male, warrior apprentice, bold, likes to sing)

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Spike: 17, female, loner, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

Scrubmask can’t imagine what her life would look like without Downstar. They both spend time with Mosskit, who has greencough.

[Image ID: Scrubmask and Downstar face Mosskit, who has + CONDITION: GREENCOUGH written under him. Downstar says “Tell us that story you were so excited about, Moss.”]

(Scrubmask: 59, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Mosskit: 3, male, kit, bullying, stares at fire)

Tempestkit disappears from camp as a blizzard begins to pick up. Downstar leads a patrol after the wayward kit.

[Image ID: A patrol marches through the snow. From left to right, the patrol includes Rustshade, Fennelspot, Wasppaw, Mousesong, Puddlepaw, Shadowdrop, and Downstar.]

---

Fennelspot predicted it the day before; a massive blizzard tearing into the territories, cursed by Stormfoots, those twisted Spirits of Shadow born from their namesake in the Dark Forest. Downstar was quick to act and ordered the caretakers to lead preparations around camp. She disappointed Wildclaw, who thought it meant reprieve from kit duty, when Downstar put her in charge of shoring up the nursery. Carnationspeckle worked with the artisans to find the best spot in camp for a bonfire; they would need the warmth. Clammask darted about, making sure everyone had a den to fortify or a job to do in prepping for the storm. Even James got off his lazy flank and helped out.

“If we cook the prey we have into dishes like pemmican,” Downstar muttered, studying the fresh-kill pile, “we can feed the Clan with well-preserved food throughout the storm.”

“Do you suppose it will be a long blizzard?” Weedfoot asked. Her voice was congested, the symptoms of whitecough still clinging to her pelt and slowing her down, but she could largely do her job now.

“That’s what Fennelspot predicted,” Downstar sighed. “He was right about the darkhound, so I assume he’s right about the storm. Wildclaw, where are you going?” Downstar looked over at her daughter, who walked with Trumpetkit and Tempestkit away from the nursery.

“Mom, I’m just escorting them to the dirt place!” Wildclaw groaned. “The nursery’s ready for the snow.”

“Good,” Downstar sighed, nodding as Wildclaw ushered the two black mollies around the shipwreck. 

“You seem more like yourself today,” Weedfoot hummed. “More like you were when we founded RippleClan.”

“I work well in a crisis,” Downstar admitted. A snowflake danced over her whiskers, making her shiver.

“StarClan, the snow’s starting already?” Weedfoot groaned, looking up. “Fennelspot said the storm would start in the morning. It isn’t even sunset yet.”

“Hurry, everyone!” Downstar yowled to the scurrying cats around camp. “We have less time than we thought. Focus on the essentials. Rattlepelt, Rabbitjoy, Carnationspeckle, start cooking and make sure the fires are lit!”

“The apprentice’s den isn’t ready for the snow,” Puddlepaw called, sticking his head out.

“You’re sleeping in the nursery with the elders then,” Downstar barked. “If the snow will be as strong as Fennelspot says, I don’t trust the shipwreck to keep us warm. Weedfoot, get Oilstripe and Mosskit into the warrior’s den.”

A sudden caterwaul caught the Clan’s attention. It came from the dirt place.

“Tempestkit!” Wildclaw yowled. Shadowdrop, who had been bundling leather pelts at the edge of the warrior’s den, bolted past Downstar. Downstar and Weedfoot joined him in the race to the dirtplace.

When the trio turned the corner, Trumpetkit’s tiny teeth were buried in Wildclaw’s leg. The tip of Tempestkit’s tail slipped through the thorns that covered the top of the rocks, keeping the dirtplace separate from the rest of the world. Oilstripe had Trumpetkit by the scruff and finally pulled her off.

“Tempestkit, get back here right now!” Shadowdrop roared. He soared onto the rocky border, but the hole in the thorn wall was only big enough for a kit; Shadowdrop stuck his paw through and frantically waved about, but Downstar could see Tempestkit’s fluffy pelt streaking toward the forest, snowflakes catching on her black fur.

“Trumpetkit, what are you doing?” Oilstripe snapped, throwing Trumpetkit down. “That’s your aunt!” 

“You nearly drew blood!” Wildclaw groaned, licking her back leg.

“Tempestkit wanted to go on an adventure like Aunt Duskkit did when she was our age,” Trumpetkit whined. She sunk into the sand, big golden eyes bouncing between each panicked adult. “She said if I distracted Aunt Wildclaw, she’d bring me back a gift!”

“During a blizzard?” Weedfoot hissed. She looked between Trumpetkit and Tempestkit’s hole in the wall. Shadowdrop continued to frantically claw at the hole, as though if he stretched far enough, he would snatch Tempestkit’s tail. Shadowdrop screamed and jumped off the rocks.

“You’ve been staying in the den next to the dirt place for moons!” Shadowdrop roared at Oilstripe. “Didn’t you see this hole in the wall?”

“I don’t watch cats use the dirt place, Shadowdrop!” Oilstripe hissed. Downstar had enough of it. She raced back into the main clearing, where the Clan was nervously waiting to hear what happened.

“I want all our codekeepers with me, now!” Downstar yowled. “Tempestkit has run off. We need to bring her back before the blizzard grows.”

“Does that include our apprentices?” Rustshade asked as Mousesong shook out her pelt, ready to go. Downstar nodded. Wasppaw and Puddlepaw hurried to their mentors. Wasppaw stood proud beside Mousesong while Puddlepaw rubbed against his father, searching for answers in James’ face.

“Mom, I’m coming with you.” Shadowdrop ran up beside Downstar, leading the rest of the crowd out of the dirt place.

“No,” Downstar huffed. “Trumpetkit and Mosskit need you.”

“I am coming with you!” Shadowdrop snapped. “She is my daughter, it is my responsibility to look after her.” Downstar hesitated. How responsible could Shadowdrop be when his kits came about from such a selfish act? 

“Oh…” Downstar groaned, jaw tense, “Wildclaw, don’t let the other kits out of your sight!” Wildclaw stood to the side with Trumpetkit and Mosskit, who had stumbled out of the quarantine den. Wildclaw pulled them both close. “Fennelspot, with us! The longer we wait, the further she gets!” Downstar’s patrol formed around her as she hurried out of camp. A cold wind ushered them out as the sky above darkened.

Fennelspot and Mousesong beat the patrol to the other side of camp where the dirt place wall gave way and Tempestkit made her escape. Mousesong sniffed the ground and growled. 

“All I smell is the dirt place,” she said, nose curling.

“She ran that way,” Shadowdrop said, pointing his tail toward the forest.

“Tempestkit!” Wasppaw called. “Tempestkit, it’s cold out here! It’s not that exciting!” Another sharp wind blew in Downstar’s face, sending a barrage of snow into her eyes.

“Pray to our ancestors she has the good sense to turn around,” Downstar growled. “Follow her trail.” 

At their leader’s command, the patrol charged into the growing blizzard, calling Tempestkit’s name.

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Weedfoot: 90, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Wildclaw: 34, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Puddlepaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)

(Trumpetkit: 3, female, kit, nervous, plays in mud)

(Tempestkit: 3, female, kit, troublesome, loves to eat)

(Oilstripe: 46, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Shadowdrop: 34, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Rustshade: 86, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Mousesong: 18, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

(Wasppaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, strict, interested in clan history, eye for detail)

[Image ID: Shadowdrop, Downstar, and Tempestkit cuddle close as snow falls around them and Downstar says “I will die as many times as I need to keep you both warm.”]

---

Tempestkit shouldn’t have been far. She was still a kit, unfamiliar with the territory. The forest wasn’t thick yet. Tempestkit should have been leaving the scent of the dirt place  in her wake. But as sunset arrived, the snow grew thicker. Downstar’s paws grew numb. And the patrol was no closer to finding Tempestkit than they were when they set off.

Shadowdrop yowled as the thickening blanket of snow under his paws sent him tumbling forward. He smashed his chin against the cold ground. Puddlepaw and Rustshade helped him up. 

“This is ridiculous!” Shadowdrop groaned. “Where could she have gone? How have we not found her yet?”

“It’s the Stormfoots,” Fennelspot gulped. He stared into the harsh blowing snow. “They’re hiding her in their snow. I just know it.”

“They aren’t taking my granddaughter from me,” Downstar hissed. “We keep going. We don’t go home until we find her!”

“The snow’s starting to collect on the ground,” Puddlepaw pointed out. “We’ll start seeing pawprints sooner or later.”

“We don’t even know if we’re still following her,” Mousesong huffed.

“Then we split up,” Rustshade said. He glanced around and added “If you were a kit on an adventure, where might you go?”

“I would go see the river,” Wasppaw said. “I was curious to see it when I was little.”

“You didn’t grow up with stories about your dead mom,” Mousesong grunted. “Wouldn’t you want to see her grave for yourself?”

“Maybe she’s not thinking,” Shadowdrop said, casting a cold eye at Mousesong. “Maybe she just picked a direction and wondered what was out there.”

“Fennelspot, I know what you’re going to say,” Downstar groaned, “but I think we should split up.”

“That is an awful idea!” Fennelspot gasped. “The storm will only get worse. This is the sort of weather that gets cats killed!”

“And my daughter is out there,” Shadowdrop hissed, tail thrashing. “If my mother thinks we should split up, I’m following her.” 

“We don’t know where Tempestkit went,” Downstar reminded the group. “It’s more important to find her and make sure she’s warm than worry about ourselves. This is what we train for.” Wasppaw nodded, gaining a second wind. Mousesong copied her apprentice, tail brushed against his side. 

“Howlingwind, Celestial of snowfall, hear us o Blessed One and repel these Stormfoots from our shores.” Fennelspot squeezed his eyes tight as he prayed.

“Fennelspot, take Wasppaw and Mousesong to the Great Northern River,” Downstar ordered. “Rustshade, Puddlepaw, head south. Shadowdrop and I will continue west.”

“We have to go back to camp when it gets too dark,” Fennelspot huffed. “I mean it, Downstar. We can’t find Tempestkit if we freeze to death.” Downstar stayed silent as the snow tried to tear Fennelspot’s voice away. Shadowdrop curled into himself as he braced against the wind. His eyes met his mother’s. There was a quiet agreement no plea could break.

