#shrewkit

"Wolfgaze… Wolfgaze… Wolfgaze, Wolfgaze, Wolfgaze!"

"I'm still awake, I promise," Wolfgaze yelped, blinking wildly and shaking the exhaustion from her thick fur. Thank StarClan she didn't fall over. She'd claimed a spot on the Resting Place immediately after her ceremony, providing a great vantage over the camp. Yet the lulling waves behind her and the empty, clouded sky above were the perfect recipe for a long nap. Weevilpaw stood with her front paws on the log, her entire body standing straight with excitement.

"Downstar said I could fetch you," Weevilpaw chirped. "You made it! Your codekeeper's vigil! How did it feel?"

"Long," Wolfgaze yawned. She stumbled off the Resting Place, licking her lips. "Where are the others?" Potterypool, Currentsmoke, and Yarrowclaw had been sitting outside the camp the last time Wolfgaze looked. Now the entrance was barren, all thorns, brambles, and stones.

"They already fell back into camp," Weevilpaw chuckled. "Currentsmoke was so tired, I thought he would fall on his face!"

"I'm ready to see my graduation gift," Wolfgaze sighed as Weevilpaw rubbed against her. The tortoiseshell cleric helped her sister into camp, laughing as Wolfgaze's eyes drifted shut. With the sun peeking over the sea, Wolfgaze expected the Clan to set out for the day's patrols, but to her surprise, she found most of RippleClan gathered in the center of camp. Downstar sat on the Shiprock, gazing down at the activities below her. Potterypool, Currentsmoke, and Yarrowclaw stood at the edge of the crowd, trying to see what caught their kin's attention.

"What's going on?" Wolfgaze asked, morning clarity clearing her thoughts. She and Weevilpaw joined the newly graduated cats, who were all largely ignored by the rest of the Clan.

"The artisans are doing something," Yarrowclaw explained.

"I think it has something to do with that big chunk of wood they brought in last night," Currentsmoke pointed out. "Remember? Elmsprout and the artisans pulled the sled out and came back to camp with a huge piece!"

"It was a slow night, Currentsmoke," Potterypool hummed, gently nudging her friend. "I think she remembers." Wolfgaze did not, in fact, remember, but she pretended she did.

Wolfgaze braced herself and squeezed between Splashtuft and Wildclaw. She weaved around her Clanmates until she broke into the center of the circle. Mitespark, Elmsprout, Rabbitjoy, and Rattlepelt stood around a wooden sculpture. Ravenpaw sat near them, listening carefully as Rattlepelt explained what they were doing. They picked at the wood with their claws, their teeth, and a few specialized tools; sharp stone picks that could be wrapped around the paw with leather straps, perfect for detailed work on pottery and woodwork. Elmsprout was the first to notice Wolfgaze.

"Wolfgaze!" she called, gently stepping back from the sculpture. "You finished your vigil! Congratulations! Your sisters made your nest in the warrior's den. I'm certain you'll like their gift."

"What are you doing, though?" Wolfgaze asked.

"Oh, that's right, no one told you," Elmsprout gasped softly. "Mitespark, let her see!" Mitespark carefully pulled her carving pick from the wood's surface and moved to the side. It was a bust, a cat's face from the tip of their ears to their collarbone. They were a smooth-faced cat with round features, shaped almost like a triangle sitting on its tip.

"We debated whether to carve in her stripes or paint them," Rabbitjoy explained, "but I think we're going to paint them."

"Is this someone I'm supposed to recognize?" Wolfgaze asked.

"We carved it from memory," Mitespark admitted, "but imagine gray fur and deep blue eyes…"

"Weedfoot!" Wolfgaze suddenly gasped. "You carved Weedfoot's face?"

"James and Scaleripple are making paint for her," Rattlepelt explained. "We told James he could rest and enjoy the finished product, but I guess he wanted to lend a paw for once."

"But why carve Weedfoot?" Wolfgaze asked, glancing at the crowd. "Why is everyone so excited?"

"A Clan's leader and deputy carry all of us on their backs," Rabbitjoy said, brushing against the newly named codekeeper. "They affect all of us, and we all grieve them when they pass. It's a part of our history fading away. The whole camp was up last night sharing memories of Weedfoot, and Paleseed came up with this idea. We're thinking of doing the same for future leaders and deputies after they pass."

"We'll find a place to store them where the paint won't decay," Rattlepelt promised.

"It will be lovely," Wolfgaze purred. A yawn slipped through her words, despite her efforts to hold it back.

"It will still be here when you wake up," Mitespark laughed. "Go to sleep!" Wolfgaze bowed her head, her exhaustion flooding back with Mitespark's simple order. She moved back through the crowd, who passed along a few more congratulations.

"Wolfgaze!" Billowhaze stepped out of the swarm just as Wolfgaze breached the horde. His whiskers twitched in casual mirth. "Anchovy and I are planning abig battle-training session with Estherfern's litter this evening. You should join us! With all the Spirits of Shadow out there, those five could practice against that stare of yours."

