#paleshade

“This can’t continue,” Rustshade grumbled.

“What are you talking about?” Mousepaw huffed. The pair shared a meal Rabbitjoy and Rattlepelt claimed would become a culinary staple of RippleClan some day; salted, kelp-wrapped meat. It was nothing like any of the other Clans made, and Rustshade wasn’t too sure if he liked it, despite the positive feedback from the rest of the Clan. Then again, his mind was not on food that day. Instead, his eyes were stuck on Downstar’s den.

“I didn’t mean to say that aloud,” Rustshade gulped, hiding his expression in his kelp wrap. “Just some private concerns. No need for you to worry, Mousepaw.”

“Since when do I worry about anything anyone else does?” Mousepaw scoffed. Rustshade sighed and stood, shaking sand and snow off his belly. 

“You can eat my leftovers,” Rustshade muttered, heading for the leader’s den. 

He weaved between the masses of Clanmates gathered to share their own portions of the salty new treat. He slipped into the shadows of the shipwreck and the depths of Downstar’s den. Downstar laid in her nest, quietly eating her small kelp wrap. She looked up as soon as Rustshade entered.

“Is something wrong?” Downstar asked, hurrying to her paws.

“Not with me,” Rustshade grunted, marching to Downstar’s side. He squared his jaw and said, “Downstar, as your friend, I am ordering you to leave your den.”

“You’ve never had a good sense of humor, Rustshade,” Downstar muttered, sitting back down.

“This is not a joke,” Rustshade snapped. “Your leg has been fine for over a moon. You’ve avoided half a year’s worth of Gatherings and holidays. This isn’t like you.”

“I haven’t been in a social mood, Rustshade,” Downstar growled, curling her lip. 

“The Clan is worried,” Rustshade hissed, meeting Downstar’s sneer with his own bared teeth. “You haven’t been yourself since the darkhound attacked.”

“Leave me alone, Rustshade!” Downstar snapped. “Go back to your apprentice.” Downstar flicked her tail at Rustshade and turned her back.

“You know better than to believe this is healthy,” Rustshade grunted. He stomped around and faced Downstar, despite the way her amber eyes focused on anything but him.

“What am I supposed to do?” Downstar huffed. “You’re out there, enjoying yourselves, when all I can think about is what we need to do to prepare for the next challenge StarClan will throw at us. Staying in here has been easier.” 

“I understand, I do,” Rustshade insisted. “When my kits died, I wanted to put all my energy into making sure my others thrived. I forgot that I had to thrive too for a while there.”

“You did?” Downstar asked.

“I keep it hidden better,” Rustshade sighed. He sat next to Downstar and said nothing for a while. Downstar’s quiet breaths filled the den. 

“I don’t quite know where to go from here,” Downstar admitted.

“Just know you’re not alone,” Rustshade said. His paw slipped next to Downstar’s. A little-felt spark passed through him. A moment later, Downstar rested her tail over his. Rustshade leaned into Downstar, and Downstar into him.

(Rustshade: 76, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Mousepaw: 9, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

(Downstar: 91, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

James confessed his feelings to Weedfoot and they have become mates.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and James stand together, facing Oilstripe. Paleshade’s ghost stands next to Oilstripe, transparent. Oilstripe says, “Paleshade couldn’t be happier.” Under Weedfoot, it says + MATE: JAMES. Under James, it says + MATE: WEEDFOOT.]

---

Oilstripe wasn’t sure what to think of her father’s new relationship. He liked Downstar? Oilstripe knew they were close, all the founding members were to some degree, but Downstar? Didn’t she still hate Oilstripe? Her opinion seemed to have softened since Oilstripe revealed her secret sight to the Clan, but still… did she have to consider Wildclaw and her brothers as her own siblings? Did she have to call Downstar her mother? Please. She had no idea where her real mother’s spirit even was, she wasn’t going to get another mother. At least they had the good graces to quickly inform their children.

“Good for Rustshade!” Applepelt chirped. Her ghost spent a lot of time around camp, keeping an eye on Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle. Currently, she and Oilstipe sat by the oven, enjoying the leftover scent of Rabbitjoy’s kelp dish. “If they think they’ll be better off together, I say this is something to celebrate.”

“I’m allowed to be a little grumpy,” Oilstripe scoffed, flicking her tail through Applepelt’s transparent back leg. Applepelt’s star-speckled whiskers twitched. A shiver ran down her back.