“Be quick, everyone,” Downstar ordered. “Find her!” Shadowdrop and Downstar joined each other’s side and hurried against the screaming snow. From that moment on, they might as well have been the only cats in the territory.

If the situation wasn’t so dire, Downstar would have thought the storm to be a beautiful thing. Soon the snow would drag the pine branches low and cover the ground in a white blanket that reached Downstar’s chest. But the storm had only been blowing for a short time. When Downstar ran over the snow collecting on the dead grass, she could once again see the grass through her pawprints. The dark trees were dusted rather than smothered. But the lack of thick layers meant nothing when the falling snow tore at Downstar’s eyes. She didn’t feel when her paws hit the ground and her face was ready to fall off. 

Downstar wasn’t sure where they were in the territory. The snowfall turned the world white. Shadowdrop and Downstar scoured each area they found, calling Tempestkit’s name and searching in each little cranny. Sometimes Downstar forgot whether they had searched a certain bush or tree yet and Shadowdrop had to redirect her. She prayed it was her worry clouding her memory and not the freezing fangs of frostbite.

“Pawprints!” Shadowdrop finally shrieked. “I found pawprints!” Downstar had been checking under a large exposed root when Shadowdrop called for her. Sure enough, there was a small trail of kitten sized pawprints emerging from a bush and hiking through the snow.

“Tempestkit!” Downstar yowled, jogging alongside the tracks. Shadowdrop kept his nose to the ground, searching for a scent amidst the churning storm. The wind screamed and knocked Downstar off-balance.  As she steadied her paws, she spotted a large stone jutting out of a gentle slope. A small hole broke through the haze of white that slowly turned black in the coming night. The fading pawprints led straight to it. Downstar shoved Shadowdrop and turned his gaze to the hole.

Downstar and Shadowdrop fought to squeeze inside. From the size of it, the hole may have been a fox den, although if it was, all trace of its creator had vanished. The more concerning feature of the den was the black kitten huddled in the back, shivering so hard Downstar thought she would hurt herself.

“Tempestkit, what were you thinking?” Shadowdrop groaned. He wrapped himself around his daughter. Downstar suddenly realized that between all of Shadowdrop’s new duties and the Clan’s effort to help Tempestkit and her siblings find their place in the Clan, she had never seen him properly curl up with his kits. It seemed natural for him. He’d endured his punishment with dignity, he wanted to be a father. Perhaps Tempestkit noticed that. Perhaps there was more to her misadventure than following in the pawsteps of her long-dead aunt.

“I’m cold,” she whined, pressing into her father’s shoulder. Downstar licked Tempestkit’s fur the wrong way, trying to warm her up. She was so cold, she didn’t feel alive.

“We need to start a fire,” Downstar muttered, glancing out into the storm. The world suddenly turned a deep, unbreakable blue, shifting into dark grays in the snowfall. 

“With what?” Shadowdrop huffed. “Everything is wet. Mom, Tempestkit needs warmth. Come here. Please.” Downstar crawled beside her son and granddaughter. She pressed into both of their dark pelts and tried to pour what little heat remained into them.

“I’m ready to go home now,” Tempestkit muttered into her father’s fur. “I had my fun.”

“I don’t think we can move,” Shadowdrop said. “I… I don’t know where we are.” Downstar pushed her son closer. Shadowdrop nudged Tempestkit between them, giving her the majority of the extra warmth.

“We’ll sleep here tonight,” Downstar sighed. “I’ll keep you both warm.”

“Focus on Tempestkit,” Shadowdrop huffed. “She needs it more.” Downstar wrapped her front paws around Tempestkit, but squirmed closer to her son.

“I will die as many times as I need to keep you both warm,” Downstar promised.

The world screamed her to sleep.

(Shadowdrop: 34, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Puddlepaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)

(Mousesong: 18, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

(Rustshade: 86, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Wasppaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, strict, interested in clan history, eye for detail)

(Tempestkit: 3, female, kit, troublesome, loves to eat)

[Image ID: Fennelspot looks up at smoke in the sky, saying “Everyone, follow the smoke!”]

---

Fennelspot ordered Wasppaw and Mousesong to head back to camp when Wasppaw reported an unshakable chill seeping through his body. Standing beside the freezing river, searching for a missing kit, would only tear apart their skin and hurt them more. They simply had to turn back. Rustshade must have had the same thought, as he and Puddlepaw were already home when Fennelspot’s group returned.

Downstar and Shadowdrop didn’t come home that night.

“Downstar!” Fennelspot yowled, his voice muffled by the thick snow. “Tempestkit!” 

The storm had finally subsided shortly before dawn, leaving the world smothered in snow. As soon as the weather cleared, Weedfoot picked a few well-rested trackers like Scrubmask, Halibutdusk, and Carnationspeckle and sent them back out with Fennelspot to find their missing Clanmates.

“You said they went west?” Carnationspeckle huffed, breath frosting around her as she stood by Fennelspot.

“The storm is over, why aren’t they coming home?” Halibutdusk groaned from his lookout point on a low oak branch. “Shadowdrop! Shadowdrop!” Scrubmask stayed quiet, focused on scenting the air. 

“I’m going ahead,” Fennelspot sighed. “I need to pray. Yowl if you see anything. Downstar’s still alive out there.” That was an indisputable fact. The storm was strong, but not enough to take all of Downstar’s lives. Not yet, at least. Fennelspot had to hide his gaze, however, at the thought of Shadowdrop and Tempestkit. 

The rest of the patrol kept calling out, but Fennelspot found a quiet spot under a pine. The weight of the snow dragged it off the branches, leaving huge, awkward piles around the trunk but bare needles above. The pine sat beside a small opening in the forest canopy, revealing a bright gray sky. Fennelspot closed his eyes. He had to keep his ears sharp. At a time like this, StarClan surely would not stay silent.

A storm within a storm gives the dark a chance to shine. Look to the sky for the call to action.

Fennelspot gasped, eyes fluttering. This was it! The moment of the prophecy! Tempestkit was the storm in the storm! Shadowdrop went to find her, he was the dark. The second half… Fennelspot locked his eyes to the gray clouds. The sky was still.

“I’m looking,” Fennelspot begged softly.

The color of the clouds shifted. A slimmer of darker color slipped into the corner of Fennelspot’s gaze. It rose into the high clouds. The aging cleric realized it wasn’t just another cloud. His eyes could follow the trail back into the trees.

It was a smoke stack.

“The smoke!” Fennelspot yowled. “Everyone, follow the smoke!” He didn’t wait to see if the others head his cry. He ran into the trees, towards where the drifting smoke disappeared. His feet skidded in the fluffy snow and his legs had to push against its weight. As usual, Scrubmask was right behind him.

He saw the fire before he saw Downstar. It was a small fire composed of the barest of essentials. Heavy smoke drifted from the burning branches. Downstar had cleared away the snow around the fire and placed Tempestkit beside the flames. Downstar stared into the fire, unaware of Fennelspot’s arrival.

“Downstar!” Carnationspeckle dove through the snow, snowballs knotting in her leg fur. Downstar snapped out of it as Carnationspeckle wrapped herself around her former mentor. “StarClan, you’re so cold!” Fennelspot focused on Tempestkit. Somehow, the little kit didn’t seem to have frostbite or any major damage from the cold.

“Have you been with her all night?” Fennelspot asked. Downstar nodded softly, her focus returning to the fire.

“Is Shadowdrop still with you?” Scrubmask asked. Downstar did not reply.

“Tempestkit, how do you feel?” Fennelspot asked the young kit.

“Like I’m in a lot of trouble,” Tempestkit gulped.

“We kept her warm,” Downstar muttered. “We kept her warm.” There was a den behind Downstar. Only two sets of paws left the den in the heavy snow.

“Carnationspeckle, care for Tempestkit,” Fennelspot gulped as Halibutdusk finally joined them. 

Fennelspot slipped past Downstar. His nose quivered in the chill. He braced himself and stepped inside. His eyes quickly adjusted to the light. Shadowdrop was still inside. He laid with his back to the exit, curled around cats who were no longer there.

He would not be joining his mother and daughter by the fire.

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Carnationspeckle: 44, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Halibutdusk: 34, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Scrubmask: 59, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Tempestkit: 3, female, kit, troublesome, loves to eat)

Halibutdusk is grief-stricken at the loss of his brother.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk faces Downstar and Wildclaw. Under Halibutdusk, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING. Under Downstar, it says LIVES LEFT: 6.]

---

Halibutdusk couldn’t stop wondering; did his mother lose a life first, or did Shadowdrop growing cold push her over the edge? Who left their body first? Whose death resulted in the others? At least Tempestkit survived. At least he had that vague comfort. 

Downstar called Halibutdusk and Wildclaw into her den while Fennelspot prepared Shadowdrop’s vigil. The trio hadn’t talked much since they brought Shadowdrop’s body back to camp. Wildclaw had been busy reuniting Mosskit and Trumpetkit with their wayward sister, Downstar had to make sure the vigil went according to plan, and Halibutdusk… he couldn’t really think.

When the two surviving littermates entered their mother’s den, Downstar paced around her nest. She showed no signs of the cold that stole one of her lives. Halibutdusk shifted awkwardly as he waited for Downstar to speak. Wildclaw beat him to it.

“This is my fault, right?” Wildclaw huffed. “That’s why you called me in here. I let Tempestkit get out of camp, and Shadowdrop died.”

“No,” Downstar growled, clawing the ground at the very thought. “I will never blame you for this.” Wildclaw was stunned into silence. “I didn’t punish Oilstripe for letting Duskkit sneak out all those moons ago. This is more Tempestkit’s fault than your own, and even she’s realized what she did was wrong.” Halibutdusk distinctly remembered Downstar tearing into Oilstripe for letting her adventurous daughter slip around her, but Halibutdusk didn’t have the heart to bring it up. 

“Then what do we do now?” Wildclaw groaned. 

“There’s nothing to do, Wildclaw,” Downstar sighed. She sat in her nest. “We just mourn. I brought you in here because…” Downstar took a deep breath, closing her eyes and collecting her strength. “There is a chance Shadowdrop… might not make it to StarClan.” Halibutdusk didn’t know his heart could fall any further.

“Why not?” Wildclaw hissed, the fur on the back of her neck prickling. “How do you know?”