"I'm not sure," Wolfgaze gulped, her ears suddenly growing hot under Billowhaze's charming stare. "It might be too dangerous to leave camp just for a training session. With what happened to Silverpaw…" Silverpaw should have been sitting vigil with Wolfgaze that night. Wolfgaze shouldn't have had to spend those long moments wondering what happened to her sister, what Spirit of Shadow pulled her under, never to be seen again.

"That's why training will be good for them," Billowhaze insisted. "We can even bring Weevilpaw along if that makes you feel better. The Spirits of Shadow wouldn't match claws with our three star-blessed warriors, would they?" Billowhaze winked and turned back to Weedfoot's bust, trying to gaze upon the former deputy's face. Even through the chaos of recent moons and the overpowering desire to sleep, Wolfgaze still felt her heart flutter at Billowhaze's stare.

It seemed her life as a codekeeper was off to a good start.

(Weevilpaw: 13, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)

(Wolfgaze: 13, female, codekeeper, thoughtful, connection to StarClan, good speaker)

(Yarrowclaw: 13, female, warrior, cold, talented fire-starter)

(Currentsmoke: 13, male, caretaker, loving, good climber, skilled toolsmith)

(Potterypool: 13, female, caretaker, sneaky, great singer)

(Elmsprout: 45, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

(Rabbitjoy: 115, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Mitespark: 20, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)

(Rattlepelt: 61, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Billowhaze: 13, male, historian, loyal, good kitsitter)

Boughpaw found a forget-me-not flower growing in the frost and decided to keep it.

[Image ID: Boughpaw now wears a forget-me-not flower. Under her, it reads + ACCESSORY: FORGET-ME-NOTS.]

(Boughpaw: 10, female, historian apprentice, righteous, constantly climbing)

While collecting samples of ichor for a banishing ritual with Estherfern, Anchovystrike, and Mosspounce, Foampaw swears she hears Shrewkit crying in the distance. When she and Mosspounce go to investigate, only Mosspounce returns alive with horrified tales of a manykit and a new spirit composed of frost-covered leaves.

[Image ID: Foampaw is a StarClan spirit.]

(Foampaw: 10, female, caretaker apprentice, troublesome, always wandering)

Slushtrail spends time with her family.

[Image ID: Tallowheart, Oilstripe, Slushtrail, Shrewkit, Carnationspeckle, Rattlepelt, and Wildclaw gather together.]

---

Slushtrail knew, as soon as Downstar ordered everyone to stay in camp unless absolutely necessary, Longest Night would truly be a long, long night.

Three torches sat before the main bonfire, separate from the other memorials. A withered dandelion sat in front of the tallest. A silver stone necklace hung from the second. Salt crusted the base of the third, dipped in sea foam. It was a lot like the Longest Night Slushtrail remembered from her kithood. The artisans danced and sang, the historians told stories, the caretakers prepared a late night meal. The fire still roared against the never-ending night, a refusal to bow to the cold and decay. Slushtrail could tell, however, that it hurt some of her Clanmates to keep up the fight. Estherfern ranted to her remaining kits, relaying all she had learned in those last few moons about the Spirits of Shadow and their dangers. Mosspounce laughed a bit too loud at one of Lemmy's comments. Lavendertwist sang just loud enough to hurt Slushtrail's ears. Rattlepelt fought to keep Ravenpaw's attention, trying to demonstrate a special dance. RippleClan was clawing at the edge of a cliff, trying to pull themselves back up, unable to think anything but "it will be okay" when their hearts spoke the opposite.

Honeybuzz brushed his tail against Estherfern's shoulder mid-rant. She paused, and Slushtrail could see Estherfern's breath catch and fog around her. She touched her nose to each of her kits and followed Honeybuzz to the side, where Troutpool and Weevilpaw waited. Slushtrail couldn't hear them, but they sat close and carried torches in their eyes. Best to leave them be for now.

The rest of Slushtrail's family sat in front of the nursery. Tallowheart worked with Oilstripe on an old story; a great war between WheatClan and SlugClan and a friendship that healed their wounds. Carnationspeckle listened closely with Rattlepelt and Wildclaw while Shrewkit hid under Rattlepelt's fox pelt, shivering. With one more look over the rest of the Clan, Slushtrail joined her mothers and siblings.

"How do you like Longest Night, Shrewkit?" Slushtrail asked.

"I don't like the cold," he huffed, pulling his face under the fox pelt. "My mom's probably freezing her flank off tonight."

"I'm sure wherever your birth mother is," Carnationspeckle sighed, lifting the kit's cover away, "she's just happy you're growing up somewhere safe and warm. Can I warm you up?" Shrewkit nodded and crawled closer to his grandmother. Carnationspeckle licked Shrewkit's fur the wrong way, warming his blood.

"So can leaders really give cats whole new names?" Shrewkit asked, turning to Tallowheart and Oilstripe. "Like the warrior in your story?"

