#scalepaw

Scrubmask was scheduled for a border patrol at sunhigh, so she went for a walk in the morning. It was now late afternoon, and she had not returned to camp. For most cats, Clammask would have waited a while, wondering what mischief they got up to in their free time that kept them from their duties. But Scrubmask? No. Something was wrong.

Downstar sent out three patrols. Waspdawn led Tempestshade, Mosspounce, and Darkkick south. Weedfoot took Wildclaw, Elmsprout, and Drumpaw into the heart of the territory. Downstar’s patrol, which included Carnationspeckle, Halibutdusk, and shockingly, James, headed for the river. That left Clammask and the rest of her kits to wait in camp, stomachs twisted and claws itching.

“We should have our own patrol looking for Ma!” Leatherpaw snapped as he paced around the apprentice’s den. “Why does Drumpaw get to look for her, but we have to stay home?”

“Because your mentors are still in camp,” Clammask reminded her son. She sat in Drumpaw’s nest, giving her three sons extra company in the dreadful wait.

“Weedfoot’s on patrol,” Splashpaw pointed out, batting at the purple ribbon he chose to keep around his neck after his escapade.

“You’re still in trouble for disappearing, regardless of who you brought to camp,” Clammask huffed with a hard look.

“Hasn’t StarClan said anything, Honeypaw?” Leatherpaw huffed, turning to his lanky brother in the corner of the den. 

“Troutpool hasn’t taught me how to petition StarClan directly yet,” Honeypaw sighed. He laid on his side, tail flicking absent mindedly. “I’d go out if I could be any help, but I don’t think Ma wants us to see whatever problem she’s in.” 

“That’s right,” Clammask said. “Your mother wouldn’t want all four of her kits roaming the forest looking for her.”

“But Drumpaw gets to go,” Splashpaw muttered, getting to his feet and mimicking Leatherpaw’s pacing. 

Clammask gave up trying to steer her sons away from their doomed thinking. Instead she set her head on the edge of Scalepaw’s empty nest and studied the den. She hadn’t been inside the apprentice’s den since she graduated. She thought back to those first two moons, before Halibutdusk, Shadowdrop, and Wildclaw were apprenticed, the nights when it was just Clampaw, Burdockpaw, and Locustpaw, the first born to RippleClan, ready to make history. How many nights did Burdockcreek keep her and Locustseeker up with a new amazing story about the other Clans? How many pranks did Locustseeker scheme over when Clammask wasn’t looking? How different would it have been if Twinekit made it to that den as well? Oilstripe had told Clammask that all three were watching over her during the birth of her kits… were they there now, reminiscing with her?

A tortoiseshell pelt shifted outside the apprentice’s den. Clammask hurried to her paws. Downstar! She slipped around her impatient sons and joined her leader outside. Downstar, Carnationspeckle, and James all lingered near the entrance, exhaustion pulling at their pelts. Where was Halibutdusk?

“You haven’t found Scrubmask?” Clammask asked. Downstar started to say something, but she swallowed hard instead.

“Carnationspeckle,” Downstar muttered quietly to the brown ticked molly (whose fur had finally recovered from all the mats of her imprisonment), “find two cats to fetch the other patrols.” Carnationspeckle nodded, her stance stiff and paws uncertain as they led her to the warrior’s den.

“You’re stopping the search?” Leatherpaw launched out of the apprentice’s den, lips curled. “That’s our mother out there!”

“Leatherpaw,” Clammask growled, heart aching at the fear in her son’s eyes.

“We found your mother, Leatherpaw,” Downstar said softly. Clammask looked back to her leader. The world became just the two of them alone on the sand.

“I don’t…” Clammask gulped. “I don’t understand.” James whined softly and shook his head, retreating to the elder’s den.

“We found her in the river,” Downstar said. Her tail slipped under her. “She was muzzle-first in the water. I don’t know if someone held her under or smashed her head against the rocks–“

“Someone?” Leatherpaw yowled, his long pelt shaking and standing on end like Downstar was about to attack. “You said someone. You, you think a cat did it. You think a cat killed my mother!” Downstar flinched at the words. Splashpaw and Honeypaw stood in quiet horror in the mouth of the apprentice’s den.

The peaceful and content future Clammask imagined with her mate crumbled around her.

(Clammask: 53, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Leatherpaw: 7, male, warrior apprentice, vengeful, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

(Splashpaw: 7, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still, lover of art)

(Honeypaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

(Downstar: 118, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Carnationspeckle: 61, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(James: 135, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

An injured LynxClan warrior limps into camp, begging for sanctuary.

[Image ID: Leatherpaw, Honeypaw, and Trumpetspore watch a brown tabby enter camp. Trumpetspore yowls, “Spirit of Shadow!” Under the brown tabby, it says NEW PLAYER: RAPIDLEAF, 77, FEMALE, LONESOME, PROPHECY INTERPRETER, + CONDITION: WATER IN LUNGS.]

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RippleClan had been through hard times; the war with AshClan, freeing Carnationspeckle… Scrubmask’s death, her murder, it was different. The confusion, grief, and rage that covered the Clan was different than anything Downstar had felt since founding the Clan. Scrubmask’s vigil was as noisy as a Gathering, with everyone arguing and debating what exactly happened to Scrubmask and if anyone could have prevented it. Leatherpaw was outright yowling at Trumpetspore, demanding someone, anyone, go out there and find his mother’s killer. Paleseed had to drag him back. Honeypaw was absorbed in weaving a vine necklace with Rabbitjoy, performing his duty as a cleric with unnatural solemnity. Splashpaw, idly rubbing his ribbon against his shoulder, would not leave his mother’s side. Drumpaw could not leave either cat alone.