“Duskkit greeted me in StarClan when I lost my life,” Downstar explained quietly. “She told me Shadowdrop would be put on trial when he entered StarClan for how he handled the situation with Cinderella.”

“We already put him on trial!” Wildclaw snapped with a thrash of her scarred tail. “He’s already been punished! He’s done so much good, he doesn’t—” Wildclaw stopped herself, jaw tight. “I’m going out. I’ll be back for the vigil.” Downstar let her daughter go, leaving Halibutdusk standing alone before his mother. 

Halibutdusk slowly approached his mother. Downstar scooted over. Halibutdusk slipped into the nest beside her. He pressed into his mother’s side.

“They’ll let him into StarClan,” Halibutdusk gulped. “They have to.”

(Halibutdusk: 34, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

It was strange for Weedfoot to consider herself to be even close to elder age. Still, there she was, watching her mate throw off the caretaker title and become an elder. He put on a show for Downstar and the others, claiming that he wanted to continue his service, to guide his kits through apprenticeship, but was “too easily exhausted” to continue his vigilant protection of the camp and all within. Now it was somewhat true; camp duties were his favorite, and walks around the territory had begun to tire him. But Weedfoot was certain that her fellow perceptive Clanmates saw the truth of it all.

James was finally old enough to retire without being called lazy, and he was taking that opportunity like a kit hunts a mossball.

Weedfoot let her mate celebrate his retirement with Parsley and Rabbitjoy. She would have plenty of time with him later, so why not let him brag to his friends about how easy his life would be now? Instead, as the Clan dismissed and Downstar went to her den, Weedfoot followed Downstar. The tortoiseshell leader was a bit like her old, friendly self now that she had Rustshade to pour her worries on, but since Harvest Moon a few days prior…

“Downstar?” Weedfoot called into the leader’s den. Downstar had been about to step into her nest, but turned at the sound of her deputy’s call.

“Something the matter?” Downstar asked. Weedfoot hesitated, unsure how to open the conversation. Paleshade would have known; she was always closer to Downstar than Weedfoot, even compared to the first moons of RippleClan, when the leader and deputy duo flowed together like birds flying in formation.

“I spoke with Rustshade and Mousesong earlier today.” Weedfoot entered the den and took a cautious seat a couple tail-lengths away. “Both will be ready for the trial tomorrow, if that is acceptable.”

“So soon?” Downstar sighed.

“By AshClan standards, this has been tediously slow,” Weedfoot said with a forced chuckle. The tensed muscles under Downstar’s fluffy coat killed Weedfoot’s laugh.

“StarClan,” Downstar groaned, walking toward the exit. “The first trial in RippleClan’s history… and I have to try my own kits.” Downstar paused and stared out at camp. Weedfoot joined her. Downstar’s gaze rested on a group of three outside the warrior’s den. Rustshade leaned close to Shadowdrop and Wildclaw, as he was prone to do in recent days. They were more than likely discussing their plan of attack for the trial once again. The pair of siblings couldn’t leave camp without escorts while they awaited their trial, and the wait physically dragged on Wildclaw. Even as she listened to Rustshade, she glanced toward the camp exit.

“I’m sorry this is happening,” Weedfoot sighed. “This is a fine mess we’ve found ourselves in.”

“How can I hope to judge them fairly when all I see are three healthy grandkits and my son acting like the father he’s dreamed of being?” Downstar turned back and marched into her nest. “The story doesn’t feel real to me.”

“Try not to think about the story too much,” Weedfoot reminded her. “You need to be as open-minded as possible for the trial.”

“I will be,” Downstar growled, tail fluffing. “I don’t give anyone special privileges. If they did something wrong, I’ll punish them, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt!” Weedfoot stiffened. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know they were ready.” Weedfoot bowed to her leader.

Yet as Weedfoot turned to go, Downstar groaned, “Wait, wait. Don’t leave, Weedfoot. I’m the one who’s sorry. I should not have snapped at you.” Weedfoot hesitated. She slowly approached Downstar and sat beside her. “I haven’t been able to talk to Rustshade while he’s preparing to defend my kits. I can’t deny my current feelings about this mess.”

“We’re conducting this trial together,” Weedfoot reminded her. “If anyone can listen to your worries about it now, I can.” Downstar sighed. She relaxed slightly and shifted closer to Weedfoot.

“Why did they have to go about it like this?” Downstar sighed.

(Weedfoot: 87, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(James: 115, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Downstar: 98, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

Shadowdrop is charged with endangering a queen and stealing her kits. Wildclaw shares the charge. Rustshade acts as their defender and Mousesong as their inquisitor.

[Image ID: Shadowdrop and Wildclaw stand behind Rustshade. The three all watch Mousesong stride forward.]

---

Practically the entirety of RippleClan took the day off to bear witness to the first trial in their young history. Rabbitjoy would still need to cook and they couldn’t simply leave their borders unchecked, but if a cat could stay in camp, they did. Who would want to miss such a spectacle?

Each of the original four Clans had their own traditions for a trial, which meant RippleClan needed their own, and quickly. The Clan had Rattlepelt to thank for their final idea. As the subjects of the trial, Shadowdrop and Wildclaw each wore tight leather bands around their necks, almost like the strange collars of human society. Rustshade had a smaller band around his front paw, a symbol of the defender empathizing and placing themself in the paws of their charges. Mousesong, as inquisitor, had the most elaborate adornment; a necklace lined with beautiful clam shell beads, dyed blue with dogwood bark. The beads clacked together as Mousesong moved like the soft whispers of StarClan taking their place as quiet judges.

Downstar sat on top of the Shiprock, with Weedfoot settled below her, eyeing the Clan for any disruptions to the trial. Fennelspot sat to the side of the rock, fidgeting with the sand under his paws. The sunrise burned across the ocean and covered the camp in warm orange light. The shadows concealed Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe, who sat by the nursery with four kits. Troutkit had opened her eyes the day before and babbled random sounds that vaguely resembled words, but the litter of three black kits were still quiet and shut off from the world.

“A trial is a sacred duty of a just leader,” Downstar declared, all eyes on her. “To decide on guilt and punishment for a crime such as this without hearing from the Clan would be the act of a tyrannical leader. This is why we have our codekeepers; with them, we honor our laws and protect one another.” Shadowdrop’s gaze fell to his paws at the mention of codekeepers.

“A trial demands silence from the audience,” Weedfoot called. “Do not interrupt the proceedings unless there is an emergency. If you need to speak to me, please wave me down and do not draw attention away from the trial.” Weedfoot stared at the elder’s den with that statement. James had his five kits gathered around him. Most were polite and sat quietly, studying the trial, but Lavenderkit squirmed and trotted around his family. Waspkit smacked his brother and forced him to sit. 

“Inquisitor,” Downstar said, turning to Mousesong, “are you ready to provide evidence of code-breaking and prove the guilt of the accused?”

“I am, Downstar,” Mousesong huffed, her necklace clinking as she nodded.

“Defender,” Downstar continued, looking to Rustshade, “are you ready to protect your Clanmates from undue punishment?”

“I am,” Rustshade said.

“And…” Downstar said. She hesitated for a moment as she made eye contact with her son and daughter. “And accused, are you prepared to accept the outcome of this trial, whatever it may be?”

“We are,” Shadowdrop said, unflinching.

“Then inquisitor, explain the purpose of this trial,” Downstar declared, laying down with her paws dangling off the tip of the Shiprock. Mousesong stood and faced the rest of RippleClan.

“Shadowdrop and Wildclaw share the charges of endangering a queen and her kits,” Mousesong began. Her gaze lingered on each of her Clanmates for a few long seconds before moving onto the next cat. “In this, the pair stole three kits from their mother’s belly and left the queen to suffer birthing complications and eventually pass onto wherever the souls of loners go to rest. Today, I will prove to you, cats of RippleClan, that Shadowdrop coerced a loner into having his kits in an attempt to fill the emotional hole left by Carnationspeckle’s rejection of him. In doing this, he recruited Wildclaw to bear witness to the birth and take the kits to RippleClan, where the molly of Shadowdrop’s desires would feel compelled to nurse and care for his children, just as Shadowdrop dreamed.” Oilstripe reflexively moved in front of Carnationspeckle at the mention of the brown molly’s name. 

“Today, I intend to prove that Shadowdrop acted not out of love, but of selfish desire that cost a young molly her life. I also intend to prove that Wildclaw shares this guilt as an accomplice to the stealing of Tempestkit, Mosskit, and Trumpetkit.” Mousesong looked back to Downstar as she said the names of the three newborn kits. Downstar nodded, and Mousesong sat back down.

“Defender,” Downstar said, “how do you refute these charges?”

“The code my charges are accused of breaking is the Code of Queens and Kits,” Rustshade said. Rather than facing the crowd, Rustshade remained focused on Downstar. “However, in the process of this accusation and investigation, members of our Clan have also broken this code. This code is meant to protect kits and their parents from undue harassment, and yet Clammask, Scrubmask, and Fennelspot set off to investigate Shadowdrop’s claims, thereby breaking the code themselves.” Clammask tried to speak, but Scrubmask harshly nudged her, keeping her silent.

“This code allows for the breeding of kits with cats outside of the Clan in order to encourage the growth of our numbers and strength of our blood. We may memorize this code as applying to mollies who become pregnant, but it applies to toms who bring their kits to camp as well. Shadowdrop had no romantic ties to the mother of his kits. He did not break the code in this way. He cannot be blamed for the death of his queen because upon leaving her, she displayed no signs of the fatal condition that would befall her.”

“She had a name, Dad!” Clammask finally snapped. Parsley, Waspkit, and Rabbitjoy yowled their agreement.

“Quiet, quiet!” Weedfoot yowled over them.

“So I have to be quiet but you can yowl all you want?” Lavenderkit hissed at his brother.

“No one should be yowling,” James huffed, flicking his tail over both toms’ noses.

“Clammask brings up a good point, despite her interruption,” Downstar sighed. “The queen’s name was Cinderella. We should refer to her as such. She may not have been a Clan cat, but we owe her enough respect to use her name.” Mousesong and Rustshade bowed slightly.

“Cinderella’s death is a tragedy,” Rustshade continued, “but she had no intention of joining RippleClan and had no romantic relationship with Shadowdrop. At the heart of the situation, this was not a break in the code, as I intend to show you today.”