"I'm a living example of that!" Wildclaw chirped, gently bunting her son. "Have we told you I used to called Graythroat? Downstar gave me a new name because of how fiercely I defend RippleClan."

"More like because you have a death wish," Oilstripe chuckled. Tallowheart hid a snicker.

"I've outgrown it!" Wildclaw insisted with a laugh.

"Mostly," Rattlepelt hummed, rolling her eyes. Wildclaw batted her mate's muzzle, and Shrewkit laughed.

"Well I never want to lose my name," Shrewkit declared. "My mom named me Shrew, and that's who I'll be, forever. The kit part is extra." When he sat taller, he nearly head-butted Carnationspeckle's jaw into her skull.

"It works well for you," Slushtrail purred.

And for that night, everything was alright.

(Slushtrail: 14, female, mediator, wise, clever, talented weaver)

(Shrewkit: 2, male, kit, bossy, never sits still)

(Carnationspeckle: 80, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Wildclaw: 70, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Oilstripe: 82, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Rattlepelt: 61, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Tallowheart: 14, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)

Troutpool hopes Trumpetspore notices her.

[Image ID: Troutpool stares at Trumpetspore.]

---

Troutpool stared at Trumpetspore from the medicine den as Trumpetspore and Brightpaw showed Shrewkit how to perform a hunter's crouch. There wasn't a lot of room to practice, since almost everyone was in camp, safe under the divine protection Troutpool and her peers summoned. It was the same protective ritual they performed during Harvest Moon. The clerics could only pray it would guard the Clan long enough for them to strike back against the Spirits of Shadow. Yet despite her chronic fear of them, Trumpetspore proved more confident in Troutpool's rituals than the cream cleric was.

"Keep your flank a little lower," Trumpetspore said, nudging Shrewkit's high flank down. "You're doing well." Troutpool didn't care if others laughed at Trumpetspore's nervousness or groaned at her panic. There was a keen-eyed warrior under that blanket of anxiety; a warrior Troutpool wanted to know more. Troutpool's eyes softened as she watched the black warrior move with such ease between Shrewkit and Brightpaw, eager to train despite the danger.

"You're staring." Troutpool startled a bit. Scaleripple stood outside the den, expressionless. He held a paw to his chest. A large thorn jutted out from his pads.

"I was just marveling at how well Shrewkit's adapted to Clan life," Troutpool stammered with a lick of her chest. "Here, that thorn looks awful, I'll help you get it out." That was obviously why Scaleripple was there, why did Troutpool have to say it like that?

Troutpool led Scaleripple into the shadow of the den. She grabbed a few cobwebs from the shelves (no need to waste a bandage on a simple thorn). She held Scaleripple's paw out and gripped the thorn between her teeth.

"You were staring at Trumpetspore," Scaleripple said right as Troutpool ripped the thorn out of his paw. Scaleripple hissed and licked the fresh flowing blood. Troutpool moved his paw back down and placed cobwebs on the small wound.

"Stay here for a while, and keep your paw off the sand," Troutpool said. "I'll take the cobwebs off soon. A wound that size will close quickly." Troutpool licked a strand of cobweb off her paws. Scaleripple stared at her, barely blinking. Did he want to talk about Trumpetspore? Well, if he did, he could just ask. Troutpool had no reason to be embarrassed by it. "You know Trumpetspore well. If I were to ask her on a date—"

"No," Scaleripple said so suddenly that Troutpool once again startled. They both stared at each other, one confused, the other certain in an unknowable, detached way. No? What did Scaleripple mean by 'no'? He wasn't Trumpetspore's mentor. Troutpool didn't need his permission! She must not have been able to hide her thoughts as well as Scaleripple did, for the gold and white warrior continued. "You told Trumpetspore her littermate was an omen. Why would she be your mate?"

"Scaleripple," Troutpool huffed, finding what little confidence she possessed and hardening her voice. "I only reported StarClan's sign. I didn't want to make Tempestshade's life hard. I revealed it at their trial because I didn't want them to be found guilty of murder."

"Instead you made everyone avoid them," Scaleripple said. He glanced at his bandaged paw with a soft huff. He tore off the red-stained cobweb and spat the wad onto the middle of the floor. "So, no. You don't get to ask Trumpetspore on a date. You don't deserve that." Scaleripple licked his paw once more and walked out of the den. It didn't seem to matter that he left Troutpool spinning, a dormant pressure rising in her chest. No, Scaleripple sauntered back into the packed clearing like nothing had happened.

According to him, nothing else should happen.

(Troutpool: 39, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Trumpetspore: 39, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Scaleripple: 31, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

RippleClan prepares a ritual to fight back against the Spirit hordes.

[Image ID: Troutpool, Honeybuzz, and Weevilpaw stand in a circle around Estherfern. Anchovystrike, Wolfgaze, Oilstripe, and Scaleripple watch from the sides.]

