#shellstripe

Palepaw works with Fennelspot and Rattlepelt to negotiate herb-gathering disputes with AshClan. The meeting goes better than expected, and Palepaw has a plan to handle the issue for good.

[Image ID: Palepaw and Fennelspot face Newtstream, a single-striped ginger molly with a lavender accessory. Rattlepelt talks to Shellstripe in the back. Newtstream says “We just need a little rosemary.”]

---

Palepaw knew she couldn’t handle the meeting with AshClan without Rattlepelt and Fennelspot backing her up. Their strong presences gave her the courage she needed to keep her head high as she spoke with AshClan’s representatives.

Since the issue involved using trees near the border for medicinal purposes, Newtstream, AshClan’s cleric, was there. She was a bright ginger molly that reminded Palepaw of sun-dappled amber or rich honey. Shellstripe spoke with Rattlepelt to the side, but Rattlepelt constantly glanced Palepaw’s way, ready to help her apprentice if need be.

“I can understand your position,” Palepaw said, using words that felt too big in her mouth. “RippleClan’s ocean access makes it easier for us to get important resources. I don’t see why we can’t allow AshClan to harvest some of the trees in our territory, at least until spring.”

“You’re very kind, Palepaw,” Newtstream purred, bowing to the young mediator. “AshClan relies heavily on bark for our medicine in the winter moons.”

“Just don’t over harvest,” Fennelspot warned. “We don’t have many willows by our share of the river to start.”

“Despite what you may think, I do care about RippleClan’s health,” Newtstream huffed. “Our caretakers will be careful.” Palepaw cocked her head slightly, glancing at Fennelspot, but the cleric was silent.

“Well, we can have our caretakers meet you by the river and escort you in collecting willow bark,” Palepaw continued. “Would you meet them tomorrow at sunrise?”

“Perfect,” Newtstream purred with a casual flick of her tail. “I just have one more request for you. May I have some of your rosemary?”

“Rosemary?” Fennelspot muttered. “I have a dry sprig or two left. Is this medicinal or spiritual?”

“It’s important,” Newtstream sighed. The twitch of her whiskers was more than enough to make Palepaw not want to question her. “Would you be willing to bring the rosemary to the meeting tomorrow morning?”

“I suppose so,” Fennelspot said. “I’m not using it, so there’s no reason to keep it.”

“Wonderful,” Newtstream said with another bow. “If that’s all, I’ll collect Shellstripe and return home. StarClan protect you both.” Newtstream walked over to Shellstripe, who was laughing with Rattlepelt. Fennelspot winced as Newtstream turned away.

“Do you not like her?” Palepaw whispered. Fennelspot tensed, as though unsure if he should answer.

“When StarClan decreed we would be a Clan,” Fennelspot explained quietly, “they gave the message to all the clerics. But when Newtstream and her mentor Darkkick returned home, she said she had seen no such vision. She supported Autumnstar, and Darkkick was exiled.”

“Why would she lie?” Palepaw gulped as Newtstream and Shellstripe returned to AshClan.

“I never understood it,” Fennelspot sighed. “If you have to talk to her again, keep your guard up. I don’t trust her.”

“If you don’t trust her, why are you giving her rosemary?” Palepaw wondered.

“Because what sort of cleric would I be if I said no?” Fennelspot said.

(Palepaw: 9, female, mediator apprentice, insecure, picky nest builder, never sits still)

(Fennelspot: 100, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Rattlepelt: 26, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

Puddlepaw realizes tom doesn’t fit who she is anymore.

[Image ID: Puddlepaw stands proud. Under her, it says LEVEL UP! MALE -> TRANS FEMALE.]

“I don’t like this, Rabbitjoy,” Weedfoot muttered as Rabbitjoy led her toward the AshClan border. Since the Gathering had only occurred the day before, the moon was almost full and shone through thin clouds high above. Longest Night was still half a moon off, but lately, whenever Weedfoot left camp, the sun was gone or on its way out. There had yet to be any snowfall, leaving the duo to avoid twigs and leaves as they got closer to the deeper stretches of forest.