“Very good,” Downstar said. “The inquisitor and defender will take turns calling their witnesses to give statements before the Clan. They will both ask questions of the witness and present appropriate evidence during each interview. The inquisitor will call her first witness.”

“I have many witnesses I plan to call today,” Mousesong declared, “such as Clammask, Waspkit, and Carnationspeckle. However, there is one witness that overshadows the rest in importance. I call to bear witness before RippleClan and StarClan… Cinderella.” RippleClan stared at Mousesong. No one dared speak up. Then Oilstripe slipped away from Carnationspeckle. Traditionally, witnesses were supposed to sit next to the deputy, but Oilstripe left a large space beteeen herself and Weedfoot.

“Mousesong, Oilstripe, explain this,” Downstar ordered.

“Not long after Clammask, Scrubmask, and Fennelspot returned to camp with news of Cinderella’s demise,” Mousesong explained, “Oilstripe began to see a new spirit wandering camp. We all know of her ghost sight, as verified by Fennelspot, so this in and of itself is not surprising. Yet this spirit lacked the same starry pelts as StarClan spirits and looked nothing like any cat Oilstripe knew of. This cat was Cinderella. She has agreed to answer questions with Oilstripe as an interpreter.”

“Objection!” Rustshade yowled. “Oilstripe has never reported seeing the spirit of a cat outside StarClan in the past. Even then, how can we trust that she’s reporting exactly what this spirit says?”

“Thank you for the trust, Dad,” Oilstripe muttered.

“We treat the testimony just like we would treat anyone else’s,” Mousesong explained. “I’m sure StarClan wouldn’t accept a perversion of their gift. If Oilstripe were to add her own words to the testimony, StarClan will likely inform Fennelspot.”

“Incredibly unorthodox,” Downstar muttered, “but I don’t know a time in living history when a Clan has been able to take a dead molly’s testimony. Oilstripe, do you swear to report only what the spirit of Cinderella tells you?”

“I do,” Oilstripe said, glancing overhead at her leader.

“Then begin your interview, inquisitor,” Downstar declared.

[Image ID: Mousesong speaks with Oilstripe. The ghost of a smoky black molly with a white collar stands next to Oilstripe. Oilstripe/Cinderella say “We had a deal. Bear kits with him, and he would teach me as much about Clan life as he could. Fire starting, cooking, crafting, everything.”]

Mousesong approached Oilstripe with a calculated gaze. She glanced at the empty spot beside her.

“I hope your afterlife is peaceful, Cinderella,” Mousesong said to the empty space. “I’m sure Rustshade will be questioning you on how you can exist when we thought Oilstripe only saw StarClan spirits. Do you have any answers for us?” Oilstripe’s ears tilted to the empty space. She was quiet for a while, listening to something no one else could hear.

“My mother told me that when I died, I would spend a year in the land I left behind, making sure my loved ones are safe before I move on,” Oilstripe said, although it would be more truthful to say that Cinderella said so. “This is just what I expected. Since I died, I thought it would be good to make sure my kits went to a good home.”

“Yes, your kits,” Rustshade huffed. He marched up beside Mousesong. His focus shifted between Oilstripe and where everyone presumed the spirit of Cinderella sat. “Kits you had with the young black tom behind me, am I correct?”

“She’s nodding,” Oilstripe reported.

“Is it true that you agreed to give the kits to RippleClan long before their birth?” Rustshade asked. Oilstripe squirmed as she waited for Cinderella’s response.

“I think you’ve made her nervous,” Oilstripe admitted, shifting closer to the Shiprock.

“This is a lot, isn’t it?” Mousesong sighed. “You find that you’ve died, you find a stranger who can see you, and you’re suddenly thrust into the ritual of a strange group. I can’t relate to being dead, but I understand feeling strange. I came to RippleClan when I was young. Everyone decided my fate for me. I imagine that’s a bit like what you’ve experienced as a loner, am I correct?” Oilstripe listened for a long time.

“Froggy told me about the Clans,” Oilstripe/Cinderella explained. “I didn’t want to live in one, but I liked what you could do. I thought if I could cook prey for my sister and I, it would be easier to live away from humans. I asked a few cats I saw near your borders, but none seemed interested in talking to me until I met Shadowdrop.”

“Yes, elaborate on your relationship with Shadowdrop,” Mousesong urged her on.

“We had a deal. Bear kits with him, and he would teach me as much about Clan life as he could. Fire starting, cooking, crafting, everything.”

“Did he tell you why he wanted to have kits?”

“He wanted a family.”

“Yes, a desire that the code has clear-cut provisions for!” Rustshade interrupted. “This only proves my argument, Downstar. Shadowdrop was not romantically involved with Cinderella, it was a deal as simple as the ones mollies make with strange sires.”

“That may be true,” Mousesong huffed, “but we have yet to get to the kitting itself. Can you take us through it, Cinderella?” Shadowdrop shifted closer to Wildclaw.

“When I felt the kits coming, I went to RippleClan,” Oilstripe translated for Cinderella. “Shadowdrop told me about all the medicines in the Clans, so I thought we would have the kits there. We met up nearly every day, so I knew where to wait for him. When he saw me, he told me to stay strong and went to fetch help.”

“He brought back Wildclaw, yes?” Mousesong clarified. 

“My memory blurs a bit when they get back. I was focused on my kitting. The first two kits came out right, but after the third kit, I felt different. I think there was an issue. It was hard to describe. What I remember is that not long after I cleaned up the third kit, Shadowdrop and his guest left with the kits. I was alone. I wasn’t sure what to do. I headed for home, but I suppose I never made it back.”

“It may be an odd testimony, but members of RippleClan, you’ve heard it from the victim,” Mousesong declared, facing the crowd. “Shadowdrop and Wildclaw left Cinderella behind, in pain, without her kits. Fennelspot could have saved her, but she never got the chance. How can we say this is a simple case of siring when they left Cinderella to die and tried to forget she ever existed?”

“I want to go back to how you said your memory blurs,” Rustshade huffed. “If you don’t remember much, how can we trust that what you do remember is correct?”

“Shadowdrop showed up with three black kits, didn’t he?” As Oilstripe repeated what only she could hear, she glared at Shadowdrop. Another pair of eyes stared at the black tom too, but they were invisible to nearly everyone. Shadowdrop felt the glare of both mollies.

Shadowdrop and Wildclaw are found guilty. Shadowdrop is demoted to a warrior and must spend the next half moon in exile. Wildclaw will be on nursery duty until the litter is apprenticed (a task she hates).

[Image ID: Shadowdrop and Wildclaw listen to their sentences.]

There were quite a few more witnesses after Cinderella (Waspkit, Clammask, Carnationspeckle, even Oilstripe came back as her own witness) but none could match hers in terms of strangeness. It seemed every interview looped back to what the unseen spirit had said. More than a few cats stepped out of camp to debate whether the loner’s ghost was actually there or if Oilstripe was lying to get Shadowdrop in trouble. Regardless of the truth, Mousesong dug into the statement like prey with every argument she crafted.

Rustshade, oddly enough, only called Wildclaw as a witness. She didn’t have much to add; her brother asked for her help, of course she helped. Shadowdrop, however, stayed where he was, studying his Clanmates, itching at his ceremonial collar.

Downstar took a while to make a decision. She called many members of RippleClan into her den to hear their opinions on the matter like any informed leader would. Despite it all, the wait was like a blanket of fleas crawling across the pelt of RippleClan. Shadowdrop and Wildclaw waited with Rustshade in the center of camp the entire time. While Wildclaw kept pestering Rustshade about what would happen next, Shadowdrop stared at the nursery, where his three squirmy kits slept in the darkness.

Downstar left her den shortly before sunset. Conversations died away and curious eyes watched Downstar climb onto the Shiprock. Shadowdrop sat up and nudged his sister. Weedfoot hurried out of the nursery and took her place below Downstar.

“I have come to my decision,” Downstar announced, studying her kits. “Before I pass my judgment, however, there’s someone we still haven’t heard from today. Shadowdrop?” Shadowdrop met his mother’s eye. “Wildclaw may share your charges, but in essence, you are the one on trial here. You’ve barely spoken today. I need to hear this from you. Tell us the truth, Shadowdrop. Please.” Shadowdrop stood, shaking the sand off his paws.

“I wanted a family, Mom,” Shadowdrop said. “I went about it the only way I could. If I couldn’t have them with Carnationspeckle, I would have them with someone else. I hid the truth at first because I knew people would make the wrong conclusions. I can be a great father. I’ll raise these kits to be model RippleClan cats.” Wildclaw poked Shadowdrop before he could say more. Over by the warrior’s den, Clammask and Oilstripe bristled. 

“Shadowdrop…” Downstar sighed. Her weary eyes washed over the Clan. “There were other ways to start a family. The way you’ve gone about it was irresponsible and selfish. What if Carnationspeckle wasn’t here to nurse your kits? Or did you sire them knowing she would?”

“That’s not what he wanted, Mom,” Wildclaw growled, stepping closer with unsheathed paws.

“Wildclaw, you don’t know what he wanted,” Downstar snapped. “You followed him out into the territory and didn’t ask questions. You don’t think these things through, Wildclaw, and it shows.” Wildclaw froze. She sat back beside Shadowdrop. Downstar sighed deeply, a shiver running down her pelt. As she relaxed, she sat taller and glared down at Shadowdrop and Wildclaw.

“Warriors of StarClan, may my words and my actions today honor your sacred code and protect RippleClan. Shadowdrop, Wildclaw, I find you guilty of endangering a queen and her kits. Your act of siring may be protected by the code, but you left a struggling mother to die and took away her kits. No matter what deal you may have made, you were cruel. All you cared about was having kits that you could watch Carnationspeckle nurse.”

“That’s not true!” Shadowdrop yowled. “I… I was…” Shadowdrop’s eyes bounced in his skull, searching for answers he couldn’t find.

“Shadowdrop, your attempt to sneak around the Code of Queens and Kits shows me that you cannot be trusted to guard the code in the future,” Downstar said. Her tone was still and steady. “Upon your return, you will no longer be a codekeeper, but a warrior assigned to whatever tasks your Clan needs.”

“Mom…” Shadowdrop gulped.

“When he returns?” Wildclaw snapped. “What does that mean?”