---

In Estherfern's faith, there was her God, who did His best to watch over her home, but there were also the Six Predators. The Wolf, The Fox, The Owl, The Hawk, The Rat, The Cougar. These vengeful, vindictive deities loved to toy with catkind, so Estherfern's home developed a dozen ways to combat their influence. Somewhere in the back of her heart, Estherfern wondered if they were the ones who tormented the souls of the Dark Forest, who gave birth to the Spirits of Shadow. Maybe they were the ones to kill Foampaw. Maybe they were laughing somewhere, saying "Look at Esther. Stepping above her station, making friends with the damned. Shouldn't she have known better? It's so fun to watch her destroy her family."

That night, Estherfern would spit in the faces of the Six Predators, of the Spirits of Shadow, of everything supernatural that roamed her new home, because no one got away with hurting her kits. Not even her.

"Estherfern, we don't have to tell anyone," Honeybuzz whispered as the procession trailed toward the beach. Honeybuzz and Estherfern kept to the back of the group, carrying baskets of supplies. Troutpool walked inside a circle composed of Weevilpaw, Anchovystrike, and Wolfgaze. Oilstripe and Scaleripple kept a sharp eye for strange shadows, ready to fight and protect the untrained clerics.

"What sort of justice would that be?" Estherfern huffed.

"The sort that keeps the peace," Honeybuzz said.

"Peace built on lies is no peace at all," Estherfern sighed. "When this is done… we're telling the Clan. May your ancestors and my God forgive me." Estherfern stared at the clouded sky. If StarClan was as strong as her Clanmates claimed, their presence would not be dulled by simple clouds hiding Silverpelt from view.

As the patrol approached the beach, it began to snow. Flakes danced on Estherfern's nose. Wolfgaze rubbed her fluffy pelt against her sister's thin fur as Weevilpaw shivered. Honeybuzz ran into the thicker circle of cats, quietly begging for extra warmth. Estherfern soaked in the cold. The cold meant she was alive. She was free. It was this freedom she sought to protect ever since she escaped the cat-minded human. Yet in seeing her kits as imprisoned in their bodies, had she not denied them freedom? Whenever she spoke with Wolverinepaw, the long-furred duplicate of Estherfern still stared a bit too hard. Thunderpaw still didn't ask Estherfern to repeat herself if she didn't catch what she said. Brightpaw squirmed in Estherfern's company, and Boughpaw stayed silent, forgotten in her normalcy. The truth would be the only thing that could fix their bonds, even if it destroyed them in the process.

"This is the place," Troutpool finally said. The patrol stood where the river met the ocean, dissolving into branches. Sand melted into mud and clay. A salt pool sat in the sand, the artisan's precious system to separate out the water and harvest the pure white crystals. The sea was nothing more than churning shadow. Estherfern and Honeybuzz set their baskets down.

"StarClan is watching," Oilstripe whispered, head spinning. "There are so many cats. I see Mousesong, and Weedfoot, Silverpaw… Estherfern, Foampaw is here." Estherfern steadied herself. She swallowed the rock in her throat.

"This is for you, Silverpaw!" Wolfgaze called into the dark, still pressed against Weevilpaw.

"They aren't saying anything," Oilstripe said. "I think they're just bearing witness."

"Foampaw, forgive me," Estherfern whispered.

"Oilstripe, Anchovystrike, Wolfgaze, Scaleripple," Honeybuzz said, taking dry mushrooms out of his basket, "you'll patrol around us while we work. Anchovystrike, how do we look?"

"There's ichor everywhere," Anchovystrike groaned, sneering at the sand. "The spirits roam the entire territory."

"It shouldn't be hard to draw them in," Weevilpaw huffed, standing taller. "I'll call out if I predict any of them attacking."

"This will take some time, so stay alert," Honeybuzz said. "Weevilpaw, help me build this side of the circle. Troutpool, Estherfern, take the other half." Estherfern gently grabbed a mouthful of mushrooms, which grew damp in the snow, and started on her side of the circle.

The circle would be far bigger than the one in Estherfern's cursed den. Yes, it was similar to that original circle, composed of the same mushrooms that connected the living world to the Dark Forest. Yet here, the design was not based on those damned traditions, but Estherfern's faith. While the mushrooms formed the curves of the circle, rather than filling the interior with an herbal sludge, Estherfern's basket held a purer replacement; the spirit-rebelling charms from Harvest Moon. In Estherfern's home, the charms would have had the gentle face of God, with tufts of fur representing each of the Six Predators replacing the mushrooms.

"Is this safe?" Scaleripple asked. He sat in the branches of a chokecherry, carefully watching the shore.

"We're summoning Spirits of Shadow and sending them back to the Dark Forest," Weevilpaw scoffed as she set down a few more charms. "There's a lot of risk involved here. But it's what we have to do if we have any hope to get rid of them all."

"I don't mean the spirits," Scaleripple said softly. "These gods that Estherfern fears… are they real?"