Downstar didn’t want to think about Clammask.

When Puddlewhisper and Waspdawn returned from their investigation with Scrubmask’s body, they confirmed the patrol’s suspicions. The death blows matched that of a cat, but they were sloppy, lucky strikes. The river washed away the killer’s scent, and Scrubmask had no clumps of fur in her claws to narrow down the killer’s appearance. Both theorized that it was a Witch Hunter, some disgruntled member of the group who disapproved of the uneasy truce and decided to continue the killing. Yet Honeypaw, with a look in his eyes that screamed of wisdom older than he was, simply shook his head and returned to work.

Downstar couldn’t leave her den. First Fennelspot, her most loyal friend, with her since her first moments, gone in a ridiculous accident. Then Rustshade, her staunch supporter and former mate, taken by an oh so deadly disease. And now Scrubmask, the loyal young warrior who wanted something new. Downstar had only managed to drag herself out of camp with the news of Scrubmask’s disappearance. Now? Now it would take an act of StarClan to get her outside. 

She could not see her friend’s body again. She refused.

There was a place between sleep and consciousness that restored little energy and left the mind in a haze. That was where Downstar laid, quiet in her nest, when there was a shift to the chatter outside. Confused and angry mutters turned into sharp and shocked yowls.

“Spirit of Shadow!” Trumpetspore screeched. Downstar forced herself to her paws, heart pounding.

“Ya need your eyes checked, Ms. Trumpetspore,” Parsley scoffed. “That’s a cat.” Downstar hurried out of her den. Water dripped off short brown fur. Soaked paws caught the sand and left deep pawprints. Bleary cyan eyes bounced unfocused inside a large, gaunt skull. RippleClan hissed and instinctively gathered around Scrubmask’s body, despite there being nothing left of her to protect. Downstar recognized the enemy warrior. How could she not? In the days when she was Downdapple and RippleClan was but a dream, Scrubmask frequently appeared at Gatherings with her cousin, born at the same time as her, closer than cousins almost ever were; Rapidleaf.

Rapidleaf shook and coughed, water spilling out of her mouth. She blindly stumbled on, unaware of the angry cats around her. Honeypaw crept closer as Rapidleaf’s steps grew more and more unsteady. Honeypaw reached a paw out to Rapidleaf. Her eyes dilated, wide as the full moon. Rapidleaf swiped at Honeypaw. Her claws barely missed her eyes. Leatherpaw and Clammask, who suddenly snapped out of her spot beside her mate, grieving, tackled Rapidleaf. She shook and spluttered under their combined weight.

“How did a LynxClan warrior get all the way here?” Drumpaw gulped, sharing a scared glance with Splashpaw. 

“Perhaps she came here with a message from Mistlestar,” Spikecrash hummed, carefully approaching the trapped warrior. Darkkick, however, stood in front of her daughter and shook her head. 

“She’s half-drowned,” Troutpool huffed, weaving through the shocked crowd. “I don’t think she even knows where she is.” Rapidleaf panted hard, wild eyes glaring at Troutpool with a killer’s lust. Clammask shoved Rapidleaf’s face in the sand. Her shaking slowed and her eyes dropped. Leatherpaw froze.

“Mom, did we just kill her?” he gulped, turning to Clammask.

“She’s only unconscious,” Troutpool sighed, gently nudging Leatherpaw off. “StarClan only knows what she’s been through. Honeypaw, we need to bring her into the medicine den.”

“During Scrubmask’s vigil?” Trumpetspore huffed. “Shouldn’t we send her back to her Clan?”

“As though she could make it that far,” Honeypaw snapped, nosing Rapidleaf. Sand coated half her body. Troutpool would usually remind her apprentice to respect his elders, but Troutpool stayed silent and got Rapidleaf onto her back. In the confusion of the moment, Weedfoot slunk up to Downstar. Downstar startled at the sight of her loyal deputy.

“If I need to argue with Troutpool, I can,” Weedfoot muttered. “We can send a patrol to bring her home as soon as Troutpool treats her.”

“I’m not sending someone out to die,” Downstar snapped. She was so loud, nearby Clanmates turned their attention from the drowned newcomer to their angry leader. Weedfoot didn’t flinch at the sudden yowl, however. She kept a cool gaze. 

“The last few moons have hurt,” Weedfoot reminded her leader, “but don’t forget you still have a whole Clan at your side, Downstar.” Weedfoot brushed her tail against Downstar’s shoulder and followed Troutpool and Honeypaw into the medicine den. Downstar stared at her Clan. Her outburst was quickly ignored as her friends and family returned to mourning their first warrior. 

And Downstar? Downstar returned to her den.

(Downstar: 118, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Leatherpaw: 7, male, warrior apprentice, vengeful, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

(Honeypaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

(Splashpaw: 7, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still, lover of art)

(Drumpaw: 7, female, caretaker apprentice, loyal, moss-ball hunter) 

(Trumpetspore: 20, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Rapidleaf: 77, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

(Clammask: 53, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Spikecrash: 34, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Darkkick: 119, trans female, warrior, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Troutpool: 20, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense

(Weedfoot: 108, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Lavendertwist heals with a deep scar. He makes sure his collar covers it.

[Image ID: Lavendertwist has a big pink scar across his throat, covered by his black collar. Under him, it says LEVEL UP! GOOD SINGER -> GREAT SINGER, - CONDITION: CLAW WOUND.]