“Cinderella agreed to your deal in order to learn our skills and better survive as a loner,” Downstar explained. “You showed no compassion for her, and so should get a glimpse of what she may have experienced. For the next half moon, you will live in exile. You will not be allowed in RippleClan territory and must care for yourself like Cinderella did.” Shadowdrop stared up at Downstar. He kept still, but his jaw quivered and the tip of his tail twitched wildly. “In other circumstances, this could have been a permanent exile, Shadowdrop. Reflect on that. Mousesong, escort Shadowdrop out of RippleClan territory.” 

Rustshade gently helped Shadowdrop out of his ceremonial collar. Shadowdrop’s scared gaze tore into the nursery as Mousesong nudged him back. RippleClan parted as Mousesong shoved Shadowdrop out of camp. Halibutdusk looked at his paws as his brother passed. Downstar couldn’t look away.

“Wildclaw,” she finally said after a long, pain-soaked minute. “You could have helped Cinderella, but you didn’t. I believe you have perspectives on Clan life that need to be corrected. As such, until Shadowdrop’s litter is apprenticed, you will be on nursery duty. You will not be allowed on any other patrols and will care for the kits’ every need.”

“I don’t need to be in the nursery all day!” Wildclaw groaned. 

“You do and you will, Wildclaw!” Downstar yowled. “There will be no bargaining. Your punishment is set. May StarClan forgive you both. This trial is over.” Downstar soared off the Shiprock and sulked into her den. Halibutdusk was the first of the Clan to step out of the crowd. He headed for his mother’s den. Wildclaw struggled and pulled at her collar. Rattlepelt had to pull her paw away and help her before she broke the leather. Oilstripe hurried to the nursery, Weedfoot’s kits slipped around her to find their mother, and the Clan carefully broke into heated whispers.

With that, RippleClan’s first trial was finally over.

(Downstar: 98, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Weedfoot: 87, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Mousesong: 15, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

(Rustshade: 83, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Wildclaw: 31, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Shadowdrop: 31, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Clammask: 33, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Lavenderkit: 5, male, kit, noisy, likes to sing)

(James: 115, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Oilstripe: 43, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Downstar calls for a Clan meeting and declares Mousepaw to be a codekeeper. She is now called Mousesong.

[Image ID: Mousepaw, now Mousesong, faces Rattlepelt. Mousesong says “Thanks, I suppose.” Under Mousesong, it says LEVEL UP! MOUSEPAW -> MOUSESONG, ODDLY OBSERVANT -> KEEN EYE.)

---

Rattlepelt wanted to start a new tradition in the warrior’s den. Rabbitjoy was all for helping her collect the needed materials, so all the pair had to do was wake up early and prepare. It gave Rattlepelt something else to think about other than Shadowdrop.

It wasn’t that Rattlepelt disliked him. He was a fine codekeeper and helped Rattlepelt improve some recipes on occasion. But he was not the right fit for Carnationspeckle. Carnationspeckle was selfless, kind, talented, and understanding. Shadowdrop simply wasn’t. Carnationspeckle assured Rattlepelt that she was just friends with Shadowdrop, and while Rattlepelt believed her mother, she didn’t think Shadowdrop felt the same. That, combined with her sister’s codekeeper ceremony the night before, made it hard for Rattlepelt to sleep. So, she worked.

“I don’t think she’ll like it,” Rabbitjoy muttered as dawn rose. The brown molly plucked down from between her claws. She and Rattlepelt sat outside the warrior’s den. Their Clanmates walked around them

“We might as well see,” Rattlepelt sighed just as the newly named Mousesong entered camp. The name did not fit the way the white molly held her head high and walked through camp without a glance at anyone else. Rattlepelt swallowed hard as Mousesong trudged to the warrior’s den.

“Mousesong!” Rattlepelt called as the newly named codekeeper approached. “Congratulations on your ceremony.”

“Thanks,” Mousesong muttered. “Where can I sleep?”

“That’s what we wanted to show you,” Rabbitjoy explained. She slipped behind Rattlepelt and into the den. She stopped beside Mousesong’s new nest. There was an odd, furry lump sitting in the nest. It was made of mouse pelts, held together with twine. Mousesong pawed the bundle and it squished under the pressure. It fluffed back up when she moved her paw.

“What is this?” Mousesong asked.

“Something we invented,” Rattlepelt chirped. “I tanned some mouse leather and Rabbitjoy tied them together. We stuffed down and moss in between the two. You can lay your head on it, and it’s like resting on someone’s side. I picked mouse pelts since I know you like mice.” Mousesong crawled into her new nest and slowly put her head on the fluff-ball. “I’m hoping we can make little gifts like these for new graduates in the future.”

“Why?” Mousesong huffed, lifting her head.

“Because it shows that we appreciate everything you’ve done,” Rattlepelt insisted. Mousesong eyed both Rattlepelt and Rabbitjoy. Rabbitjoy squirmed under Mousesong’s cold eyes, but Rattlepelt stood firm.

“Thanks, I suppose,” Mousesong muttered. “You didn’t have to do that. Either of you.” She laid back down and said, “I’ll catch something good for you both after I sleep.”

“That’s a promise,” Rattlepelt chirped. “We’ll let you rest. Sweet dreams, Mousesong!” Mousesong stared at her the whole way out of the warrior’s den. Rabbitjoy glanced back a dozen times as she and Rattlepelt made their way to the “artisan’s corner” of camp, where they had their tanning rack and other crafting tools set up.

“I can’t tell if she liked the fluff-ball,” Rabbitjoy sighed. “I’m impressed she didn’t rip into you.”

“She cares, even if she doesn’t admit it,” Rattlepelt said. “I know she does. It scares her, that’s all.”

“You show her more grace than I can,” Rabbitjoy said, shaking her head with a soft chuckle.

“She’s my sister,” Rattlepelt huffed. “Of course I do.”

(Rattlepelt: 18, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Rabbitjoy: 72, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Mousesong: 12, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

Palekit found a hole in the rocks and, curious as all kits are, stuck her paw inside. The whole camp comes running when she screeches in pain. It seems a snake was living in that hole.

[Image ID: Weedfoot, Fennelspot, and Scrubmask run toward Palekit, who is screaming “Momma!” Under Palekit, it says + NEW SKILL: PICKY NEST BUILDER. + CONDITION: SNAKE BITE,]

---

Palekit’s scream stirred a sleeping fear in Weedfoot that she thought had long since faded.

She had been sharing stew with Fennelspot and Scrubmask, admiring the petals the former now kept tucked into his white patch. Clammask was on nursery duty, and Weedfoot could hear her children’s giggles from the other side of camp. There shouldn’t have been a reason to be on edge. And yet, as Weedfoot dipped her muzzle into the bowl for another sip of soup, a kitten’s wail pierced the peace hovering over camp.

Weedfoot was running before she even processed what she saw. Palekit, whose eyes were shifting to match her father and whose strong legs had been the first of her litter to walk, now cradled one leg close as a slick black snake stuck its head out of a hole in the rocks.

“Momma!” Palekit wept. Fear-scent flooded her tiny body as she stared at the snake. Even with Weedfoot’s head start, Fennelspot was faster. He snatched Palekit by the scruff and dragged her away from the snake. Carnationspeckle had been sharing tongues with Downstar and bolted out of the leader’s den at the little kit’s cry. The young caretaker spotted the snake and pounced. Her fangs sunk into the snake’s neck. She shook the snake wildly and flung it over the rocks and out of camp.

“Palekit, when did you leave the den?” Clammask hurried out of the nursery. Weedfoot’s four other children lingered behind her. Poor Weedfoot’s attention was solely focused on her oldest daughter, who shook as she wailed. 

“Momma’s here, Palekit,” Weedfoot cooed as Fennelspot examined the bite on Palekit’s leg.

“What do you need?” Downstar barked, already running for the medicine den.

“It’s not venomous!” Fennelspot yowled, waving Downstar off. “The bite is not venomous.”

“How do you know?” Scrubmask asked as the rest of RippleClan gathered around Fennelspot and Weedfoot.

“Do you see how the bite wound forms an arch?” Fennelspot explained as Weedfoot groomed Palekit’s head. “That means the snake does not have venom. I believe it was a black ratsnake. They can hurt, but they aren’t deadly.”

“Is she okay?” Downstar huffed, glaring at Fennelspot with more fire in her eyes than Weedfoot had seen in moons.

“She will be,” Fennelspot promised. “We just need to clean the bite and make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“I want my dad,” Palekit cried, burying her little face in her mother’s fur.

“Has anyone seen James today?” Scrubmask called to the crowd.

“He took a walk with Parsley and Rustshade,” Carnationspeckle said, spitting snake blood out of her mouth. “I can find them.”

“Go,” Downstar huffed, nodding. Carnationspeckle looped around the crowd and jogged out of camp.

“I don’t like this,” Palekit moaned.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” Weedfoot promised, picking Palekit up by the scruff. As she did so, her head swam. She steadied her paws and shoved the dizziness back. She may have still been weak from the difficult birth, but stars-damn it, she was going to carry her daughter to the medicine den.

[Image ID: Waspkit, Lavenderkit, Ripplekit, and Puddlekit hog the screen. Under Ripplekit, it says + NEW SKILLS: AVID PLAY-FIGHTER, SPLASHES IN PUDDLES. Under Puddlekit, it says + NEW SKILL: MORBID CURIOSITY. Under Lavenderkit, it says + NEW SKILL: LOVES TO SING. Under Waspkit, it says + NEW SKILL: INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY.]

As Weedfoot and Fennelspot brought Palekit into the medicine den, four pairs of blue-tinted eyes watched them from the nursery. Clammask stood in front of them with her tail running over each of their little backs.

“Did any of you notice Palekit leave the nursery?” Clammask sighed, turning back to the kits.

“She was playing with Puddlekit,” Waspkit immediately said, pointing his tail at his younger brother.

“I didn’t think we had to stay in the nursery,” Puddlekit whined. Without his white blaze and deep blue eyes, he would look just like his injured sister, albeit a bit more pathetic (in Waspkit’s eyes at least).

“Puddlekit is in trouble,” Lavenderkit sang, trotting around Puddlekit. “Puddlekit is in trouble!”

“No he isn’t!” Ripplekit whined, smacking her white-splashed brother’s flank. “It’s no one’s fault!”

“Ripplekit is right,” Clammask added. “This was a bad accident. The snake could have bitten anyone. If anything, I’m to blame for not keeping an eye on your sister.”