“I’m not happy about it either, Weedy,” Rabbitjoy admitted, glancing over her shoulder. “I wanted to spend my Gathering with my family in WheatClan, not hashing out secret meetings with AshClan mediators.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them to trick me into their claws,” Weedfoot sighed. “I don’t know why else they would ask me to come with you.”

“I’m trying to have an open mind,” Rabbitjoy gulped. “A new name means a new mindset and all that.” Rabbitjoy nearly crossed the freshly marked border before she caught herself and stepped back. The AshClan border was back to its old spot from moons prior, but the scent of both Clans was thicker than ever before. There was already two cats waiting for them on the other side. Shellstripe, a wirey golden mediator with a white-dipped face, stood with shifting paws beside a scratched tree. An oh-so-familiar tom with burnt paws stood tall beside him.

“Rabbitjoy, get back,” Weedfoot growled. She stood in front of her long-lost friend and stared at Eelgrowl with all the burning hate she wished she could show at Gatherings.

“Why would I ask for you if all I wanted to do was hurt you?” Eelgrowl huffed.

“Why would you want to talk to me at all?” Weedfoot snapped.

“He wasn’t trying to kill Paleshade, Weedfoot,” Shellstripe stammered, inching close to the border. “He didn’t mean for her to die. We couldn’t disobey Autumnstar.” Rabbitjoy’s tail slunk between her legs.

“We aren’t here to talk about that, Shellstripe,” Eelgrowl sighed, resting his tail on Shellstripe’s back. “Weedfoot doesn’t want to hear it, anyway.”

“Is Autumnstar waiting behind the bushes?” Weedfoot scoffed, peering through the shadows.

“He doesn’t know we’re meeting,” Eelgrowl explained. “He wouldn’t approve of it.”

“But you’ve always been loyal to him,” Rabbitjoy said, peering around Weedfoot. “You were loyal enough to let your Clanmates die. What changed?”

“StarClan did,” Eelgrowl sighed. He sat across from Weedfoot, his narrow face turned to the clouded sky. “I don’t expect you to understand, but Autumnstar and I are doing what we think is right. Autumnstar may not believe the other clerics, but I do. They wouldn’t all lie to us. StarClan has accepted you. Now that your leader’s had the bright idea to declare war, Autumnstar sees RippleClan as a bunch of rogues. He’s taken to calling Downstar by her old name. I won’t see him be damned by the stars for trying to honor them.” There was a weight to Eelgrowl’s tone that reminded Weedfoot of her younger days, when Eelgrowl had nursery duty, when he let the smallest kits play with his pink paws as he explained how dangerous fire could be. Weedfoot stayed half-pressed into Rabbitjoy but pulled her tail over her paws.

“What do you want, then?” Weedfoot said.

“Autumnstar backed down before thanks to pressure from the other Clans,” Eelgrowl explained. “It’s why he didn’t want you to have unfettered access to SlugClan and LynxClan. If you can speak to Gougestar, he could convince Autumnstar to give you the respect you’re owed. Sanderlingstar and Mistlestar want nothing to do with this, but Gorgestar is close to Downstar, isn’t he? He might help.” 

Weedfoot wouldn’t say it aloud, but it was a solid plan. But who would deliver the message, and when? How? WheatClan didn’t want to face AshClan’s wrath by letting RippleClan stroll through their land. If Autumnstar saw them as rogues, what would he do if he saw one of their ranks sneaking toward SlugClan?

“Autumnstar would be furious if he knew you said this,” Weedfoot said softly.

“I’m hoping, when this is over, that I can truly talk to Autumnstar about the future,” Eelgrowl sighed. “I can’t do that until he’s willing to listen. Take my advice or don’t. It’s your pelts that’ll get torn up.” Eelgrowl nudged Shellstripe and the pair turned back home. Rabbitjoy fidgeted as they crossed through the bushes. She licked her lips, pulling into herself.

“Thank you!” she suddenly called just as the tip of Shellstripe’s tail slithered out of sight. She squirmed as though she ate a worm. 

“What do you think, Rabbit?” Weedfoot sighed, still watching the bushes. “Should we bring this up with Downstar?”

“If it’ll make Autumnstar listen?” Rabbitjoy gulped. She straightened out, took a deep breath, and said, “We have to.”