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“Three—” Lavendertwist began to sing before a cough quickly took over. The sound grew muffled in the hum of the ocean at his paws. His stiff collar acted as a comforting weight against the large scar across his neck. Oh how he had missed his collar over the long season. He didn’t feel like a slab of leather anymore since Troutpool removed those stitches. 

“Three little kits—” Stars damn it! Another awful cough shook through Lavendertwist’s body. He had to get his voice back. He’d explode if he couldn’t talk! The last season of silence had been awful as it was! He slashed at the water with a hiss that made his wound ache.

“There you are!” Elmsprout trotted down the beach, squinting against the morning glow along the water. “From the way you’ve been eyeing the ocean from camp the last few moons, I knew you’d wander out here when you got the chance.” Lavendertwist’s grumpy mood softened as the friend who’d stuck with him throughout his healing journey took a spot beside him (although she refused to touch the salty waves; what a drypaw!). “I told Weedfoot I’d join you for a hunting patrol, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“I’m trying to sing,” Lavendertwist suddenly croaked, the words escaping before he finished his thought. His voice was so ragged! Troutpool insisted it would heal, but the thought of waiting another season to get his voice back made him grit his jaw tight.

“I could use a good song right now,” Elmsprout sighed. “I left AshClan to escape the stress and gloom being the leader’s daughter would bring about, and I didn’t join RippleClan to see everyone chase their tails over Scrubmask and Rapidleaf.” Lavendertwist brushed his paw against his neck, thinking.

“I taught her kits this song,” Lavendertwist said softly, so as to soothe his throat. “She and I weren’t the best mentor and apprentice, but I appreciate everything she did for me back then.”

“From what I know about StarClan,” Elmsprout hummed, “Scrubmask is probably listening now. She’d love to hear your songs, even if she never would have admitted it in life.” Elmsprout giggled as she insulted the dead, and that made Lavendertwist giggle too. He coughed again, swallowing hard. 

“I don’t think I can yet,” he muttered. Elmsprout stared at the blinding light on the ocean, eyes squinting as she thought up a solution.

“I’ll sing it for you?” she said, phrasing it like an uncertain question. “I’m not a good singer, but I can try. What’s the song?” Elmsprout’s gray fur glowed in the ocean’s salty spray, brightened by the simple kindness she likely didn’t realize she was showing.

“Three Little Kits From Camp,” Lavendertwist gulped, blinking wildly.

“I think I know that one,” Elmsprout said. She cleared her throat and sang, “Three little kits from camp are we, pert as a little kit can be, filled to the brim with youthful glee, three little kits from camp.” Elmsprout was right; she was not a good singer. She sounded more like a crow than a songbird.

But Lavendertwist didn’t care. He still loved it.

(Lavendertwist: 25, male, warrior, playful, great singer, good speaker)

(Elmsprout: 26, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

Mosspounce and Lemmy really think the Clan doesn’t notice how the pair look at each other? No one is shocked when they announce they are mates.

[Image ID: Mosspounce and Lemmy sit together. Under Mosspounce, it says + MATE: LEMMY. Under Lemmy, it says + MATE: MOSSPOUNCE.]

---

Yellowcough truly was awful. Sure, Lemmy was no longer trapped in a tiny human den filling up with her own sick and waste, she got the Clan’s strange medicine that helped her breathe, and Tempestshade would visit with whatever meal the artisans and caretakers had cooked that day. But she was still alone in the back of a shipwreck while everyone else in her new home tried to figure out who drowned Scrubmask in the river.

This was the sort of task Lemmy excelled at when she was with the Witch Hunters. It was why Madeline had trusted her to become an enforcer, someone who could protect the housecats and strays of the area under a shared leadership and set of rules. At least Puddlewhisper and Waspdawn were acknowledging her shared status as a codekeeper by filling her in on their investigation. If she had gotten to see the scene of the crime, Lemmy was certain she would know if the killer was a Witch Hunter or not. Alas, she would never know.

Couldn’t the clerics cure her already? She was supposed to be starting a life somewhere where she didn’t have to worry about everyone she slept beside turning on her for dreams she couldn’t control (thanks StarClan). She still had a foggy image of RippleClan in her mind. She should get to know her Clanmates!

“Food delivery!” Mosspounce carried a dried fish into the quarantine den, tail high. Lemmy had been finishing the last of her medicine when the black tom arrived. She swallowed the bitter medicine as Mosspounce set her food in front of her. Mosspounce then loafed a tail-length away with a stupidly happy expression on his face.

“You could get sick if you stay in here,” Lemmy pointed out as she bit into the fish.

“Troutpool says you’ll be better in less than a moon,” Mosspounce explained. “You probably aren’t even infectious anymore!”

“And yet I still feel like I’m breathing rocks,” Lemmy scoffed. Mosspounce chuckled, even though Lemmy wasn’t joking. Her pain eased slightly. 

“Well, um…” Mosspounce laughed, settling deeper into the den, “there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“Lemmy, did you finish your medicine?” Honeypaw poked his head into the quarantine den. “Oh, hello Mosspounce. Are you two finally mates now?” Lemmy stopped breathing. Mosspounce laughed again, this time with more strain in his voice as he kept his gaze away from the other cats in the den.

“I, uh,” Mosspounce coughed, “I was, uh… about to ask that. Actually. Thought, uh… since you helped me so much, Lemmy, and you know, left your home for us and all that… maybe we could be mates?” By the crows, the hope in Mosspounce’s face hurt. Why wasn’t Lemmy breathing? If she didn’t like Mosspounce, she would have been able to say so with ease. So why weren’t her words coming to her?

“Alright,” she said, despite herself. Mosspounce’s face glowed.