"Of course they are," Estherfern snapped, almost knocking a mushroom out of its place. "They may not dwell over your lands, but they dwell over mine."

"What if we summon both the spirits…" Scaleripple said, "and your Predators?" Estherfern's paw clenched over a charm. Was the white-speckled warrior right? Estherfern knew so many tales of the Six Predators and the way they destroyed lives. They did not need to feed, they did not have that excuse for their mayhem. It was fun for them. They spread their domains with no care for each other or any living creature. Was Estherfern repeating her earlier mistakes? Was she, in her effort to fix one problem, inviting something far worse?

"Esther," Honeybuzz said. He met Estherfern's eyes from the other side of the circle. He set the last mushroom in its place. "It's our best option. There are too many." Estherfern nodded. She settled the last of her charms in the circle and turned to Troutpool. The head cleric nodded in return.

"Everyone, stay back, and stay quiet," Troutpool called as Estherfern stepped into the circle. "Honeybuzz, Weevilpaw, are you ready?"

"I'm not a very good singer," Weevilpaw chuckled. She rubbed snow out of her eyes and settled at the edge of the circle.

"You don't have to be," Estherfern said. "Just say the names clearly."

"I've never heard names like these," Troutpool muttered, tucking her tail over her paws.

"You wouldn't have," Estherfern said with a flick of an ear.

Weevilpaw, Honeybuzz, and Troutpool sat equal distance from one another, poised outside the circle. Scaleripple jumped out of the tree and joined Oilstripe. Wolfgaze and Anchovystrike lingered near Weevilpaw. Snow dusted the mushrooms and charms.

"The ichor isn't happy, I can already tell," Anchovystrike muttered. Wolfgaze put her tail to his muzzle.

"Predators of the Great Glowing Lands," Estherfern yowled into the snowy night. "We bind you to this place with your true names!" The four clerics closed their eyes. The song came naturally to Estherfern, embedded into her very being. It wasn't hard to teach it to her compatriots.

Luponthoth

Vulpo Thun

Strigart

But-oro

Rapendazera

Punai'kema

The gentle voices of the clerics rose through the snow in a soft, yet tense melody, like bird song. Estherfern dropped out of the song and opened her eyes. Oilstripe and Anchovystrike's hackles rose, their heads bouncing to sights only they could see.

As Honeybuzz, Troutpool, and Weevilpaw carried on the song, Estherfern yowled, "We know of your appetites! We know of your boredom! This land is filled with wicked spirits! We have formed their path to safety, and they'll think they can escape. Have fun!"

The cleric's song cut off as a violent gush of wind battered their voices, flinging snow into their eyes. Wolfgaze yowled, bracing herself against Anchovystrike. The leaves that decorated Oilstripe's pelt flew off. Estherfern's heart raced as the snow bit her nose. Yet a few moments later, the wind receded. Estherfern breathed deep. Scaleripple shook out his pelt while Honeybuzz shivered. The humming ocean made Estherfern's ears ring.

"Stay where you are," Estherfern warned her companions. Her fur spiked when a sudden realization washed over her. "Anchovystrike, close your eyes."

"Why?" Anchovystrike asked.

"Foxdung!" Weevilpaw suddenly cried, jumping with her back arched. "They're… from the forest! Watch out!"

"Anchovystrike," Estherfern yowled as something tumbled through the trees, "you see the unseen influence of the supernatural. If you see the Predators as they really are, you will go mad! Now close your eyes!" Anchovystrike obeyed just in time.

Terrified howls echoed through the forest. Black sludge dripped from the grass onto the sand. It tumbled faster and faster like a newly formed river, racing toward the circle. Oilstripe and Scaleripple scrambled back as the ichor slammed into the circle. It launched at Estherfern with a steaming, bubbling sound. Estherfern held her ground. The ichor plunged into the sand around her like a fox leaping into snow. It stained the sand black and burrowed deep, deep, deep.

Then the monsters came. They howled and shrieked and cauterwauled, running through the trees as fast as they could. There were darkhounds, thundering along with massive paws and bloody jaws, yipping like pups. There was forsaken prey, decayed and rotten yet moving and squealing just as they did in their final moments. Leatherwaste flopped and flew about, and something new, something without a proper name, some storm-spun bundle of dull brown leaves and glistening frost, slithered toward the circle.

"Stay down!" Weevilpaw yowled, belly dropping to the sand. All except Estherfern mimicked the cleric apprentice. The Spirits of Shadow raced alongside the trail of ichor and into the circle. They dug and clawed at the sand, following their lifeblood back into the depths. But they were the lucky ones.

Estherfern could not see them, but she could see their power unfold. Unseen talons snatched spirits by their backs and flung them into the sky. Eager, invisible jaws snapped and bit into the sticky flesh of the spirits. Something dragged unlucky spirits into the shadows, screaming. They sank into the earth before they reached the circle. They dissolved into steaming piles of ichor with torturous wails.

