#scalekit

“So you’re…” Mosspounce said, “...an enforcer?”

“It’s a position of some authority with the Witch Hunters,” Lemmy explained. “I’m responsible for carrying out the plans of our higher ranking members and managing the day to day activities of some of our community. I make sure they’re following the rules of our home.”

“Like a codekeeper?” Mosspounce asked.

“Do you think I know enough about Clan culture to say?” Lemmy scoffed. With cold weather slamming into the Clans early, Mosspounce met his friend on her side of the river that day, beside a small fire. Mosspounce caught a small fish and staked it beside the fire to cook. Lemmy’s fur looked yellow in the firelight and the dull morning haze that broke through the thick clouds.

“Well that meeting of yours looked a lot like one of our Gatherings,” Mosspounce sighed, poking the fish. “Maybe you know more than you let on.” 

“Mosspounce—” Lemmy groaned.

“No, please don’t tell me to let it go,” Mosspounce snapped, his tail smacking the ground. “This is the third time I’ve seen you since then and you still won’t explain what in StarClan your friends are doing. You promised we would talk about it later, Lemmy. I need you to tell me the truth, were you one of the cats who killed Bubblemoon?”

“No,” Lemmy growled, lips curling. Mosspounce forced himself to relax. He stared at the fire to cool the flames itching in his blood.

“You have roles and leaders and faith, just like we do,” Mosspounce huffed, “so why try to kill us?” Lemmy tucked her tail over her paws. She stared at the fire as well. It was easier than one of them meeting the other’s eye. The smoke blew over Mosspounce’s head.

“Do you know what I mean when I discuss the Other Side?” Lemmy sighed. “Most of the loners and house cats of the land believe that after a year in the mortal world settling our affairs, we will all go to the Other Side to play out our own eternal peace. Good or bad, we all go to the Other Side. The crows guide us there when our time comes, and they protect its denizens.”

“Can your leader really speak to crows?” Mosspounce asked. He glanced up, half expecting to see a beady-eyed crow watching from the trees, ready to fly back and report.

“It’s the other way around,” Lemmy explained. “Madeline would not understand the crows if they did not want to speak to her. The peace of the Other Side is more sacred than anything else. We call those who disturb that peace witches. It’s the job of the Witch Hunters to make sure no one is disturbing the dead. Madeline became the Witch Hunter General about a year ago, and that’s when she started learning more about the Clans. We didn’t know about your StarClan until she heard a story from a housecat. She believes you are the worst witches to ever wander near our home. She believes killing you all will protect the peace of our dead. She’s been studying you and strategizing how to pull you apart ever since she declared war in the name of the Other Side.”

“StarClan chooses to talk to us,” Mosspounce huffed. He couldn’t help but grit his teeth as he spoke. “They want to be involved in our affairs. We aren’t disturbing anyone! How is that any different from your crows?”

“Madeline either does not know,” Lemmy muttered, “or does not care. She and many of the Witch Hunters believe they are securing their eternal peace by ambushing who they can by the borders. They hope to find your weaknesses and tear into your camps. They’ll kill most of you and rescue the young cats to save them from witchcraft.”

“That’s what you wanted me to do.” Mosspounce pulled the cooked fish away from the fire. He stared into its dead eye. “You wanted me to leave my family to die. Is that what you still want, Lemmy? I may like you, but I’m not letting you do that.” Even though he laughed through it, shock slipped between the cracks in Mosspounce’s anger. Did he just say he liked Lemmy? Out loud? He waited for Lemmy to mock him. He needed her to mock him for that, to ease the strain in the air. Mosspounce dared to look at Lemmy. She was staring at him, expressionless.

“Mosspounce, why do you think I visit you?” Lemmy asked. Mosspounce wanted to say “Because you like me too,” but found his words dead well before they reached his mouth. Lemmy walked up to the river. She stared downstream, toward the ocean stretching out into infinity in the distance. “I dream of rock-lined shores and strangers sitting beside me, offering me suggestions. It’s usually a black kit, encouraging me to listen to my deepest curiosities. I know I’ve never met her before.” Lemmy looked back to Mosspounce. “She told me she was a member of StarClan.”

“Not many cats get visited in their dreams,” Mosspounce mumbled. He joined Lemmy along the river. “Usually they visit leaders and clerics. You… you must be pretty special if StarClan speaks to you.”