“Really?” Mosspounce gasped. “Thank you, Lemmy! I promise I’ll make you happy here.” He jumped to his paws and ran to Lemmy, but both Lemmy and Honeypaw hissed at him.

“She’s still sick!” Honeypaw reminded the eager new mate.

“Right, right,” Mosspounce gulped, backing up. His paw slipped on a clump of moss from a forgotten nest and his legs flew out from under him. 

In yet another awfully uncharacteristic moment for Lemmy, the young tortoiseshell laughed.

(Lemmy: 35, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Mosspounce: 20, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Honeypaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

James can hardly believe how quickly time has passed since Scalepaw was a kit. It feels like just yesterday he was tumbling around the nursery after a moss-ball. Full of pride and joy, James throws his head back and yowls the loudest as his son is named Scaleripple.

[Image ID: Scalepaw, now Scaleripple, stands as a long-furred adult with fully developed vitiligo. Under him, it says LEVEL UP! SCALEPAW -> SCALERIPPLE, AVID PLAY-FIGHTER -> FORMIDABLE FIGHTER.]

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Scaleripple. Scaleripple. The white-speckled tom silently toyed with the new name as the final moments of his vigil crept to an end and dawn held the world tight. Had Downstar named him after the Clan? After his sister? Was the name based on him alone? He didn’t feel like the sign of change the suffix suggested. He felt rather dull, all things considered.

Although the view from the camp entrance did not allow Scaleripple to see the ocean, he could still hear the waves mix with the song of the morning birds. It was the world’s way of saying, “Hello, new warrior. You might be odd, but we are happy to have you.” It may have just been his own thoughts trying to comfort his strange habits, but it was a comfort nevertheless.

“Guess who gets to sleep!” Lavendertwist poked his head out of camp, beaming. His voice had lost some of the hoarseness from losing his stitches, but it wasn’t back to the bright ringing tone Scaleripple was familiar with.

“I’m not that tired,” Scaleripple noted, surprised at himself.

“The exhaustion will come on later,” Lavendertwist promised. “I was the same way after my vigil!” He sat next to his brother. “Just wanted to let you know before you go to sleep, I’m really proud of you! I know it was probably weird to have your brother as your mentor, especially when I couldn’t complete half of your training, but you turned out fine! You’ll be able to handle whatever comes your way.” Scaleripple dipped his head, warmth filling his chest. “Now, I mean it, go sleep! At least see your new nest.” 

Scaleripple’s tail perked up. He’d grown up with his older siblings telling him about when they came off their vigils and found tiny presents in their new nests. Lavendertwist was lucky; he got a small drum so he could make a beat to the artisans’ performances, singing along. What would Scaleripple’s gift be? 

The new warrior stood, muscles sore from sitting through the night. He followed Lavendertwist back into camp and, with a wave of his tail goodbye, entered the giant warrior’s den. Everyone was up and ready to start the day with the sun, leaving the den an empty field of nests. Well, save for one soul.

“Over here, Scaleripple!” Tempestshade chirped from beside the eastern wall. They kneaded the edge of a fresh nest, eyes sparkling. Scaleripple’s tail lifted higher, and he stepped into the den. His paw touched the soft pelts lining the floor. A painful shiver rattled through him. Oh, wonderful. It had taken him moons to grow used to the pelts of the nursery, then of the apprentice’s den, and how he would have to tolerate the pelts lining the warrior’s den. Yet Tempestshade, unlike so many others, noticed this.

“Hop on the other nests,” they suggested. “I won’t tell.” Tempestshade’s chuckle spurred Scaleripple on. He jumped onto Trumpetspore’s nest, then bounded across Elmsprout and Waspdawn’s nests to get to Tempestshade.

“I asked Rattlepelt if I could help her with your graduation gift,” Tempestshade said. “I hope you like it.” Scaleripple looked down. A small rattle sat amongst the moss and down. Scaleripple took it in his jaws and gently shook it. It wasn’t the loud clatter of many rattles, but something softer, like waves.

“I suggested she fill it with sand,” Tempestshade explained. “I know you tend to hide away during meetings and whatnot, the sound gets to be a lot for you. So, when that happens, you can shake your rattle and focus on the soft sound! It’s just like the ocean, isn’t it?” 

Scaleripple almost wanted to cry. He’d never talked about how peaceful the ocean sounded. He wasn’t much for words, after all. Yet Tempestshade knew. They knew, and Scaleripple didn’t have to explain himself.

“It does,” he said very, very softly, placing the rattle between his paws.

“I’m glad you like it!” Tempestshade cheered. They trotted out, but a moment later backed up into the den. “Uh, I’m glad you don’t leave when you’re alone with me. It… means a lot.” Scaleripple cocked his head. Omen or not, Tempestshade was lovely! Why shouldn’t others be alone with them?

“Alright,” he said. He and Tempestshade couldn’t look away for a while. Eventually Tempestshade licked their chest and hurried out. Scaleripple purred softly and curled up around his new rattle.

It was the best graduation gift ever.

(Scaleripple: 12, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Lavendertwist: 25, male, warrior, playful, great singer, good speaker)

(Tempestshade: 20, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Deeply depressed over the loss of her old friends, Downstar almost lets herself be taken by humans on a walk, but regains her spirit and fights back. The humans kill her in the struggle. While in StarClan, Fennelspot, Rustshade, and Scrubmask encourage her to push on; she still has many moons left to go.

[Image ID: Downstar faces Fennelspot, Rustshade, and Scrubmask. Under Downstar, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING, LIVES LEFT: 5.]