“Oh, oh, Oilstripe!” Applepelt chirped. “Pay attention. More cats are visiting.” Star-studded cats slipped out of nearly every den in camp. Wasppaw, a bright golden tom, charged out of the apprentice’s den. Lavenderleaf, in all her soft brown glory, rubbed past Rabbitjoy as she made her way into the heart of the camp. Even more warriors whom Oilstripe almost never saw joined the more familiar faces, with everyone eagerly chatting. But it was Paleshade, emerging from behind the Shiprock, who caught Oilstripe’s attention. Her gray and cream pelt glimmered against the snow lining camp. 

“They’ll be here in a few moments, everyone!” Paleshade cheered. She caught Oilstripe’s eye and called, “Oilstripe! Join us! You will want to celebrate.”

“Applepelt, do you know why they’re here?” Oilstripe asked.

“I have no idea,” Applepelt chirped, as obnoxiously positive as ever. “The Ashes in the Water are always doing something together.” Of course, the cats Oilstripe didn’t recognize were other members of the Ashes in the Water! The old red tom laying between Burdockcreek and Clammask had to be Redcloud. The gray and brown toms were Finstrike and Sprucespring. And the fawny molly trotting around camp was Burdockstream! Everyone Weedfoot lost in AshClan was gathering in camp, eagerly waiting for… something.

Oilstripe hopped off the rocks and weaved around her living Clanmates (mostly her siblings and the Downstar litter, still discussing their parents’ announcement). Wasppaw bounced around Paleshade, straining to look over the rocky borders of camp.

“Where is she?” Wasppaw groaned. “I can’t take it!”

“Patience is a virtue, Wasppaw,” Paleshade purred. “I think I hear their pawsteps in the snow outside.”

“Who exactly are we waiting for?” Oilstripe muttered. Even though the Clan knew she saw ghosts, she still held hushed conversations when others were in ear-shot.

At that moment, Weedfoot and James strolled into camp. They walked in sync, pelts together and tails interwoven. StarClan cheered as James nuzzled Weedfoot’s cheek. 

“Are those two finally together?” Mousepaw scoffed from where she shared tongues with Shadowdrop. Her blunt question caught the attention of the living cats. RippleClan’s eyes rested on James and Weedfoot.

“A rather rude way to phrase it,” James chuckled, “but the two of us have grown closer these last few moons, and after a long discussion… yes. We are together.”

“StarClan, two in one day!” Burdockcreek groaned. The living and the dead swarmed James and Weedfoot. Rustshade and Downstar peeked out of the leader’s den and investigated the hub-bub. Oilstripe stayed outside of the crowd. To her surprise, Paleshade stayed with her.

“Shouldn’t you be congratuating your old mate?” Oilstripe asked. She winced and said, “That’s not a sore subject, is it? I don’t know how you manage having one mate in StarClan and another alive.”

“I’m overjoyed for Weedy,” Paleshade purred. “James is a charming tom. I know they’ll be happy together. I also know that I’m certain to become close friends with James once he joins our ranks.” Paleshade winked and Oilstripe couldn’t hold back a snort. “But how about you? Weedfoot is your closest friend. Congratulate her.” 

“I don’t know if that’s true anymore,” Oilstripe muttered, staring at her old mentor. Weedfoot laughed and joked with the cats around her, utterly unaware that her old friends were a part of the festivities. “I always knew other cats thought I was weird before they knew I spoke to the dead. But Weedfoot thought I was sick and said nothing. If she really cared about me, why didn’t she talk to me?”

“She thought Fennelspot was helping,” Paleshade explained. Her misty tail passed through Oilstripe’s body. “She didn’t want to overstep. She didn’t know how to approach the subject.”

“How much of our friendship was her taking pity on me?” Oilstripe gulped. “Did she even see me as an equal?” She couldn’t bear to look at Weedfoot any longer.

“The only way you can answer those questions is if you have the conversation you’ve been avoiding for moons,” Paleshade huffed. “It doesn’t take the wisdom of StarClan to know that communication is the greatest tool a friend can wield to heal a relationship. I can’t tell you how many hours Weedfoot and I spent hashing out disagreements and ideas when we were young. You’re both mature enough to work through this. Now why don’t we see her together? I believe the crowd is thinning out.” 

Paleshade waved her tail and sure enough, the Clan drifted away from the second new couple of the day. Weedfoot made eye contact with Oilstripe. Oilstripe held her breath. Weedfoot nudged James and the pair slowly approached Oilstipe.