“No, Mosspounce, I can’t be special,” Lemmy insisted. “I can’t be speaking to the dead. I’m a Witch Hunter! It is my job to protect the dead, not to cavort with them!” She sat with a huff, staring at her rippled reflection in the rushing river. “I tried to ignore the dreams, but after Madeline ordered us to attack a Clan patrol and gauge their strength, they started coming every night. They’re constantly asking me to see you, of all cats. It’s why I didn’t kill you last summer. The Witch Hunters are trying to do what they think is right, I can’t—”

“Mosspounce!” Mosspounce nearly choked. Lavendertwist stood on the other side of the river, collarless. Mosspounce turned to Lemmy, but she hurried back through the trees.

“Wait!” Mosspounce yowled, but it was of no use. Lemmy would not be coming back that day. Lavendertwist waded across the river, watching the fire and the cooked fish. Mosspounce groaned and braced himself.

“Mosspounce, were you cooking this fish for your runaway friend?” Lavendertwist asked. Mosspounce’s stomach clenched. He didn’t know who Lemmy was. Mosspounce liked to say he had his father’s charm; now it was time for him to inherit his father’s skillful lying.

“She was hungry,” Mosspounce gulped, slowly joining Lavendertwist by the fire. “She was thinking about joining the Clan. There’s so much prey at camp, I thought it would be alright to cook something for her.”

“I’m not mad, don’t worry,” Lavendertwist sighed, tail touching Mosspounce’s side comfortingly. “Glad you have a friend, but really, Moss, you know we can’t be sharing prey with cats who aren’t in the Clan. We gotta feed Clammask’s kits.”

“I’m sorry,” Mosspounce chuckled awkwardly, giving his chest a lick.

“Make sure everyone else eats today, and we won’t tell my mother,” Lavendertwist purred with a wink. He kicked dirt over the fire and dug a hole for the code-breaking fish. Mosspounce nodded along. Better to not eat than tell Lavendertwist who Lemmy really was. Still, he couldn’t help but glance the way Lemmy ran and wonder, how much longer would she be safe with the Witch Hunters?

(Mosspounce: 14, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Lemmy: 29, female, Witch Hunter enforcer, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Lavendertwist: 19, male, warrior, playful, good singer, good storyteller)

Even though he is excited to be an apprentice, Scalekit still needs coaxing from James to step up for his ceremony. He is named Scalepaw and is apprenticed to Lavendertwist.

[Image ID: Scalepaw is now an apprentice, and is clearly developing white spots of vitiligo. Under him, it says LEVEL UP! SCALEKIT -> SCALEPAW.]

(Scalepaw: 6, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, avid play-fighter)

Rustshade gives Leatherkit a task.

[Image ID: Rustshade says to Leatherkit, “Leatherkit, fetch Carnationspeckle for me. I need to ask her something.” Under Leatherkit, it says + NEW SKILL: ACID PLAY-FIGHTER, + NEW SKILL: CONFIDENT WITH WORDS.]

(Rustshade: 97, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Leatherkit: 1, male, kit, impulsive, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

Tempestshade goes on trial to determine her responsibility for Ripplefern’s death.

[Image ID: Puddlewhisper stands with Tempestshade while Troutpool speaks. Under Troutpool, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: LIVING DEATH OMEN.]

---

“This collar is killing me,” Tempestshade groaned into Puddlewhisper’s ear, one paw digging under the tight leather around her neck.

“Tempestshade, please,” Puddlewhisper muttered. She eyed the cats gathered around her, engrossed in Tempestshade’s trial. She rubbed the band around her paw. Only one other cat had ever worn the band in RippleClan’s history; Puddlewhisper’s mentor, and the cat in charge of finding Tempestshade guilty of deadly recklessness. Rustshade took this trial as seriously as he took Shadowdrop’s trial over a year ago. How ironic, then, that it was one of Shadowdrop’s kits on trial.

Save for Weedfoot’s statement of the accident’s aftermath, there weren’t exactly other witnesses to Ripplefern’s death. It made it hard to disprove anything Tempestshade claimed (she had spoken first in the trial, fervently defending the sudden and accidental nature of the incident). Most of Rustshade’s argument, therefore, was based on Tempestshade’s character. He actually called Oilstripe to testify as a historian, relating Tempestshade’s personal history to the Clan. Puddlewhisper flinched for Tempestshade’s sake with each new descriptor thrown out. Kit-like. Reckless. Irresponsible. Selfish. 

“Downstar, at this point, Rustshade is bullying my charge,” Puddlewhisper finally snapped midway through Oilstripe’s testimony. “None of this changes the facts of the event. Tempestshade could be StarClan’s shining example of responsibility, and Ripplefern would still be dead!” Nausea almost overcame Puddlewhisper. Ripplefern had loved the ocean. She loved swimming with Carnationspeckle. If she hadn’t been with Tempestshade that day, would she still be with her littermates? Puddlewhisper glanced toward her surviving family. Waspdawn was as stoic as ever, watching the trial intently from in front of the medicine den. Scalepaw watched from behind him. Paleseed and Lavendertwist leaned into each other, with Elmsprout occasionally licking Lavendertwist’s ear. James sat as close to Weedfoot as he could without disrupting her role. How badly did Puddlewhisper’s mother want to slip into the comforting embrace of her family?