The world went white. The loudest, strongest clap of thunder Estherfern had ever heard reverberated through her skeleton and stayed singing in her ears. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear. Her skin buzzed. In a moment of clarity tucked within the chaos, Estherfern wondered if this is what her kits felt. A path without sight, without sound, heart pushing out of your chest, is a blessing compared to the fate that awaits the rot.

It took some time for Estherfern's vision to clear. She and her Clanmates were still standing, unharmed. The ichor and spirits were gone. There was no sign they had been there at all, save for a few mushrooms missing from the circle. The other cats groaned, rubbing their ears and eyes. They were alive. The spirits had left RippleClan.

Something drew Estherfern's gaze up. Clear shapes formed within the clouds, backed by a pale glow. Each cloud looked perfectly like its subject; a wolf, a fox, an owl, a hawk, a rat, and a cougar. Where their eyes would have been were balls of lightning, sparking and dancing, glaring down at the Clans in hunger.

The creatures of the glowing sky do not rule this land, but visitors cannot be denied. The stars shall extend their power, and the beasts shall fill their bellies. So it has been for you, so it shall be for all.

"Foampaw?" Estherfern gulped, barely capable of hearing herself.

"Can I open my eyes now?" Anchovystrike gulped. He still had his paws over his face.

"They're gone!" Weevilpaw cried. She ran into the circle and plowed into Estherfern. The old molly looked back to the clouds, but they were now a simple sheet of gray against black. Honeybuzz and Troutpool joined them, pressing against Estherfern.

"Is StarClan still watching over us?" Wolfgaze asked, hopping into the circle.

"They left when the ritual began," Oilstripe stammered, staring across the river, "but they've returned. They're watching from afar. I can't tell what they're thinking."

"They're on our side," Honeybuzz promised, waving the others into the circle. "I petitioned them myself at the last half-moon. We wouldn't have done this if StarClan disapproved."

"They may not have disapproved," Estherfern muttered, "but that does not mean they are proud."

"I think they are!" Troutpool chirped. "It was scary, but we've banished the spirits. We can walk our lands freely again. We wouldn't have saved the Clan without you, Estherfern." Troutpool nuzzled Estherfern, but the old molly still stared at the clouds.

"I don't understand you, StarClan," she whispered, not caring whether the cats pressed into her overheard. "You ask my God to send me here, you stand by while I summon your enemies, you allow me to draw the gaze of something far worse on your descendants. Why?" The stars shall extend their power… the voice in Estherfern's head had been as clear as when Foampaw last stood by Estherfern's side. Was it somehow better for the Clans to attract the attention of the Six Predators? Was it an earnest decision, made for the betterment of the five Clans? Did StarClan desire more power, more control, more souls?

Estherfern sighed. She would find no answers that night. She would be the one providing answers soon enough.

(Estherfern: 112, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Honeybuzz: 26, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Troutpool: 39, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Oilstripe: 82, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Wolfgaze: 13, female, codekeeper, thoughtful, connection to StarClan, good speaker)

(Anchovystrike: 13, male, warrior, playful, deep StarClan bond)

(Weevilpaw: 13, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)

(Scaleripple: 31, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

When Hyacinthclan had first come here, they had been small. Goldstar, Flintfur, Yellowlily, Jackdawnudge, and Skypelt had been their warriors, Plumsong their medicine cat, Ashpaw, Copsepaw, and Quietpaw the apprentinces, and Aphidkit the lone kit by the time they settled. No pressure had come from within the clan. It had come from the others, joking about how all the young cats had been toms save for Cospsespots, and teasing Quietback and Ashtalon about how they could have to fight for her affections.

Quietback had never been interested in Copsespots. And neither had Ashtalon, at first, until one day, there had been a green-leaf rain. No lightning, no thunder, just a downpour of warm rain. Most of the clan had hid in their dens, but Copsespots had bounded out into it, giddy as kit. Quietback and Ashtalon had been watching from their den, sharing tongues, and Ashtalon had gotten up, stepping out into the rain.

By that point, his friend had been a renowned warrior. Skilled, brave, powerful, and Quietback... Not so much. Ashtalon had saved his tail before, and he would save it again later.

But right then, that battle-ready warrior had been free and laughing, chasing Copsespots through the rain, and Quietback had known no one would ever need to question him why he hadn't chased Cospsespots at another Gathering again.

Even after the pair had begun courting and become mates, Quietback had never grown close with Copsespots, even if they had been apprentices together, even if she was his best friend's mate. He just... Couldn't.

But he hoped Copespots understood, and he sat down in front of Ashtalon's grave, sucking in a deep breath.

It had been a bit since he had been here. Often, it was too painful to come. It brought up memories and pain, and made Quietback's heart ache fiercely. He didn't know if anyone else visited any more. The younger cats couldn't remember bodies being buried, between there being so few dead clanmates and now needing to burn them. Amberleaf might have come, but he had been far too young to remember his littermates, and had never even known Copespots. And he probably hardly remembered Ashtalon; he had been barely three moons old at the time. Quietback wasn't sure if he remembered things other than foggy bits and scattered pieces from when he had been that young.