“I’m glad you finally said something to him,” Oilstripe stammered as Paleshade’s tail phased through her own.

“Actually, James brought it up first,” Weedfoot purred, bunting her new mate. “I’m glad, though. We’ll be stronger together.” Paleshade stood tall and nodded to Oilstripe. Oilstripe steadied her nerves.

“Paleshade couldn’t be happier,” she said, barely breathing. Weedfoot stilled, blinking slowly as she processed what Oilstripe said. “She, uh… she’s really proud of you.” Weedfoot glanced around, as though hoping she could see Paleshade herself. The molly in question moved to Weedfoot’s side, purring. Weedfoot stepped away from James and got closer to Oilstripe.

“I’m sorry I upset you, Oilstripe,” Weedfoot said. “I should have told you my concerns moons ago.”

“I was scared to tell others, because I thought they wouldn’t believe me,” Oilstripe said. “I don’t want to be the odd cat out.”

“You’re the best apprentice I’ve ever had,” Weedfoot said. She pressed against Oilstripe with a deep purr. Oilstripe pressed back, burying her face in her dear friend’s warm pelt.

(Oilstripe: 36, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

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

(Mousepaw: 9, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

(James: 108, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Burdockcreek: 26, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Weedfoot: 81, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Fennelspot and Oilstripe have a long conversation about goals and aspirations and discover they have a lot in common.

[Image ID: Fennelspot and Oilstripe face each other.]

(Fennelspot: 89, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Oilstripe: 36, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Weedfoot organizes a mock battle to keep RippleClan’s skills sharp.

[Image ID: Weedfoot watches a large crowd of cats, including Fennelspot, Parsley & Scrubmask, and Oilstripe, James, & Carnationspeckle.]

---

The entire camp was a part of Weedfoot’s big training exercise, even those who were never expected to fight. Wildclaw was stuck to Rattlepelt’s side, showing her some swift defensive tactics with Halibutdusk’s help. Parsley and Scrubmask practiced some basic manuvers on the rocks surrounding camp. Rustshade and Mousepaw were arguing about who to spar with, held back only by Rabbitjoy and Downstar (who had finally started participating in Clan activities again). Oilstripe’s moves were off that day, but James and Carnationspeckle both took the time to work through some kinks with her. Fennelspot and Shadowdrop were the only ones not participating; Fennelspot kept an eye out for any overeager fighters while Shadowdrop had to keep his front leg still so the bone could heal.

Weedfoot directed the practice from a comfortable spot by the oven. The Clan had some excellent fighters in their ranks! Everyone rolled and tumbled about, unaffected by the late winter chill, putting their all into showing their strength. It reminded Weedfoot of AshClan in some regards. It was the perfect distraction.

At least until Oilstripe broke off from James and Carnationspeckle and joined Weedfoot.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong today,” Oilstripe groaned. “I can’t focus on anything! Can you spar with me for a while? You always had great things to say in battle training.”

“Oh, I’m sure James and Carnationspeckle are more than enough to help you,” Weedfoot stammered, shaking her head. “I want to make sure everyone is getting their practice in. LynxClan has been stirring up such a fuss about access to our salt resources, I want everyone to be prepared if they make a move.”

“Carnationspeckle gets nervous when she pushes too hard,” Oilstripe groaned, “and James doesn’t want to push at all. You’re still the best fighter in RippleClan, paws down.”

“Thank you, Oilstripe,” Weedfoot gulped, “but I’m sure, I don’t want to spar right now.”

“Why not?” Oilstripe asked. Her curious gaze drifted over Weedfoot’s fur. “Are you not feeling well? You devoured that bass like you haven’t eaten in moons.” Weedfoot glanced at her Clanmates, but they were all focused on their own tasks or disagreements.

“Step outside with me,” Weedfoot whispered, flicking her tail to the exit. Oilstripe quietly followed her out of camp. Weedfoot led her to the thin coast south of camp, far enough away that no one could hear them. She sat where the sand met the snow-speckled grass.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and Oilstripe face each other. Weedfoot says, “I don’t know if I can be a mother, Oilstripe. I only just decided to be a mate again.”]

“You aren’t the sort to be so nervous,” Oilstripe hummed. “What’s wrong?”

“Are there any ghosts listening in?” Weedfoot wondered as the fur on the back of her neck stood up.