“Clammask is in trouble, Clammask is in trouble,” Lavenderkit sang, throwing himself on Clammask’s leg.

“I’m going to sit outside,” Clammask sighed, gently shoving Lavenderkit off. “Keep yourselves entertained, you four.” She stepped off the leather floor and onto the warm sand. She laid across the entrance, trapping the four remaining kits inside the nursery.

“Listen!” Waspkit yowled. He waved his tail wildly to catch his littermates’ attention. “Palekit’s hurt! No more getting hurt, everyone.”

“I promise,” Puddlekit said quietly.

“I’ll do what I want!” Lavenderkit huffed. He launched himself on his front paws, but his headstand attempt proved futile. He tumbled forward and his flank landed right in Waspkit’s face. Waspkit growled and launched into a full assault on his brother. Ripplekit squealed and joined the fight. Puddlekit watched from the sidelines. 

Unbeknownst to any of the small kits, their laughter warmed the frigid air suffocating the camp.

(Weedfoot: 84, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Fennelspot: 92, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Scrubmask: 52, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Palekit: 1, female, kit, impulsive, picky nest builder)

(Carnationspeckle: 37, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Clammask: 29, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Downstar: 93, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Waspkit: 1, male, kit, bossy, interested in clan history)

(Puddlekit: 1, male, kit, polite, morbid curiosity)

(Lavenderkit: 1, male, kit, noisy, likes to sing)

“Get back up!” Mosspounce yowled, wiggling his flank as Scalepaw shook sand out of his long fur. “You can do this, keep going!” Mosspounce dug his paws deeper into the wet sand lining the shore. Scalepaw’s panting mixed with the gentle waves. 

Since Lavendertwist could barely talk with the stitches in his neck, let alone train his apprentice, Mosspounce volunteered to take Scalepaw battle training. It had taken a generation or two to give the grass-touched northern beach a name, but now every mentor and apprentice practiced their battle moves on Battle Beach. Sure, Mosspounce wasn’t a proper mentor yet (and he doubted he would get to train Clammask’s kits, since a lot of the Clan was still upset with him about Lemmy), but training Scalepaw made him forget that for a while. They were training with the sunrise, working up an appetite for the sunhigh meal Tempestshade was spending the whole morning on. Scalepaw’s white spots, which took over more and more of his fur every day, looked like stars against his gold fur.

“Charge me!” Mosspounce cheered. “Don’t give up until I’m running away or I can’t stand up!” Scalepaw grit his teeth. Sand exploded behind him. Mosspounce was going to shove the apprentice away, but he was bigger than Mosspounce expected. Scalepaw’s sheer weight knocked him down. He knocked the air out of Mosspounce. Sand filled his nose. He squirmed and tried to push Scalepaw off, but he couldn’t move the heavy tom. It seemed Scalepaw took Mosspounce’s orders literally. He was a great fighter!

Yet despite that, Scalepaw shivered violently and scrambled off Mosspounce. Mosspounce coughed up sand. He shook out his pelt and stared at Scalepaw. The round tom squirmed. His paws danced over the sand like he was walking on fire. He groaned and itched at his neck.

“Why’d you jump off?” Mosspounce asked. “You had me. I wasn’t going anywhere.” Scalepaw groaned again. His mouth opened and closed, trying to form an explanation. He squeezed his eyes tight. He bolted toward the trees, tail low. With the lack of foliage, Mosspounce could see Scalepaw’s thick cream fur far into the scrub. “Scalepaw, where are you going?” 

This was just like his first Gathering; Tempestshade managed to bring him back eventually, so perhaps Mosspounce could do the same? Perhaps solving Scalepaw’s crisis would Downstar that Mosspounce was mentor material; if not with Clammask’s litter, then the next. As dreams of grandeur filled Mosspounce’s mind, he jogged up to the tree line. It wouldn’t be hard to track Scalepaw down. Even if he wasn’t easy to see, even a kit would be able to track his thick scent. Maybe Downstar would agree to let Mosspounce finish Scalepaw’s training, even though they were of different roles? 

Mosspounce stopped and batted at his own ear. No, what was he thinking? Scalepaw wasn’t a stepping stone to being a mentor or deputy. He was an apprentice who was obviously struggling with something. Mosspounce needed to treat him like a tom, not a tool. Now if he could just remember what Tempestshade did for the young apprentice…

Scalepaw stopped beside the base of a pine and curled into a ball. Mosspounce slowed to a stalk. Scalepaw glanced at Mosspounce before burying his face under his paws with a groan.

“Should I fetch Spikecrash?” Mosspounce asked. Spikecrash often accompanied Lavendertwist and Scalepaw out to train, helping Scalepaw through his unique sensitivities. Perhaps this was a job for a mediator.

“I’m too embarrassed,” Scalepaw mumbled. Mosspounce hid his surprise. Usually when Scalepaw got upset, no one could get a word out of him for ages. Was he improving? Perhaps it was all a part of growing up.

“Why?” Mosspounce scoffed, scooting closer. “You were great! You’ll be an amazing warrior some day.”

“I can’t touch you,” Scalepaw said. He risked a glance under his paws. “I can’t touch anyone. I hate it. It feels like too much. Fur makes me cry. I can’t be a warrior.” Scalepaw shivered and hid his face again.

“Not with that attitude,” Mosspounce chuckled. Scalepaw sat up slowly. His deep blue eyes glared at Mosspounce, a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “I mean it! You have a great instinct. My sister was telling me about the patrol. You fought with just as much skill as every other warrior out there. If touching others is as bad as you make it seem, you didn’t show it to those Witch Hunters.” Scalepaw bristled and stared at his paws. “Here, I’m going to put my paw on your tail, try to stand it for a minute.” Mosspounce sat next to Scalepaw. The apprentice didn’t move away, so Mosspounce made his move. He set a paw on Scalepaw’s fluffy tail. Scalepaw shivered and his tail flinched, but he stayed still.

“I think you’re going to be the sort of warrior who learns every advanced combat move the Clans have ever made,” Mosspounce said. “You just have to be proud enough to step up and work through your issues. Half of glory is believing you deserve it. And trust me, kit, you deserve it.” For a few minutes, Mosspounce wasn’t sure if Scalepaw really heard him. Then, slowly but surely, Scalepaw turned his head and touched his nose to Mosspounce’s shoulder. Mosspounce purred and gave Scalepaw a friendly nuzzle.

“Stop touching me now please,” Scalepaw said. Mosspounce quickly stepped back. Scalepaw shook out his pelt, but he stood tall. 

“Ready to get back to training?” Mosspounce asked, cocking his head back toward the beach.

“I want to learn moves where I don’t have to touch someone for long,” Scalepaw said, stretching his neck to try and seem taller. “New claw strikes. Special kicks. What do you know?” Mosspounce cocked his tail and purred.

“Let’s go have some fun,” he laughed. He jogged back toward the beach. Scalepaw ran past him like a beam of light, a newfound eagerness leading his young paws to a fresh start.

(Mosspounce: 17, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Scalepaw: 9, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, avid play-fighter)

Fennelspot heads out alone to collect juniper. Oilstripe, Weedfoot, Downstar, and Scrubmask come across him just as he plummets from the tree.

[Image ID: Downstar, Oilstripe, Weedfoot, and Scrubmask watch something offscreen that gives off a loud CRACK. Downstar yowls “Fennel!” Under her, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

---

Oilstripe needed to be out and about. Downstar may not have wanted her near the border for fear of the Witch Hunters, but she still had a vast territory to patrol. She needed to keep her mind busy. She couldn’t obsess over what the Witch Hunters were doing to Carnationspeckle. She had to work.

Weedfoot, Downstar, and Scrubmask agreed to join her on a hunt. Oilstripe was a bit surprised Downstar agreed to it, especially when she let Oilstripe take the lead on the patrol. She supposed the old hostility that used to plague her interactions with the leader had faded over the moons. She lingered with Scrubmask in the back while Weedfoot walked alongside Oilstripe. A late winter snowfall blanketed the territory. It was a thin snow, the sort that Oilstripe’s paws sunk into and left a layer of ice underneath. Oilstripe had to unseathe her claws a few times to keep from slipping. 

“I’ll be glad when we see the end of this,” Weedfoot sighed, her tail flicking the snow. “The hunting has been so poor this winter.” Oilstripe bit her tongue. She had planned to catch some prey with Carnationspeckle when they were finished in the human settlement; the squirrels and mice were likely sheltering in the warm human dens. The Witch Hunters likely weren’t feeding Carnationspeckle; how much was she suffering? Was she warm? Was she bleeding?

The death cry of a mouse snapped Oilstripe out of her thoughts. Scrubmask carried a mouse in her jaws; small, but good to add to soup at dusk. Oilstripe made a silent promise to share a bowl with Rattlepelt and Troutpool; her daughters were suffering just as much as she was. Oilstripe dug a small hole for Scrubmask’s catch. She licked her numb paws as Scrubmask buried the mouse for later.

“Should you go back early?” Scrubmask asked, nodding at Oilstripe’s paws.

“I just need to warm up,” Oilstripe said, breath fogging around her. As she groomed warmth back into her legs, she picked up a familiar scent in the approaching wind. “Huh. I thought Fennelspot was still in camp. I can smell him a ways ahead of us.”

“He snuck out while you were making dirt,” Downstar explained. “I believe he wanted to collect some juniper.”

“Let’s go see if he needs any help,” Oilstripe suggested. “Maybe he’s seen some squirrels.”

“Lead the way,” Weedfoot purred. With feeling restored to her feet, Oilstripe marched on through the snow. She rubbed against Weedfoot, who gave her a comforting lick on the ear. Things felt at least close to being alright when Oilstripe was on patrol with her mentor. The wind continued to blow Fennelspot’s scent into Oilstripe’s face. Thank StarClan he was better; Oilstripe needed her old friend.

There were a few tall junipers that grew in the southwest portion of the territory. Oilstripe had helped Fennelspot collect juniper berries and leaves many a time before, so she knew just where to go. She even spotted a squirrel digging at one of Fennelspot’s pawprints halfway there (Weedfoot beat her to the catch, sparking some playful teasing that further eased her heart). Oilstripe even pranced within Fennelspot’s pawprints, making Weedfoot laugh. For once, Downstar said nothing of the mischief.