(Downstar: 118, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

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

(Rustshade: 102, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

Fennelspot was a cleric; he was supposed to heal others, not get them sick. He had dealt with yellowcough like a true warrior, carefully avoiding his Clanmates and comforting Troutpool, insisting that she could handle the Clan on her own. But now he was walking out of the quarantine den and leaving Rustshade behind, hacking up his lungs. Even now, as Fennelspot settled Rustshade into his new nest, he couldn’t turn around and leave. His paw lingered on the edge of the nest. 

“Fennelspot, go,” Rustshade huffed through his coughs. “I’m just gonna sleep. You get to leave. Enjoy the rest of winter. The new year will be here before we know it.” Fennelspot groomed Rustshade’s head. With one last lingering look, he left his patient and walked around the shipwreck. 

Snow covered camp that morning, but busy paws melted most of the snow into the sand, leaving just the dens and shipwreck covered in snow patches. Fennelspot took a deep breath of crisp winter air, tinted by salt. He’d never been happier to step into a cold winter’s day.

A golden face smacked into Fennelspot’s leg and almost took him down. He looked down to see Honeykit, slightly dazed from the impact. Fennelspot was about to ask what game the young tom was playing, but then he saw Honeykit’s littermates. Splashkit and Drumkit carefully danced around Leatherkit, who had a large scrap of leather covering his eyes. Ahh. Fennelspot understood now. It was a game of Night Hunt. Fennelspot and Downstar played that game many times as kits (and perhaps more than they should have as a young caretaker and cleric).

“Your brother won’t smell you in the medicine den,” Fennelspot purred quietly, nodding toward the medicine den. Troutpool would make sure Honeykit was good. Honeykit nodded and hurried into the den. 

“You won’t get him out of there for a while.” Scrubmask trotted up to Fennelspot from the nursery where Clammask watched over the kits. “He wants to be a cleric when he is apprenticed. He likes the idea of brewing medicine.”

“We’d be happy to have him,” Fennelspot purred, gently bunting his friend. “Have you seen Oilstripe today?”

“She was arguing with Downstar about her bodyguard,” Scrubmask huffed. “She went to the beach to calm down. Trumpetspore is watching her.” Fennelspot nodded and touched noses with Scrubmask.

“Let Troutpool know I’ve gone to see her,” Fennelspot sighed. He brushed his tail against Scrubmask and made his way out of camp. While Fennelspot was only sick for a moon and a half, he still purred deeply when he stepped out of camp and got a better view of the sea that soothed him to sleep every night. It was hard to believe that he had lived by that sea for half of his life, that he had once lived in the muddy territory of SlugClan. It felt like he had always belonged beside the sea with the Clan he helped found.

Fennelspot followed Oilstripe and Trumpetspore’s scent trail down to the southern beaches. The sea spray made him shiver and breathed life back into him. He could see Oilstripe walking along the coastline in the distance. Trumpetspore sat at the edge of the grass, watching. She noticed Fennelspot’s approach well before he got to the young warrior.

“She’s not doing well,” Trumpetspore muttered. Fennelspot touched his tail to Trumpetspore’s shoulder and headed down the beach. Wet sand stuck to Oilstripe’s paws. Her gaze stayed stuck to the sea. It wasn’t until Fennelspot was a few fox-lengths away that she actually noticed him. 

“You’re better,” she gasped softly. “I thought you were still in quarantine with my dad.”

“Troutpool cleared me last night,” Fennelspot explained. “Is there… anyone comforting you?” Oilstripe bristled and sat at the edge of the water. It was high tide, leaving only a tail-length of sand dry when the water stretched as far as it could go. 

“Applepelt talks to me a lot,” Oilstripe admitted. “They won’t tell me about Carnationspeckle. She says the rules on what she’s allowed to say around me are hazy.” Fennelspot sat beside Oilstripe. The lapping of the waves nearly drowned out Oilstripe’s words. “I don’t know what they’re doing to her, Fennelspot. Lemmy doesn’t know, Troutpool’s scared, and now my dad is sick… can you stay with me a while?” 

Oilstripe scooted closer to Fennelspot. She leaned against his shoulder. Fennelspot put his chin on her head and let the waves soothe them both.

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

(Rustshade: 100, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Honeykit: 4, male, kit, noisy, has lots of ideas)

(Splashkit: 4, male, kit, noisy, never sits still)

(Drumkit: 4, female, kit, quiet, moss-ball hunter)

(Leatherkit: 4, male, kit, impulsive, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

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

(Trumpetspore: 17, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

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

Paleseed makes no progress on a recent border dispute with WheatClan. She believes she is meant for something greater.

[Image ID: Paleseed and Spikecrash walk away from a WheatClan warrior. Paleseed says, “Do you ever feel like there’s something more you could be doing?”]

(Paleseed: 22, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

(Spikecrash: 31, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

Lavendertwist fights a rogue. While he drives the Witch Hunter off, he must be rushed to the medicine den.

[Image ID: Trumpetspore, Scrubmask, and Scalepaw watch Lavendertwist fight Achilles. Lavendertwist yowls, “Where is she? Tell me where she is!” Under him, it says + CONDITION: CLAW WOUND. Under Scalepaw, it says - CONDITION: SENSORY OVERLOAD.]

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According to Lemmy, the Witch Hunters were preparing another ambush. They had their eyes on Oilstripe, constantly searching for signs of her fiery ginger pelt, but they had other names too; Troutpool, Downstar, Fennelspot, all those closest to Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle. Downstar outright banned her clerics from visiting the river after that, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t use the Witch Hunters’ plans against them.