“Weedfoot, just tell me what’s bothering you,” Oilstripe snapped.

“I can’t spar because I’m pregnant,” Weedfoot blurted. It was like the words exploded out of her. She subconsciously tucked her tail over her belly. Oilstripe’s whole pelt stood on end.

“Is this something we’re excited for?” Oilstripe gulped hesitantly, unable to tear her eyes off Weedfoot’s stomach.

“I don’t know,” Weedfoot groaned. She stared out at the ocean, which blew salty drops into her face. “I think I want these kits. James and I talked about parenthood half a moon ago. He would love to be a father. He said it would give him more excuses to stay in camp.” Weedfoot chuckled at the memory and looked back at Oilstripe, whose whole attention was stuck on her. “I don’t know if I can be a mother, Oilstripe. I only just decided to be a mate again.”

“You have a whole Clan of cats who adore you,” Oilstripe insisted. “We won’t put this all on you. We’ll drown your kits in love and attention.”

“I know,” Weedfoot purred, curling around her stiff belly. “I want these kits. That doesn’t stop me from being scared.”

“Does James know?” Oilstripe asked.

“Only Fennelspot and I,” Weedfoot admitted. “He told me this morning. I’m still overwhelmed.”

“It might make you feel better to see James lose his mind,” Oilstripe suggested, flicking her ears back toward camp. 

“I don’t want to stop the battle early,” Weedfoot said, settling down. “Could you sit with me for a while? We’ll go back soon, I promise.” Oilstripe scooted close and settled pelt-to-pelt against Weedfoot. It was hard for Weedfoot to form a complete thought as her mind fluttered through half-finished words and vague memories. As a large wave crashed onto the shore and stretched to meet Weedfoot’s paws, however, one word clarified itself like the shimmer of salt water on sand.

Wonderful.

(Weedfoot: 81, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Oilstripe hated how the nursery smelled of blood. She hated how Fennelspot kept assuring her that a lot of the process was up to Weedfoot, that her instincts were kicking in and guiding the kitting, that all she needed was water, company, and time. She especially hated how that opinion changed when Fennelspot recruited Clammask to massage Weedfoot while he handled “a small problem.” The thing Oilstripe hated most, however?

The fact that the kitting took two days.

“How is this normal?” Oilstripe groaned, paws over her head. It was a cold start of the new year, with snow still on the ground. It was almost the dawn of the third day of kitting. Oilstripe stayed up with James, Parsley, and Downstar while Fennelspot helped Weedfoot with the last steps of the process. James sat with Oilstripe, grooming sand off his legs.

“I can’t tell if you expect an answer to that question or not,” James said, his leg over his head.

“How can she take the pain?” Oilstripe wondered, peeking between her paws at the nursery.

“Nature’s work, I suppose,” James sighed.

“Aren’t you nervous?” Oilstripe asked, turning her back to the nursery.

“Of course I am, do you take me for a rogueheart?” James scoffed, sitting up. “I also have confidence in Weedfoot’s strength.

“Shush, you two!” Parsley snapped. “I hear another kit.” Oilstripe cocked her ear back. Sure enough, a loud mew rippled out of the den. Not long after, Fennelspot left the den with blood on his muzzle and paws.

“That’s more than normal,” Downstar gulped from her perch on the Shiprock. All four waiting cats scurried up to Fennelspot.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry!” Fennelspot insisted. “There was more blood than I wanted, but Weedfoot will be alright. She’s weak, though, so don’t overwhelm her. Go inside, James. You have two daughters and three sons.” James squirmed past Fennelspot and slipped into the shadows of the nursery. Oilstripe crept after him and watched from outside.

The nursery was packed by both the living and dead. Weedfoot laid panting with five kits suckling at her belly. Blood-stained moss surrounded her. Four ghosts lingered behind her, staring at the kits with pride; Paleshade, Wasppaw, Lavenderleaf, and surprisingly, Puddlespeckle. James actually walked through Puddlespeckle to lay at Weedfoot’s back. Puddlespeckle shivered and sneered at his son-in-code.

“Oilstripe, you tell him to look after those kits,” Puddlespeckle grumbled. “StarClan, I would have been a good grandfather.” His face softened as he stared at a gray tom with a small white dot on the bridge of his muzzle. 