“I would appreciate it if I could continue laying out the basis of my argument, Puddlewhisper,” Rustshade huffed. 

“Alright,” Downstar snapped with a wave of her tail. “Let’s try to finish this statement and move on with this trial, shall we?”

“Lucky for us, I’ve asked all of my questions,” Rustshade sighed. “Thank you for your time, Oilstripe.” Oilstripe glanced awkwardly toward Tempestshade and Puddlewhisper. She bowed her head and scurried back into the crowd, settling next to Carnationspeckle and Troutpool.

“Puddlewhisper, you haven’t had much to say,” Downstar said. “Do you have a witness to call or evidence to present?”

“Actually, Downstar,” Puddlewhisper huffed, getting to her paws, “I don’t have anything else to present. Because there is nothing I could present to you. This was a sudden, unexpected accident. There was nothing else Tempestshade could have done to save Ripplefern’s life. Even if you truly suspect that she, she abandoned my sister to the waves to save herself, there’s no way to prove that. Weedfoot and Troutpool found Tempestshade after the accident, the raft has nothing to tell us… Rustshade’s argument is baseless.” Would Ripplefern agree? Puddlewhisper could almost feel her sister rubbing against her in silent support (yet did not notice Oilstripe staring her way, seeing something Puddlewhisper could not).

“And yet I direct you back to Oilstripe’s official summary of Tempestshade’s life in the Clan,” Rustshade interrupted. He had the gall to block Puddlewhisper’s view of Downstar. “Tempestshade’s kithood mischief led to the death of her father. She was an ornery apprentice. She has put herself above her Clanmates many a time. What is more realistic? That Tempestshade fought to save Ripplefern and risked her own life? Or that she left Ripplefern attached to the raft and saved herself?”

“Hold on!” Troutpool squirmed away from her mothers and marched into the clearing. “Hold on, please. I have something to say about all this.”

“Is this as a witness, or as a cleric?” Downstar asked.

“A cleric,” Troutpool gulped. “Tempestshade technically is at fault for the accident, but not in any way she could control.” Tension rippled through RippleClan. Puddlewhisper dug her paws into the sand.

“You say that like I caused the wave,” Tempestshade scoffed. Troutpool flinched, whiskers twitching in pained sympathy. Tempestshade’s bravado faded, slowly replaced with horror. “That is what you’re saying.”

“Shortly before the trial, I was checking the gardens,” Troutpool explained quietly. “A cloud passed over the sun and covered the garden in shadow. When that happened, I couldn’t breathe. My whole pelt itched and burned. For a second, I thought StarClan was striking me dead. But then the cloud moved away from the sun. As soon as the light touched my fur, I could breathe again. I needed time to understand what that sign meant, but after listening to my mother’s summary of Tempestshade’s life, I think I understand.” Troutpool turned away from Tempestshade and Puddlewhisper. “Tempestshade was born to a dying queen. I believe that this event… infected her on a spiritual level. We saw it with Shadowdrop and one of Downstar’s lives, and now we see it with Ripplefern. Being alone with Tempestshade risks death. She is a walking omen of death.” The Clan was eerily silent.

“That’s a lie,” Tempestshade growled, lips curled. “That’s a lie! I’m not an omen! Tell them, Puddlewhisper!” Yet Puddlewhisper was as silent as everyone else. Tempestshade stepped away from her, eyeing her Clanmates like they were ready to attack. She left long claw marks in the sand. Puddlewhisper flinched away from her charge, staring at Troutpool.

You couldn’t call someone guilty for being born an omen. You could, however, feel guilty when said omen ran out of camp the moment the innocent verdict came back, and no one dared to follow her.

(Tempestshade: 14, female, caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

(Puddlewhisper: 18, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

(Rustshade: 97, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Downstar: 112, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Troutpool: 14, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

Halibutdusk spars with Splashkit while James looks after Honeykit and Drumkit.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk plays with Splashkit while James sits with Honeykit and Drumkit in the back. Under Splashkit, it says + NEW SKILL: NEVER SITS STILL. Under Honeykit, it says + NEW SKILL: HAS LOTS OF IDEAS. Under Drumkit, it says + NEW SKILL: MOSS-BALL HUNTER.]

(Halibutdusk: 45, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Splashkit: 1, male, kit, noisy, never sits still)

(James: 129, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Honeykit: 1, male, kit, noisy, has lots of ideas)

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.