Lavendertwist, Scalepaw, Trumpetspore, and Scrubmask hid in the trees on the other side of the river. Trumpetspore sat lower than the rest, better shrouded in the pine needles with her black fur. Scalepaw stayed away from the others, more at home with his pelt against the bark than against others. Although he often didn’t speak in crowded situations, he was growing into a fine young warrior. Scrubmask, meanwhile, lounged on the branches like she was cuddled in her nest. All in all, Downstar and Weedfoot picked a good patrol for the assault; except that Lavendertwist was antsy.

“Lavendertwist, if you don’t stop fidgeting, the Witch Hunters will bolt as soon as they arrive,” Scrubmask grumbled as Lavendertwist scratched his bare neck.

“I can’t help it,” he groaned. “We’ve been sitting here all day!”

“This is the best lead Lemmy’s given us,” Trumpetspore reminded him. “I don’t want anyone else to die because we didn’t stop these cats.”

“I’m as dedicated to getting Carnationspeckle back as anyone else!” Lavendertwist huffed, glaring down at Trumpetspore. “Sorry I can’t stay still all day!”

“Down there!” Scalepaw whispered. Now that made Lavendertwist shut up. All eyes focused on the ground. A few moments later, figures shifted between the trees, leaving light prints behind them. Four cats slunk along the forest floor, eyeing the river. A brown tom with a large scar across his side led them closer to RippleClan territory. Lavendertwist recognized him from Mosspounce’s accounts; that was Achilles, essentially the deputy of the Witch Hunters.

“He’ll know where Carnationspeckle is,” Lavendertwist whispered, nodding at Achilles. He, Scalepaw, and Scrubmask snuck further down the tree to join Trumpetspore. It was all body language from there. Scrubmask flicked her ears at Scalepaw, then at the Witch Hunter in the far back of the group. It would be up to the growing apprentice to keep them from running. Trumpetspre claimed a scrawny white molly to the side. Scrubmask met Lavendertwist’s eyes, and nodded. Achilles was his.

Lavendertwist crouched along the thin branch. His eyes followed Achilles as he moved slow and steady. Scrubmask raised her tail high. Lavendertwist held his breath. Scrubmask dropped her tail. 

Four warriors fell from the trees, landing square on their targets. The Witch Hunters yowled as sharp and angry fangs dug into their pelts. Achilles spun and tore his claws down Lavendertwist’s shoulder. The white-patched warrior grabbed Achilles by the ear and tore at the fragile flesh with all his might. Achilles kicked his back leg and squirmed out.

“Where is she?” Lavendertwist yowled, pouncing back onto Achilles. “Tell me where she is! Where are you keeping Carnationspeckle?” Achilles, however, was not as chatty as Lavendertwist. 

He shoved Lavendertwist into the writhing mass of warriors and Witch Hunters behind him. If it wasn’t for RippleClan’s strong scent of sand and salt, Lavendertwist might have struck a Clanmate in the confusion. Back paws smacked his jaw. His teeth clung to someone’s tail. Scalepaw’s white-speckled pelt flung past Lavendertwist. He spun back to his feet with exceptional skill and was back in the horde before Lavendertwist could call out.

“My friends and family will never be able to rest while you witches play with their souls like mice!” Achilles screeched. He tumbled out of the fight, claws entangled with Trumpetspore. Black paws pushed a furious brown muzzle away from a vulnerable throat. Scrubmask and Lavendertwist kicked off their assailants. They threw themselves against Achilles’ side. The three spun into a tree. Shards of bark clung to Scrubmask’s fur.

“StarClan is its own system,” Scrubmask growled. “They have no quarrel with your Other Side.”

“If Madeline and the crows say you endanger their peace,” Achilles huffed as Scalepaw scrambled away from the three other Witch Hunters, “then I must protect them.” One of the Witch Hunters dragged Scrubmask back behind the tree. The others targeted Trumpetspore. The young warrior kicked them off and ran to Lavendertwist. She ricocheted off the tree and smacked back into her assailants with a powerful wail. Scalepaw regrouped beside his brother and mentor. 

“Back strike,” Lavendertwist panted, unable to hold back a slight purr at putting his brother’s training to the test. Scalepaw nodded, battlelust burning his blue eyes. Lavendertwist and Scalepaw ran at Achilles, yowling their throats raw. Achilles braced himself, eyes locked onto Lavendertwist. Scalepaw suddenly darted to the side. He looped around the brown Witch Hunter. Achilles couldn’t focus on both of them at once. He left his flank exposed to the younger tom, locking claws with Lavendertwist. Scalepaw dug into Achilles’ scar. Achilles shrieked and kicked Scalepaw square in the chest. A clump of Achilles’ long fur clung to Scalepaw’s tooth. 

Lavendertwist reared onto his back legs. Achilles was stunned. This was his moment! Achilles would be the perfect prisoner. They could trade the Witch Hunters for Carnationspeckle, use him to prepare some sort of assault! That would teach them to… to….

Lavendertwist wasn’t sure what happened. A flash of claws. A yowl of pain. Chunks of fur and flesh stuck in his paw. Scalepaw, Trumpetspore, and Scrubmask were all on top of Achilles, dragging him away. Lavendertwist had him, why were they… no, there was a reason. Air seeped out of Lavendertwist and he could not get it back. His front paws gave way. He crumbled onto the tan grass, wishing for cold, soft snow to break his fall. His neck burned. Blood pooled under his chin. 

Oh. Achilles slashed his neck open. What a dramatic blow. It seemed like the sort of killing strike he would have described in a story to the kits. Rabbitjoy and Rattlepelt would likely have called it overly dramatic and overused. After all, most warriors who died in battle didn’t die from such an unlikely and well-placed hit. Fangs were better for ripping someone’s throat open than claws, after all. Would anyone believe future historians when they described how Lavendertwist died?