Both the mollies looked like their mother. One had spots, while the other had swirling marks. One tom, a lanky gold and white tom, looked more like Wasppaw than either parent. The dead apprentice stared at the tom with huge eyes. The last tom was more like James, with a ginger pelt splashed white. Weedfoot purred deeply, resting her chin over Jame’s front legs.

“Weedfoot, they’re lovely,” Oilstripe purred.

“Oilstripe, you’re taking up the entrance,” Downstar huffed. Oilstripe shrunk and backed up so Downstar and Parsley could peer into the den.

“I’m a little worried about the striped kit’s strength,” Fennelspot admitted from behind the crowd. “She caused the most blood loss during birth. Beyond that, all five kits are nursing well.” He squirmed between Downstar and Oilstripe and groomed some blood off the youngest tom. “They should all live to get their own names.”

“How can I wait a quarter moon to name my children?” James groaned.

“The wait is worth it, James,” Fennelspot promised. He patted Weedfoot’s back with his tail. “You’re a strong mother, Weedfoot.”

“Here here!” Paleshade cheered. Wasppaw and Lavenderleaf laughed while Puddlespeckle rolled his eyes, although his perpetual annoyed look softened. Paleshade touched her ethereal nose to Weedfoot’s head. Some of her exhaustion seemed to seep out as she cuddled deeper into her mate.

From Oilstripe’s perspective, there was more love in the nursery that night than anyone else could understand.

(Oilstripe: 38, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(James: 110, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Parsley: 128, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

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

(Fennelspot: 91, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

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

(Weedfoot: 83, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

A quarter moon after their birth, Weedfoot reveals the names of her kits.

[Image ID: Five newborn kits fill the screen. Under the gray spotted kit, it says NEW PLAYER: PALEKIT, 0, FEMALE, IMPULSIVE. Under the gold and white spotted kit, it says NEW PLAYER: WASPKIT, 0, MALE, BOSSY. Under the gray spotted kit with the white face spot, it says NEW PLAYER: PUDDLEKIT, 0, MALE, POLITE. Under the swirl-patterned gray kit, it says NEW PLAYER: RIPPLEKIT, 0, FEMALE, KNOW-IT-ALL. Lastly, under the ginger and white kit, it says NEW PLAYER: LAVENDERKIT, 0, MALE, NOISY.]

(Palekit: 0, female, kit, impulsive)

(Waspkit: 0, male, kit, bossy)

(Puddlekit: 0, male, polite)

(Ripplekit: 0, female, know-it-all)

(Lavenderkit: 0, male, noisy)

Halibutdusk helps Downstar work through something difficult that happened to her.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Downstar face each other. Downstar says, “It’s hard to accept the good things in life when I don’t feel good.”]

---

Halibutdusk wasn’t sure what to think when his mother took him to the Great Northern River. While Fennelspot had forced her to go to a few Gatherings in the later stages of her healing, Downstar was only just leaving camp again. Why would she choose to return to the river she had almost died in, so soon after her recovery? Still, Halibutdusk did not ask questions. Clearly Downstar wanted to do something. Halibutdusk just had to wait.

The warm spring sun turned the Great Northern River back into the churning, lovely current Halibutdusk spent much of his free time watching. Downstar settled on a sun speckled patch of grass. Halibutdusk took a spot beside her. The sun made him sleepy and dragged his eyes shut. He glanced at Downstar, but the leader was silent.

Halibutdusk was about to fall asleep when Downstar finally said, “Have you been happy lately, Halibut?” Halibutdusk shook the sleep out of his head and blinked rapidly.

“That seems like a vague question,” Halibutdusk said, squinting at his mother.

“It’s an honest one,” Downstar huffed with a twitch of her whiskers. “I want to know how you’ve felt lately. Life has been quiet as of late.”

“I’m fine,” Halibutdusk muttered.

“You used to be so excitable,” Downstar muttered. She brushed her tail against Halibutdusk. “What happened?”

“I didn’t like the results,” Halibutdusk sighed. “I hate seeing Heronflank at Gatherings, knowing I scarred his face like that. I’m more cautious as a result.” Downstar nodded softly and stared at the water.

“I don’t believe your littermates would understand what I’m about to tell you,” Downstar said. “Shadowdrop is focused on himself, and Wildclaw… I made a mistake giving her an honor title for her recklessness, but I don’t have the heart to take it away.”

“Why did you rename Wildclaw?” Halibutdusk asked. 