(Weedfoot: 66, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Rabbitjoy: 54, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

Locustpaw tells Burdockcreek to count on them.

[Image ID: Locustpaw faces Burdockcreek. Locustpaw says, ““Hey, have I let you down before? I can handle this.” Burdockcreek replies, “I can’t let you take all the credit.” Under him, it says LEVEL UP! CONFIDENT -> COMPETITIVE.]

---

“No,” Rustshade snapped from the depths of Downstar’s den. “We aren’t sending anyone out there, especially not alone!”

“They’re less likely to get caught if they go alone,” Downstar sighed. Locustpaw could hear Downstar sag as she said that from their spot between the Shiprock and the shipwreck itself. Most of RippleClan was still getting out of their nests, but Locustpaw got up early, ready for Weedfoot to give them a new task. Yet when they got up, Weedfoot was in Downstar’s den. According to Scrubmask, who had been on guard duty, she had been there since she got back earlier that night. Why wouldn’t Locustpaw listen in? With AshClan on their tails, everything that went on in Downstar’s den was sure to be important. They had to preserve it for future generations. Yes, that was it.

“But if they are caught, they’ll be at AshClan’s mercy!” Rustshade groaned. “Send Scrubmask! She’s faster.”

“And bigger,” Weedfoot huffed. “Rustshade, I’m sorry, but this isn’t a discussion. We brought you in here because we thought you deserved to know first.”

“Why them?” Rustshade moaned.

“Locustpaw, why are you back there?” Locustpaw peeked around the Shiprock. Burdockcreek stared back at them in plain view of Downstar’s den.

“They’re planning something,” Locustpaw whispered, cocking their ears toward the den. “I think it’s a mission through AshClan territory!” Burdockcreek leaned closer, but his pupils suddenly narrowed.

“They’re coming out!” Burdockcreek hissed, scampering back. Locustpaw backed out of the hidey-hole, emerging on the other side of the Shiprock. A moment later, Weedfoot wandered past, focused on the apprentice’s den. She saw Locustpaw in the corner of her eye and stopped.

“Locustpaw, just who I was looking for,” Weedfoot sighed as Downstar and Rustshade appeared beside her. “We have something important to ask of you.” 

“I’ll do it, whatever it is,” Locustpaw chirped as Burdockcreek listened in.

“We need someone to visit SlugClan,” Downstar explained, getting closer and locking eyes with Locustpaw. “You need to speak to Gorgestar and convince him to pressure Autumnstar into submitting to our demands.”

“It won’t be easy,” Weedfoot added. “AshClan will attack you if they see you. You’re lithe, and smaller than your littermates. We think you have the best chance of getting in and out.”

“Not that I’m not willing,” Locustpaw groaned, “because I am, but why not have Fennelspot pass on the news at the cleric’s meeting?”

“We need an immediate response,” Downstar huffed. “Newtstream attends those meetings, as well. He’ll overhear the news and report back to Autumnstar. He’s more loyal to Autumnstar than StarClan’s wishes.”

“No heroics,” Rustshade grunted, nudging Downstar aside. “This isn’t a battle patrol. You’re just to speak to Gorgestar.”

“I understand, Dad,” Locustpaw said, nodding. “I can go right now. They won’t see me.”

“Wait until sunhigh,” Weedfoot said. “I’ll have Graypaw start the oven and cook some prey. You’ll do better with food in your belly.” She groomed Locustpaw’s neck and added, “I believe in you, Locustpaw.” She touched Locustpaw’s nose and headed for the apprentice’s den. Downstar entered the medicine den and left Rustshade to stare at his child. Locustpaw wasn’t sure what to say, but thankfully, Rustshade broke away for the warrior’s den. Now it was just Locustpaw and Burdockcreek.

“I wish I was going,” Burdockcreek grumbled, sitting beside Locustpaw. “I’m the historian here. Why send an apprentice?”

“I won’t be an apprentice after this,” Locustpaw laughed, kicking their brother. Burdockcreek chuckled, but there was a strain in his face that made Locustpaw pause. They nudged Burdockcreek and added, “Hey, have I let you down before? I can handle this.”