Lavendertwist wondered if Rippleferm felt something similar when she died. The inability to breathe. The clear and short future ahead. Lavendertwist missed his sister. She would have had something kind to say to bring him to StarClan. Would she be there as a Fetcher to escort his soul to Silverpelt? Lavendertwist wondered if the Judges would try him for anything. He’d lived a good life, hadn’t he? He supposed they would just let him in without fuss.

One thing deeply surprised Lavendertwist about dying. He thought that when someone died of a wound like his, all they could do was focus on the pain and their thoughts. All of his musings flew past in the span of a moment. After that, Lavendertwist was left without thoughts, only a deep and unending awareness of everything around him. Every sight, every sound, every agonizing and terrifying sensation flowing from his open neck.

The Witch Hunters had run off in the moment that lasted a lifetime. When Lavendertwist could no longer think, only sense, his Clanmates had gathered around him, covered in scratches and fear scent.

“Lavender, Lavender, Lavender!” Scalepaw wailed. His paws fidgeted, reaching out toward his brother and mentor only to pull back. Trumpetspore shook, a mournful cry flowing out. Scrubmask was the opposite. Scrubmask slid Lavendertwist onto her strong back. Lavendertwist cried out, but only managed to gurgle and bubble as his death blow shrieked.

“Back to camp, right now!” Scrubmask ordered. No one dared disobey her. They ran toward the stepping stones. The cold spray off the river stun Lavendertwist’s eyes. Trumpetspore helped Scrubmask stay balanced as they waded through the low current. As soon as Scrubmask had all four paws on solid ground, she was off. Trumpetspore could only just keep up with her. 

The territory flew by, the grass brushing Lavendertwist’s whiskers. Scrubmask’s cream and white side turned red. His eyes were frozen, unable to blink, processing the sensation of life draining out of his throat. Scalepaw’s cries rang through the trees. Grass shifted to sand. Although he was looking away, Lavendertwist could still hear the ocean’s crashing waves behind him. He caught a glimpse of RippleClan’s glorious shipwreck before Scrubmask turned and ran along the walls of camp.

“Fennelspot, Troutpool!” Scrubmask cried, bursting through the entrance. Lavendertwist’s face scratched on the brambles clinging to the rocks. Fennelspot and Troutpool were already outside the medicine den, having prepared themselves to welcome injuries home from the patrol. Elmsprout had been tending the stove when the patrol entered camp. No one had to order her; she ran beside Scrubmask and gently set Lavendertwist’s dangling head on her back.

“I have you, Lavendertwist,” she promised. “You’ll be okay.”

“The Witch Hunter slashed his neck open!” Trumpetspore wailed as the clerics escorted Scrubmask, Lavendertwist, and Elmsprout into the medicine den. “He’s barely breathing!” Was that true? It seemed true. Lavendertwist wasn’t able to ponder on that. He wasn’t able to think of anything, merely glancing past the unfolding scene before moving onto the next painful sensation. His Clanmates cried out and gasped at the sight of him. James lunged toward his son, but Weedfoot, wide-eyed, kept him back. Scalepaw ran into camp and into the embrace of his parents, whimpering.

“Troutpool, cover the wound in a witch hazel salve,” Fennelspot ordered. “Scrubmask, Wildclaw finished cleaning her wraps this morning, fetch them, they can help stem the bleeding.” Lavendertwist found himself in a soft, down-lined nest. Ah. That was nice. A good place to die.

“The wound looks deep, Fennelspot,” Troutpool gulped as she shuffled through her jars of salves and ointments along the wall. “I think we need to stitch it.”

“Bring in Rabbitjoy,” Fennelspot huffed as Scrubmask ran from the den. “She’ll make the process easier.”

“Lavendertwist isn’t a piece of leather!” Elmsprout cried, grooming Lavendertwist’s head. “How can you stitch him?”

“It’s something we try to avoid,” Fennelspot sighed. He groomed the blood flowing from Lavendertwist’s neck and held a paw to the throbbing wound. “I had to stitch Parsley’s tail when I tried to save it. I have a specialized sewing claw from my days in SlugClan that will let me weave sutures through the wound and close it. It’s Lavendertwist’s best chance to survive.” Scrubmask returned and shoved freshly washed bandages onto the wound. It did nothing for the pain that began to overwhelm Lavendertwist’s senses. “Elmsprout, I need you to help keep Lavendertwist still while we do this. With the placement of the wound, I can’t give him painkillers.”

“I’ll try,” Elmsprout gulped. She laid over Lavendertwist, purring as hard as she could. Fennelspot fetched a gaudy leather contraption from a corner of the den; a curved, pointed piece of bone that would soon pierce through Lavendertwist’s skin again and again.

Lavendertwist would survive, but as Rabbitjoy and Fennelspot sewed his neck shut, no matter how much Elmsprout and Scrubmask comforted him and kept him still, he would wish he hadn’t.

(Lavendertwist: 22, male, warrior, playful, good singer, good storyteller)

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

(Trumpetspore: 17, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

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

(Achilles: 84, male, Witch Hunter second, daring, eloquent speaker)

(Elmsprout: 23, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

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

(Troutpool: 17, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

As Darkkick helps Troutpool restock on betony, she realizes she isn’t a tom anymore.

[Image ID: Darkkick says to Troutpool, “It wasn’t something I felt a proper cleric could admit to when I was younger.” Under Darkkick, it says LEVEL UP! MALE -> TRANS FEMALE.]