“At the time, she seemed brave,” Downstar explained. She dipped a paw into the water and let the cool current run around her. “I was proud of how ready she was to protect us. All I could see was the danger lurking outside our borders. The darkhound hurt me more than I like to admit. It felt like another major, Clan-ending threat I had to stop. I’ve lost two lives within the span of five moons. All I could think about while I healed was, what would the next threat be?” Downstar shook the water off her paw. “It’s hard to accept the good things in life when I don’t feel good. I got angry when I was around anyone, because they didn’t seem to take things seriously. I’m trying to be better, though.”

“I understand,” Halibutdusk said softly. He wasn’t sure how true that was, but regardless, he leaned against his mother and let his eyes drift along the river. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“I’d like to sit here for a while, if you’d be willing,” Downstar said. Halibutdusk nodded. The pair said nothing more as they listened to the river’s hum and the ringing of their own thoughts.

(Halibutdusk: 26, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Downstar: 92, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

James caught Mousepaw in a lie. Rabbitjoy thinks Mousepaw has been acting weird lately.

[Image ID: James and Rabbitjoy stand over Mousepaw.]

---

Mousepaw didn’t like the looks on James and Rabbitjoy’s faces as they approached the apprentice’s den. They had no reason to march over to her as she groomed in the comfort of the empty den. Why weren’t they fussing over Weedfoot and her noisy kits? 

“Mousepaw,” James called. Mousepaw bit her tongue to fight back a groan. 

“Yes, James?” Mousepaw said in her most polite voice.

“Where is the mouse you caught during our hunting patrol this morning?” James asked. He sat outside the apprentice’s den while Rabbitjoy scooted inside. Mousepaw shuffled away from her.

“If it’s not on the fresh-kill pile, maybe Rattlepelt’s making leather out of it,” Mousepaw huffed. 

“She was going to,” Rabbitjoy explained, “but it went missing.”

“I saw you move it, Mousepaw,” James huffed, breathing deep. “I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt and hope you spotted spoilage. But then I found its buried remains near the dirtplace. I thought you would be honest and tell the truth, considering you are a codekeeper in training.” Wonderful. Mousepaw’s pelt burned as she turned her gaze to the side, refusing to look at James.

“Mousepaw, why would you eat a raw mouse?” Rabbitjoy asked softly.

“I ate raw mice all the time when I was a kit!” Mousepaw snapped. “It tastes better than the cooked foxdung Rattlepelt grills.”

“This is not how I wanted to spend my day,” James groaned.

“Mousepaw, you could get very sick,” Rabbitjoy huffed. “Do you understand that?”

“It was one skinny mouse!” Mousepaw groaned. “What are you going to do about it, exile me?” James and Rabbitjoy shared a long glance.

“If we had a mediator,” Rabbitjoy sighed, shaking her head, “I would send you straight to them. I don’t understand where all this hostility is coming from.”

“You only care that I took prey,” Mousepaw hissed, searching for an exit between the two adults. “Don’t act like I need to do anything else. I don’t need your attention. I do my job, and I do it well. All I did was treat myself. Why corner me about it?”

“You’re right, you do work hard,” Rabbitjoy said, her tail inching along the edge of Mousepaw’s nest. “Harder than James, at least.”

“I would take offense to that if it wasn’t so true,” James sighed.

“But this feels like another example of the loner attitude you’ve carried with you since you joined RippleClan,” Rabbitjoy explained. 

“Again, why do you care?” Mousepaw huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Because I care about Rattlepelt, and she cares about you,” Rabbitjoy said.

“I don’t want her to care!” Mousepaw groaned. “I don’t want anyone to care! It’s easier for all of us that way. I won’t steal prey again, alright? Don’t tell Rustshade.” Rabbitjoy slipped next to James and whispered in his ear. Mousepaw laid in her nest with her back to the pair. A short time later, she glanced back, but James and Rabbitjoy were gone.

Good. Mousepaw didn’t want them to care. It was easier to look after the Clan that way. She would stay away from all those complicated feelings like love and sincerity, and she’d be just fine.

Yes… she would be fine.

(Mousepaw: 11, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

(James: 110, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Rabbitjoy: 71, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

Burdockcreek encounters a fox on patrol.

[Image ID: Fennelspot treats Burdockcreek, while Wildclaw looks on from the back and yowls, “Fox twins!” Fennelspot says “Foolish young cats…” Under Burdockcreek, it says + CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL.]

(Fennelspot: 91, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Burdockcreek: 28, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)