The junipers grew in a few bundles overlooking a thick patch of maples, ashes, and rowans. While some juniper trees were only a few fox-lengths tall, a few glared down at the patrol, fluffing up like thick manes against the cold. Snow sat on ice-covered branches. Oilstripe squinted through the leaves of each tree, but didn’t see Fennelspot.

A sharp, sudden yowl drew Oilstripe’s attention. Fennelspot’s bright orange body tumbled from the branches of the tallest juniper. Oilstripe gasped, back arching. Fennelspot landed with all four paws flat on the ground, the perfect example of a cat’s natural agility. The snow splashed around him. He froze with his back curved and tail puffed and held high. He panted, shivering slightly. Oilstripe couldn’t help but laugh. Did Fennelspot just fall out of a tree? Oh she was sure to make fun of him for that. 

Oilstripe was going to tease him. She was going to make sure he was alright, that he didn’t fall too far. She was going to playfully find wherever he set his basket and offer to carry it home for him. She was going to cherish the moment, right up until a massive crack echoed across the territory and a huge, ice-covered branch tumbled off the juniper and slammed into Fennelspot’s head at high speed. 

Blood sprayed across the trunk of the juniper. Fennelspot crumbled like a newborn kit. His eyes froze in the half-shocked, half-embarrassed glimmer they held before everything went wrong. The snow turned red. The dried petals that covered Fennelspot’s back slipped out of his fur.

“Fennel!” Downstar shrieked. She shoved past Oilstripe and Weedfoot. She skidded across the snow and ice to crouch at Fennelspot’s side. She looped around Fennelspot. Downstar whimpered as she caught sight of the back of his head. She looked sick. 

Scrubmask trailed slowly up to her dear friend. She placed a paw on Fennelspot’s shoulder. A shiver ran down her fur. A mournful mew broke out of Scrubmask’s chest. 

“Not like this,” Weedfoot moaned softly. Downstar wailed with the fury of the crashing sea. Birds scattered from the trees. Weedfoot hurried to her leader’s side. Her eyes shook at the sight of Fennelspot’s wound. Oilstripe could not bring herself to look at it. She couldn’t move at all. Her paws were once again numb, but not from the cold. Had that really just happened? Just like that, a careless branch….

Fennelspot’s pelt began to sparkle. Little lights danced within his rosette markings. A glow outlined his body. Reality broke apart in Oilstripe’s eyes as Fennelspot blinked with open eyes. Another muzzle shifted from his face. New legs pushed a new body up from the snow. A second Fennelspot, translucent and shimmering, stood on top of his own body, paws going through the white vested pelt.

“Owww…” Fennelspot groaned, squeezing his eyes tight. “That is an awful headache.” When Fennelspot opened his eyes, he saw the three mollies gathered around his body, wailing and crying, prodding his fur. He looked down at his own dead body. He yelped and jumped away, dancing over the snow without a single paw print. That was when he met Oilstripe’s eyes and recognized that her gaze did not pass through him.

“That’s it?” Fennelspot said, looking back at his body. “I… died? That can’t be it. I need to help Rustshade with his yellowcough. Lavendertwist needs help. Oilstripe? What do I do now?” Oilstripe tried to find the words, but her mouth was as numb as the rest of her. 

“Fennelspot!” a young voice cried. Starlight glimmered in the corner of Oilstripe’s eyes. Twinekit stood in the snow, gazing joyfully at Fennelspot. Fennelspot’s tense eyes melted at the sight of the ticked tabby kit. He crouched to Twinekit’s level. Twinekit ran full speed at Fennelspot. She smacked into his face and rubbed against Fennelspot. 

“You came to fetch me, then?” Fennelspot sighed, placing a paw on Twinekit’s tiny back. 

“Actually, we all came this time!” Twinekit chirped. Oilstripe’s spine tingled. She looked behind her. She couldn’t breathe.

The spirits of old friends waited between the trees. Locustseeker and Burdockcreek laughed at their little sister’s antics. Duskkit and Shadowdrop lounged on top of one another while Mousesong sat beside them. Puddlespeckle and Ripplefern looked at Fennelspot with pride while Applepelt bounced about, purring. Even more cats stood behind them, cats Oilstripe couldn’t recognize. SlugClan warriors?

“Why are you all here?” Fennelspot gasped. Twinekit led him toward the horde of StarClan warriors. 

“Because we wanted to thank you,” Locustseeker laughed. “Thank you for all the hard work you’ve done for RippleClan. We wouldn’t be what we are without you.”

“You are RippleClan’s first cleric,” Burdockcreek reminded him. “We thought you deserved a more personal escort to StarClan. Everyone you’ve ever taken care of is here. We all want a chance to share tongues with you.”

“I don’t think I deserve that,” Fennelspot gulped, eyes bulging as he tried to get a good glimpse of all the dead souls in front of him.

“Of course you deserve it!” A white molly pushed her way through the crowd. 

“Moonpaw,” Oilstripe muttered softly. She bowed her head to the long-dead apprentice. “Fennelspot, this—”

“Moonpaw has visited me before,” Fennelspot said with a flick of his ear. Twinekit nuzzled his leg as Fennelspot bowed his head as well.

“You don’t need to do that,” Moonpaw insisted. She trotted up to Fennelspot and nosed his head back up. “I should bow to you! Fennelspot, you helped found an incredible Clan that will last for moons upon moons. Your name will be remembered across all five Clans!”

“I’m not the skilled cleric you think I am,” Fennelspot said. Moonpaw batted his ear. Fennelspot stared wide-eyed as the more youthful souls of StarClan laughed.

“Listen here, young tom,” Moonpaw huffed. “I’m allowed to call you that since I’m actually hundreds of moons old. But do you remember what you were like in SlugClan? You weren’t happy. You were always doubting yourself, and it certainly didn’t help when Gorgestar got hurt. But once you came to RippleClan? Wow, Fennelspot! You became a kind, understanding, and clever cleric that every cleric after you will spend their lives trying to emulate!” Fennelspot’s eyes rippled. He cleared the emotion from his throat. 

“We all love you, Fennelspot,” Twinekit purred. “We can’t wait to welcome you home.” Fennelspot licked Twinekit’s head. He glanced back at Downstar, Scrubmask, and Weedfoot. They were still huddled over his body, shaking.

“You can always come back and see them,” Oilstripe reminded him, moving closer to the ghost. “I expect you to visit me a lot, too.” StarClan surrounded Fennelspot. Locustseeker bunted against the cleric. Duskkit joined Twinekit and leaned against Fennelspot’s leg. Moonpaw touched Fennelspot’s nose. The glow of a hundred warriors blinded Oilstripe. It was all she could do to shield her eyes.

“I promise,” Fennelspot purred. 

When Oilstripe’s vision returned, Fennelspot and the spirits of StarClan were gone.

(Oilstripe: 60, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Weedfoot: 105, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Scrubmask: 73, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Downstar: 115, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Fennelspot: 113, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

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

(Locustseeker: 12, nonbinary (they/them), historian apprentice, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)

(Burdockcreek: 40, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

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

(Shadowdrop: 34, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Mousesong: 25, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

(Puddlespeckle: 156, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

(Ripplefern: 18, female, historian, charismatic, talented swimmer, good fighter)

(Applepelt: 31, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

Rustshade tells himself he cannot let his feelings consume him, he must move on. Clammask’s grief begins to lessen. Weedfoot picks herself out of her nest and begins her day anew, a fresh conviction in her heart.

[Image ID: Rustshade, Clammask, and Weedfoot stand together. Under each of them, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

(Rustshade: 92, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Clammask: 42, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Weedfoot: 97, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Spikecrash and Darkkick have both healed, but remain scarred by their injuries.

[Image ID: Spikecrash has a small scar at the base of her tail, while Darkkick has scars wrapping his tail. Under Spikecrash, it says - CONDITION: BROKEN BACK. Under Darkkick, it says - CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL.]

(Spikecrash: 23, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Darkkick: 108, male, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

The new cleric apprentice from AshClan, Terracottapaw, comes asking for horsetail. They refuse to say why AshClan needs them but RippleClan still provides them with horsetail.

[Image ID: Paleseed tells a ginger tabby apprentice with white markings “You can talk to me if you’d like.”]

---

“I can’t believe I have another mediator to work with!” Paleseed cheered as she walked alongside Spikecrash. “I thought it would be ages before I had someone else with my training to help.”

“You can’t really call it training,” Spikecrash reminded her, features squishing together in awkward humility. “It’s just lived experience.”

“I’m just glad I’m not alone in this,” Paleseed purred, rubbing against Spikecrash. “I was worried I would ruin everything without help.”

“I’m sure you would have been fine without me,” Spikecrash sighed.

The pair approached the AshClan border near the end of a long, hot day. Bugs swarmed around Paleseed’s face and made her nose itch. A bug bute swelled in Spikecrash’s ear. The mediators almost couldn’t breathe through the thick humidity, but still they pressed on, hoping the cool night would quell some of the bugs. When the border came into view, there were already a few mediators waiting for them. There was Shellstripe, whom had offered a lot of valuable training during Gatherings and meetings. Two of Paleseed’s good friends, Frogbelly and Eveningshade, waited as well. An unfamiliar ginger apprentice lingered behind them, carefully eyeing the approaching cats.

“Ready for your first mediator meeting?” Paleseed asked, taking a deep breath.

“I think you are more nervous than I am,” Spikecrash said before pressing on. She and Paleseed stopped just a tail-length from the border, batting away gnats that tried to crawl onto their eyes.

“Good evening, Paleseed!” Frogbelly chirped, fur fluffing up at the sight of his friend. When he and the other AshClan cats spotted Spikecrash, he said “Oh, a new friend! Newtstream mentioned a potential future mediator in RippleClan!”

“Everyone, this is Spikecrash,” Paleseed explained, gently nudging Spikecrash’s chin up. “A horse broke her back, so we brought her to camp. She decided to become a mediator while she healed!”

“Recovering from a broken back is impressive, Mediator Spikecrash,” Eveningshade purred, bowing slightly. “Your clerics are skilled. StarClan must have blessed your recovery.”

“I’ll have this scar for the rest of my life,” Spikecrash sighed, showing off the deep gouge a bit above her tail, “but I can walk. The scar still aches sometimes.”