(Troutpool: 17, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

Scalepaw walked quietly behind his mother and father, paws already aching from the long walk. Sure, if anyone spoke to him, he’d say he was excited for his first Gathering, and it wasn’t a lie. He wanted to see what they were like! But RippleClan camp could be a loud and overwhelming place at times, so to imagine the sounds of the Gathering…

“I’ve got a lot of friends to introduce you to,” Lavendertwist said, walking alongside Scalepaw. “Gladestep is a WheatClan warrior, you can show off some of your battle moves with him. Snailheart’s been teasing me ever since I came home with this collar, but you’ll like him too.” Lavendertwist rubbed his collar against his shoulder. It was made of black leather and lined with gold dots. Scalepaw flinched when the collar got too close to him. How could his brother stand having that thing around his neck?

“Downstar will be introducing you to the other Clans tonight,” Waspdawn said, jogging past Puddlewhisper and Rustshade to join his little brother. “When she mentions your name, just sit up and let everyone cheer.” Oh stars. More cheering? He’d barely been able to stand it when he became an apprentice! Now all the Clans would be yowling his name?

“Hey, don’t look like that,” Lavendertwist chuckled, gently nudging Scalepaw. “You’ll make good friends here.” Considering Scalepaw already wanted to scream, he didn’t think that was true.

He could hear the crowds already. Their words dug into Scalepaw’s head. He couldn’t help but dig his claws in with each step, his body trying to force him back. His older siblings surrounded him like a guard patrol. They all seemed so strong and noble. So did Weedfoot and James, casually chatting as they approached the brown stone wall leading to the Leader’s Stone.

“Hurry, Wildclaw!” Rattlepelt charged past Scalepaw, free of her fox pelt, carrying a loaded basket. She bumped into Scalepaw, knocking him to the side. Her furless skin rubbed against Scalepaw like claws down his back. He barely gathered his thoughts before Wildclaw pushed past him from the other side, squeezing between him and Lavendertwist.

“Sorry!” Wildclaw called as she and Rattlepelt hurried behind Downstar on the path up the wall.

“You’re going to fall doing that!” Waspdawn yowled.

No. No no no. Scalepaw was on fire. His fur was too thick but too thin at the same time, an insult to the code of the world. His ears were bleeding, he was sure of it. He couldn’t do this. He could not go up there! His feet scrambled across the cold, hard ground. He turned tail and bolted into the forest beyond the path.

“Scalepaw?” Weedfoot called, but her son couldn’t hear her. He could barely hear anything.

Why did everything have to hurt? Why did other cats have to look at him like that? Why couldn’t he be a normal apprentice? Why, why, why? This was supposed to be fun! He was supposed to make friends! How could he ever be a warrior? How could he be the deputy’s son, but not show his face at Gatherings? He could barely talk! He was awful, awful, awful!

Scalepaw wasn’t sure where he was. He was somewhere in SlugClan territory, he knew that at least. But he couldn’t hear the Gathering anymore. There weren’t heavy pelts pressing against him. He could actually think. Well, in a sense. It felt like his body was full of ants, but a deep, unsettling fatigue dragged at his long fur. He paced around a tree, crunching the remnants of fallen leaves. He rubbed his paw on the leaves. The leaves felt good. There weren’t a hundred too-thin, too-thick hairs poking at his skin.

Green eyes shone in the moonlight. Scalepaw froze. The figure’s breathing stung his ears. They took a step forward. It was Tempestshade! What was she—no, they, they revealed the change earlier that moon—what were they doing there?

“Hi,” Tempestshade chirped awkwardly. “I thought I would make sure you didn’t get lost. I, uh, can understand why a Gathering would be so scary.” Scalepaw just stared at them. They lived up to their suffix, Scalepaw hadn’t heard them. Then again, he wasn’t hearing much. Their words still hurt to hear. Scalepaw whined and pulled his paws over his ears. He was such a kit. 

“Why are you acting like that?” Tempestshade asked. Scalepaw had to stop. He had to approach this situation like a warrior. But how could he when everything hurt? “Alright, it seems you won’t answer me. That’s alright, I suppose. I’ve been like that sometimes. I was like that after my trial. And, uh, when I realized Ripplefern was dead.” 

They had? Other people had felt like Scalepaw felt? From the way Rustshade talked at the trial, he made it seem like Tempestshade had no remorse, that they were the epitome of selfishness, possessing the self-centered morals of a kit. Considering Scalepaw felt like a kit, maybe that was alright.

“I know there’s dung-all I can probably do to make this stop before its time, so…” Tempestshade muttered. They scooted closer to Scalepaw. “I can at least keep you company. Is that alright? Oh, you don’t really talk a lot, you can’t say yes… just whine if you don’t want me here, how about that?” Scalepaw stayed quiet. His pelt still burned and his ears still screamed, ringing with the remnants of Tempestshade’s words.

But he wasn’t alone.

(Scalepaw: 7, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, avid play-fighter)

(Lavendertwist: 20, male, warrior, playful, good singer, good storyteller)

(Waspdawn: 20, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Rattlepelt: 37, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Wildclaw: 48, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Weedfoot: 103, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Tempestshade: 15, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Fennelspot develops yellowcough just as Troutpool realizes some of the herb stores went bad.

[Image ID: Fennelspot sits to the side with + CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH written under him. Darkkick comforts Troutpool by saying, “Breathe. Herbs are just the base. You still have ointments and concoctions.”]

(Darkkick: 114, male, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Troutpool: 15, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Fennelspot: 111, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

Wildclaw fought a big dog and got hurt.

[Image ID: Wildclaw stands with a new update underneath her; + CONDITION: BITE WOUND.]