“I can’t let you take all the credit,” Burdockcreek sighed, partially chuckling. “I might have to tell future generations I came along.”

“And I can tell them that you’re a big fat liar,” Locustpaw said, sticking out their tongue. 

(Rustshade: 62, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Downstar: 77, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

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

(Weedfoot: 66, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Burdockcreek: 12, male, historian, competitive, learner of lore)

Locustpaw sacrificed themself by taking on the role of a messenger, delivering important information that could save the clan. They were killed while investigating enemy territory.

[Image ID: Locustpaw faces Autumnstar down. Locustpaw growls, “Heh… hope you’re proud of yourself. I’m coming back to haunt you.” To which Autumnstar huffs, “I’d love to see it, rogue.”]

---

Fennelspot remembered Rustshade telling him how sturdy Rabbitjoy’s baskets were, but now that he got to carry his collection of juniper berries back to camp in one of the most well-woven baskets he’d ever held, he knew he’d have to thank the long-lost artisan for her hard work. He could hold it in his jaws and let it bounce on his chest without chafing or scratching. It was wonderful! The sweet smell of the juniper berries carried him through the trees and lifted his heart for the last stretch back to camp. The ground wasn’t cold enough for the new snowfall to stick quite yet, but Fennelspot was certain the territories would be pure white when he woke up the next morning.

“How are we supposed to bury you?” someone whined. Fennelspot pricked his ears. Was that Oilstripe? He carefully set his basket down. Snowflakes landed on the juniper berries and the tips of Fennelspot’s whiskers.

“No, because how else will Dad know you’re dead?” Oilstripe yowled. Fennelspot stalked toward his Clanmate, his basket forgotten. He hopped over the remnants of a dead fern and clung to the side of a pine. Oilstripe was a few tail-lengths ahead of the cleric, staring into the trees. The fur along her back arched and her droopy tail thrashed about.

“You’re supposed to be back any moment now,” Oilstripe growled. “What am I supposed to tell everyone?” Her tone was not that of malice, but of fear and a deep insecurity, the sort of voice Fennelspot all-too-often heard in his head. He realized she wasn’t staring into the trees, but rather to an empty spot just in front of her.

“Downstar thinks I’m crazy,” Oilstripe whined, her whole body sagging. “Everyone’s seen me talking to myself. Fennelspot won’t believe me. He’ll say I’ve lost my mind, that I’m seeing things. So tell me how I’m supposed to tell them about you, Locustpaw!” A gasp escaped Fennelspot’s mouth before he could stop himself. Oilstripe’s head whipped around. The fear plastered over her eyes made Fennelspot tremble. It only lasted a moment, as she turned back to the empty space with curled lips and a voice that commanded more pity than fear.

“Show him you’re here!” Oilstripe begged. “We both heard the stories, you can do that! Please! I need to know I’m not crazy!” Fennelspot slowly approached Oilstripe like a hunter would approach a skittish rabbit.

“Oilstripe…” Fennelspot gulped.

“But you do have something to tell him!” Oilstripe cried. “You have to tell him you died! Dad can’t wait for the half-moon meeting! He needs to know, and I can’t tell him!” She stomped her paws like an angry kit.

“Oilstripe, do you see Locustpaw standing next to you?” Fennelspot asked softly. “Can you look at me?” Oilstripe growled and squeezed her eyes tight.

“I can’t carry two conversations at once!” she snapped. 

Before she finished speaking, Fennelspot’s ears began to ring. He rubbed his ears to clear the tinnitus, but the sound grew louder. It didn’t sound like typical tinnitus. In fact, Oilstripe seemed bothered too; she rubbed her ears just like Fennelspot did. The sound grew louder and developed new layers. It wasn’t just a humming noise. It was a fast, high-pitched chirping sound. It was thousands of those sounds, thumping and vibrating together. It was a chorus of a thousand—

“Locusts,” Fennelspot gasped.

“I guess she wasn’t crazy after all,” a disembodied voice whispered, the sound mixed with the chirping of the unseen locusts. With that, the sound faded as quickly as it arrived. Oilstripe was out of breath, glancing between Fennelspot and the empty space he no longer believed was actually empty.