“Better some aches than to be paralyzed,” Eveningshade said with a dismissive flick of her whiskers.

“We were going to talk about how we can improve relations between our Clans, what with one of our apprentices abandoning us for your ranks,” Shellstripe gulped, “but we should start by getting to know you better, Mediator Spikecrash. Perhaps soon enough, we’ll be able to drop the honorific. I am Shellstripe, and this is Eveningshade and Frogbelly.” The gray and lilac cats stood taller when their names were spoken.

“You haven’t introduced this one yet,” Paleseed said. She nodded to the ginger cat lingering behind the group. “You must be newly apprenticed. What’s your name?”

“I am Terracottapaw,” the apprentice gulped, carefully slinking between the mediators. “I am Newtstream’s apprentice.” They squeezed their eyes tight and said very quickly, as though under interrogation, “I may smell like a tom but I am not a tom and want you to think of me as something else with they and them!”

“No need to be nervous, Terracottapaw!” Paleseed said. She crouched a bit to reach the small apprentice’s level. “My sister Puddlewhisper used to be a tom too. If you ever need a friend to talk to, I’m sure she’d love to chat with you at the next Gathering. It’s not the same experience, but she could help!” Terracottapaw nodded stiffly, not meeting Paleseed’s heather eyes.

“I thought this meeting was just for mediators,” Spikecrash noted. “What is a cleric apprentice doing here?”

“I have an official request for RippleClan,” Terracottapaw mumbled. Paleseed almost couldn’t hear them.

“Why don’t you and I step to the side?” Paleseed suggested, nodding to a tree that straddled the border. “Spikecrash can get acquainted with the other mediators that way.” Spikecrash stiffened as Frogbelly suddenly bombarded her with questions. Terracottapaw slunk away. Paleseed followed on her side of the border until they stopped by the trunk of the bordering tree. She rubbed against the tree, rubbing away bugs swarming her face.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Terracottapaw,” Paleseed said as the young apprentice carefully sat, “but why is Newtstream not here with you? It’s a big task to send a new apprentice out without their mentor.”

“We need horsetail, if your Clan has any to spare,” Terracottapaw asked softly. 

“Wouldn’t it be better to ask SlugClan for horsetail?” Paleseed suggested. “Their territory is better suited to growing horsetail. They’d be more likely to have extra.”

“Do you not have some?” Terracottapaw stammered, eyes wide. “Please! Newtstream said it has to come from RippleClan for the ritual to work!”

“Ritual?” Paleseed said. “What do you mean?” Terracottapaw squeezed their muzzle shut tight. They glanced toward the mediators, who were utterly absorbed in conversation with Spikecrash. They shivered despite the heavy heat. “You can talk to me if you’d like. You look like you have a lot on your shoulders for someone so young.”

“I just need the horsetail,” Terracottapaw gulped, shaking their head.

“I can ask Fennelspot if he has any to spare,” Paleseed sighed. Before she could pry any further, Spikecrash and the AshClan mediators strolled over to her and Terracottapaw. The ginger apprentice slipped back behind Shellstripe as they looped Paleseed in on their conversation.

What was happening in AshClan?

(Paleseed: 14, female, mediator, insecure, fast runner, steady paws)

(Spikecrash: 23, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

Halibutdusk realized tom doesn’t describe how they feel anymore.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk sits in the middle of the screen. Under them, it says LEVEL UP! MALE -> NON-BINARY (THEY/THEM).]

(Halibutdusk: 40, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

Mosspaw plays with Lemmy along the border.

[Image ID: Mosspaw tells Lemmy “Maybe you’re too scared to spar with me.” Lemmy responds, “Excuse me?”]

---

Mosspaw had been on a hunting assessment when he saw Lemmy again. She was on RippleClan’s side of the river, sniffing at the current. Her whiskers twitched as the water sprayed her face with a soft mist. Her blue eyes scanned the territory but could not see Mosspaw’s dark pelt in the dappled shadows of the brush.

Downstar warned the Clan to keep an eye out for the attackers. Clammask warned Mosspaw to get backup if he saw any of the three cats again. Yet this tortoiseshell intrigued him. Were her friends waiting for a signal to attack? Was she looking for someone to kill? Hmm…

“If you’re looking to plan an ambush,” Mosspaw called, stalking out of the undergrowth, “you’ve picked a bad spot to wait.” Lenny’s eyes tightened. Her claws slipped out. Her tail thrashed about as she readied herself for the approaching attacker.

“You don’t have to be here,” Lemmy growled. “I’m not looking for a fight.”

“And yet you and your friends tried to kill me,” Mosspaw scoffed, taking a cocky step forward. “Can you explain why?” Lemmy fluffed herself up, trying to appear bigger than she was.

“You’re young,” she said. “You can leave this Clan and respect your ancestors rather than insult their rest with rituals and shrines.”

“I think you have an odd perspective on the Clans,” Mosspaw laughed. “But if you’re not going to kill me, might as well let you know my name. I’m Mosspaw. I overheard your friends call you Lemmy.”

“Go,” Lemmy hissed. “My fight’s not with you.” She turned back to the river. 

“Maybe you’re too scared to spar with me,” Mosspaw chuckled. He risked a few steps closer.

“Excuse me?” Lemmy faced Mosspaw again, lips curled. 

“You’re here to learn more about the Clans, aren’t you?” Mosspaw laughed, wiggling his flank. “Why not see how a Clan cat fights? A friendly spar between would-be killer and would-be victim.”

“You are an imbecile,” Lemmy snapped with a violent slash of her tail.

“You could say I have my father’s charm,” Mosspaw purred. “I’m just a tom who sees a pretty molly and wants to get to know her.”

“You want to spar?” Lemmy huffed. She crouched, claws sliding out and eyes sharp. “Fine then. Let’s spar.”

“This will be fun!” Mosspaw laughed as Lemmy pounced.

(Mosspaw: 9, male, caretaker apprentice, shameless, stares at fire)

(Lemmy: 24, female, rogue(?), cold, deep StarClan bond)

Mousesong scents AshClan on the territory, despite the good relations between Clans.

[Image ID: Mousesong looks up at a big tree, calling “Terracottapaw? Is that you?” Behind her, a massive dog pounces.]

---

As a codekeeper, it was Mousesong’s responsibility to enforce the code on her Clan, and that meant following up on the occasional rumor. She’d overheard an odd rumor one sleepless night in the warrior’s den that Elmsprout’s reason for joining RippleClan could have been to smuggle oceanic resources to her home under the guise of sanctuary. Now, Mousesong did not believe the rumor. Eelstar looked frustrated enough at Gatherings to make her think Elmsprout’s asylum was legitimate (although he had been oddly absent from the last Gathering, replaced instead by his deputy Barkfur). Still, it was worth setting up a stakeout by the AshClan border in the wee glimmers of the morning, bugs dancing around her ears and nipping at her scalp.

Mousesong didn’t have many places to hide with her bright white fur. She wasn’t much of a climber, which meant she couldn’t really hide in the trees. Would she have to smear her pelt with mud and crawl under a bush? Maybe there would be a thick enough shrub or something with white flowers to keep her camouflaged…

A strong fear scent slammed into Mousesong’s nose, making her stumble. StarClan was it thick! And fresh too, only minutes old. It certainly wasn’t RippleClan scent. No, the smell was AshClan through and through. What was an AshClan cat doing in RippleClan? Mousesong thought they were trying to stay friendly, despite the issue with Elmsprout. Why did they smell so terrified?

The odd scent was far more important than a rumor Mousesong already didn’t believe in. Her eyes traced an unseen trail further into RippleClan territory. Ears sharp and alert for sounds of an ambush, Mousesong followed the trail. She didn’t have to go far, however. Her tense ears picked up a hard sobbing sound from somewhere overhead. 

Mousesong scanned the trees, searching for odd colors amidst the low-lit green leaves. The fear scent slipped up a thick, round beech tree. A bright ginger pelt clung to a branch far overhead, shaking so violently that leaves tumbled off the twigs. Mousesong recognized the apprentice from the last Gathering a few days ago.

“Terracottapaw?” Mousesong called. “Is that you?” Terracottapaw gasped, silver eyes locking onto Mousesong like she was a bear.

“It’s after me,” Terracottapaw whined. “Autumnstar sent it after me!” They buried their face against the thick branch.

“What’s happening?” Mousesong huffed, looking about for a threat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Terracottapaw cried, refusing to lift their head. “Run, please!”

“I’m taking you back to AshClan,” Mousesong said. “I’ll keep you safe.” Her words began to falter as the sound of heavy paws grew closer. She could hear the thick panting well before she turned around. Claws at the ready, she arched her back and hissed at the approaching beast.

It was just like her sister described it from her own encounter as an apprentice; a massive dog, bigger than any dog she’d ever seen before. Tall, pointed ears, sharp as claws. Wild eyes. Hungry jaws.

Terracottapaw was gone by the time a patrol found Mousesong’s body.

Prefix: "Mouse"

"Mouse" is a common prefix in the Clans, just as mice are one of the most fruitful prey in the land. Without mice, many cats would go hungry through the winter. Like other prey names, "Mouse" has connotations of life and longevity, but also of weakness. Those who believe names hold power over their owners would doubt anyone with a prey-name could become a leader.

"Mouse" specifically is the sneakiest of the prey prefixes. Mice are small and stay tucked away in tiny holes. Their small size makes them a go-to choice for runts and small kits. Rebecca wasn't thinking of any of these connotations when she named her child, however. She knew kit names ended with -kit, and liked the sound of Mouse. So that is how she named her daughter.

Suffix: "-song"

Unlike the canon Clans, who only have birdsong, RippleClan and its neighbors have actual songs, alongside the instruments to play them on. "-song" is a highly desired suffix for musical artisans or anyone with a love of music. It is a wonderful reflection of that talent.

When given to someone outside the realm of music, it often refers to a pleasing or soothing voice. Caretakers may enjoy the suffix to showcase their talents in kit-sitting. All in all, the suffix implies a beautiful voice and soul.

Full Name: Mousesong

The prefix for a “-song” name implies various types of sounds connected to that object. Pairing “-song” with an animal prefix creates the Clan word for the creature’s unique sound. Mousesong literally means “the sound of a mouse”. Mousesong was named after the soft chirps and squeaks of a mouse, implying a quiet heart.