He wanted to ask Amberleaf, but he also didn't want to bring it up if it made the younger tom uncomfortable. If Amberleaf ever wanted to talk, Quietback would listen and share what he could. He had been there during those three moons while Ashtalon had fussed and cared for his son, worried that sickly, weak kit would join his mother and littermates.

He had known Ashtalon for a good chunk of their lives, when he had died, actually, and Copespots, too. Amberleaf had never asked and Quietback knew why, because he had been fussed over and most of the clan had treated him like he was incredibly precious, and some had compared him to his father.

He took a deep breath and felt his ears droop as he gazed at the marker, scuffing his paws on the soft moss

"It's... It's been a while, yeah? With the rainfall and patrols, I just haven't been able to find the time. But that's not excuse, not really, I guess." Quietback said, feeling terrible.

He hadn't even come on the night Amberleaf had been made a warrior. He had given the graves space, assuming that Amberleaf himself would want to come and thinking it would be best to give the young cat privacy, but he had no idea if he had come. And he had wanted to come, but he just felt... It was hard to come here, a lot of time.

"Your kit is a warrior now. All grown-up. He's on the short side, but he's strong. He's... He's a good cat. But the stars... Maybe they were kind to him, and maybe they weren't. I can't tell at this point." Quietback said, taking a deep breath.

He told Ashtalon about the warrior ceremony, Amberleaf not being able to die- which he had mentioned before but felt that he had some more info on now- and everything that had happened these past few moons. Well, not everything. But a lot of it.

He kept himself alert for any sign of rainfall, but there was none, and spent a long while talking to his dead friend. Part of him wondered if there was any point. Because if Starclan was so cut off from them or had abandoned them, could Ashtalon really hear him? Could he even see what was going on? Quietback couldn't help those thoughts from turning over and over in his head, and they made him sad and uncomfortable at the same time.

His head dropped down further and his claws slid into the moss, his breath shuddering in his chest, and he swallowed hard, feeling tears burn in his eyes.

"I miss you, Ashtalon." he said, three simple words.

But they were not so simple and were heavy, soaked like water-logged moss with more things than just simplicity. It felt like there was a hole in his chest, and there had been ever since he had seen his friend's body that terrible day.

He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about the blood or Amberkit crying pitifully in his mouth as he carried the kit back home, or how Skypelt had struggled under the weight of Ashtalon but insisted she could do it herself. But here he was, thinking about it, and he sobbed, other things flashing through his mind.

How Ashtalon had saved him time and time again. Just sitting around and talking, too. Training together, patrolling together, fighting alongisde each other. Big things and little things, and Quietback fought to get his sobs under control.

It took a lot of fighting, but he got it under control and swallowed hard. He was silent for a long while and he gazed at the grave, looked up at the sky, but... But it really didn't feel like Ashtalon was here. Or anywhere. He had always felt that way with Starclan, he supposed, and he had never really felt that deep of a connection with his warrior ancestors.

For most of his life before Hyacinthclan, the clans had been at war, and he had been a kit at the time. His mother had left the nursery sooner than most queens, and his father had died before he was born. Few kits had been born those last few moons, and Quietback had never gotten to form any truly deep bonds with his clanmates before the clan had fallen apart and almost everyone had been gone. He had never really looked up at the stars and felt that the dead were watching over them, though he could not deny that the Beach of Stars did have something different about it.

He was tempted to go to the Beach of Stars and curl up, see if he could feel Starclan or maybe even be visited by Ashtalon or Flintfur or someone else he had lost, but... That was dangerous now. The rainfalls, and it was so close to that place he had seen that... Thing. The thing they didn't know was a vision or not, whether it was still lurking in the waves or if was a warning from Starclan. His pelt prickled at the thought of it. So no, he would not go down there and sleep. He just had to have faith that Starclan was still there, and that even though he had sat here and told Ashtalon things, that his friend already knew.

Sniffing and wiping his face with his paw, Quietback glanced at the sky and decided it was time to head back to camp. He rose, saying nothing else, and left the graves as they were, his steps a bit heavier as he walked. But he couldn't shrug off his duties just because he was sad and in these times, they needed every paw they could get. Especially since they sent off two warriors to be Firewatchers for each shift, just as the other clans did, and they were a small clan. Every paw counted.

Civetbeak was sitting guard at the camp entrance when he returned and the younger warrior nodded to him, his injured leg stretched out awkwardly beside him, Quietback returning the nod. He walked through the entrance and into the clearing, letting his gaze sweep over it as he did.

It was just a normal day. Wasp's kits tussling under Stoneleaf's watchful eye, Lester's litter causing chaos in the clearing, just a moon away from being made apprentices, Tulippaw and Fogpaw were sharing tongues, Yellowlily was stretching, and most everyone else seemed to be on patrols. Amberleaf was sitting in the old tree as Rainwatcher, nestled in what shade the trunk could provide, watching the sky intently.