“You heard that?” Oilstripe asked. “Please say you did.”

“You can speak to StarClan?” Fennelspot whispered. He sat before he realized he needed to and stared at where he could only assume Locustpaw’s spirit lingered.

[Image ID: Fennelspot and Oilstripe face each other. Fennelspot says “You aren’t a cleric. How can you see StarClan wherever they wander, while I barely see them over the course of the year?”]

“I see them when they visit, even if they don’t want me to,” Oilstripe gulped. She slowly approached Fennelspot and sat across from him. “I’ve seen them since Twinekit died.”

“You aren’t a cleric,” Fennelspot stammered, suddenly conscious of how his posture slumped and his claws plucked at the dead grass. “How can you see StarClan wherever they wander, while I barely see them over the course of the year?”

“I didn’t ask to see them,” Oilstripe huffed, “it just happened. Why do you think I asked you to teach me how StarClan works?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Fennelspot whined.

“Would you have believed me?” Oilstripe snapped with a thrash of her tail. “I tried telling Downstar that Duskkit was sorry for being troublesome in life, but she got mad at me. I didn’t want to repeat that. I don’t want to be a cleric. I would hate mixing medicine all day.”

“You don’t have to be a cleric,” Fennelspot insisted. He suddenly remembered just why he grew so startled in the first place and he held his breath. “You were talking to Locustpaw. Does that mean…”

“Autumnstar’s patrol found them,” Oilstripe muttered, staring at the space beside the two ginger cats. “They spoke to Gorgestar and were coming home. Their body is somewhere in AshClan territory.” Fennelspot held his emotions close as he prayed to see whatever Oilstripe could see. He stared at where he thought Locustpaw stood, trying to sense the apprentice beside him.

“I can help you tell the Clan about your abilities, Oilstripe,” Fennelspot suggested. “You can tell your father about Locustpaw.”

“I ruined it last time,” Oilstripe said, violently shaking her head. “I’m no conduit. I don’t share messages. Can’t you say you had a vision, Fennelspot?”

“I don’t receive many visions,” Fennelspot groaned, the fur on the back of his neck itching.

“They won’t argue with you,” Oilstripe said. “They’ll be worried when Locustpaw doesn’t come back tonight. Why make them hope for something that won’t happen?” Fennelspot shrunk into himself.

“I need to collect my juniper berries,” Fennelspot muttered. “If we can’t get Locustpaw’s body, we still have to host a vigil. I’ll figure out the right words to say. Come with me.” Fennelspot climbed back toward his hiding place.

“Fennelspot?” Oilstripe called softly. Fennelspot turned back. Oilstripe nodded to the empty spot beside her and said, “They said thank you.”

(Fennelspot: 75, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Oilstripe: 22, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

In order to honor the dead cat, Fennelspot and Downstar give them their historian name in StarClan; Locustseeker.

[Image ID: Locustseeker stands as a StarClan cat. Under them, it says LEVEL UP! LOCUSTPAW -> LOCUSTSEEKER.]

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

Downstar gives Clampaw her full name of Clammask, honoring her as a caretaker of RippleClan.

[Image ID: Clammask stands in the middle of the screen. Under her, it reads LEVEL UP! CLAMPAW -> CLAMMASK, LONESOME -> RIGHTEOUS, INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY -> LORE KEEPER, + NEW TRAIT: GOOD TEACHER.]

(Clammask: 12, female, caretaker, righteous, lore keeper, good teacher)

Carnationspeckle, Shadowpaw, and Parsley all have whitecough.

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle, Shadowpaw, and Parsley stand in a row. Under each, it says + CONDITION: WHITECOUGH. Under Shadowpaw, it also reads - CONDITION: SORE.]

(Carnationspeckle: 20, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Shadowpaw: 10, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)

(Parsley: 112, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

Parsley finds the way Rabbitjoy acts increasingly uncomfortable.

[Image ID: Applepelt and Parsley watch Rabbitjoy from the side as Rabbitjoy says “We’re fine! We’re all going to be fine!” Applepelt says, “I don’t think she’s fine…” Under Applepelt, it says - CONDITION: CAT BITE.]

(Parsley: 112, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

(Applepelt: 27, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)