He looked a lot like Ashtalon, but not as much as he had when he was younger, Quietback thought. Now that he was grown, Amberleaf had come more into his own looks. There was the same broadness to the shoulders and some similar facial features, a similar color of the eye, but the rest came from his mother, or neither of his parents at all. Amberleaf was shorter than his father and his expressions harder, and he was a bit more solidly built than either his parents. Some of Cospespots grace had passed onto him and he had his father's fighting prowess already... And Quietback quickly shut those thoughts down.

Amberleaf was his own cat; Quietback didn't need to be comparing him to his parents and summing up all that he was that way. He knew he would hate that, if anyone had done that, and he had the feeling that Amberleaf had for many moons now.

He wished he was closer with Amberleaf sometimes. He felt as though he could have been helpful, could have done something for him, but he couldn't find it in himself to step up. So he did what he could from the position he had, and maybe Amberleaf appreciated it. Of course, the young cat held most everyone at a tail-length from himself, so maybe not.

As Quietback went to the fresh-kill pile and selected a mouse, a patrol returned, and he soon found himself settled down with Tumbledaisy and Buzzardglide. They wanted to ask him for advice, since he was an experienced mentor; they were giving Tulippaw and Fogpaw their assessments tomorrow. And if they passed, then the day after that, they would have their ceremonies. Quietback gave them what advice he could and ate his mouse, and he went on the evening patrol later in the day.

Civetbeak, Goldstar, and Yellowpaw came with him and they hunted, returning to camp to deposit their prey safely and wash off before the sun set. No one spoke to Quietback during the patrol, but they glanced at him, and he knew they noticed his mood. He did not want to talk about it and that was respected, which he appreciated.

They had just finished cleaning off when Amberleaf blew the conch.

"RAINFALL!" he yowled across the clearing, scrambling down from the tree.

Everyone scattered. They had practiced this many times now, and they were quick about it. Everyone was quickly in their dens or the nearest shelter, and this time, the warriors' den was nearly empty, everyone having gone to the elders' or the nursery, for the most part. Amberleaf was the last one in, even though the foolish cat could have gone in Goldstar's den, and it wasn't long after that the rainfall hit.

Nothing to do but wait it out, and Amberleaf shrugged the conch off, Skypelt coming to sit beside her son. Quietback watched, cringing inside as he did. Skypelt began to groom Amberleaf, smoothing its somewhat long tufts with even strokes of her tongue. It was a normal thing for a cat to do with their kit... If that kit was willing.

It was very clear to Quietback that Amberleaf was not. He flinched from Skypelt's touch and leaned away, but she paid no mind, and it made Quietback uncomfortable to watch. He knew Amberleaf hated being touched and touching noses or absolutely necessary touches were all that he normally tolerated. Skypelt always seemed so oblivious to it, and watching her groom a grown cat who was shrunk down like a little kit with his claws digging into a nest was hard.

It was clearly humiliating for Amberleaf and embarrassing for Skypelt not to notice, and Quietback shifted his paws, thinking of intervening, but he did not. He spent so long debating about it that Amberleaf beat him to it.

"I'm clean!" he said and got up, slinking to the back of the den.

The den was much larger than Hyacinthclan needed with its current number of warriors, so there was an empty space toward the rear that tended to be cold because of the stone, and Amberleaf had made his nest back there, away from the rest of them. He curled up in it with his back to them, tucking his tail over his nose, and Skypelt shook her head.

Did she really not see it? She was acting like Amberleaf was a kit saying he was too old for his mother, not that he physically recoiled when she groomed him. She went to the front of the den to watch the rainfall, which would be over soon enough, and Quietback sat beside her.

"Why do you do that?" he asked, keeping his voice low, ears twitching.

"Hmm? What do I do?" Skypelt asked, craning her neck to look at the sky.

"Groom Amberleaf." Quietback said, but he should have said it better.

"I'm his mother. I can still take care of him." Skypelt said with a shake of her head, but she at least kept quiet.

Quietback didn't want Amberleaf to overhear and be embarrassed.

"No, not... Why do you touch him? He hates it. Can't you see that? He doesn't like any cat touching him." Quietback asked, confused.

She was a sharp cat, a smart cat, so how could she be oblivious?

"I'm his mother, Quietback. Maybe I didn't birth him or nurse him, but I can still care for him. I can groom him or offer him a comforting touch. He's never said otherwise." Skypelt said earnestly.

Had the two of them already discussed it and Quietback was just butting in where he didn't belong? He felt a pang of guilt for that, but he could also believe that Amberleaf had never told Skypelt. She was a cat who expressed her affection with physical touch, often brushing the tip of her tail down a pelt or offering a shoulder or a lick.

"Skypelt-"

"Oh!" Skypelt exclaimed, pelt fluffing up in alarm.

Quietback followed her gaze and saw, in the distance, a round rainbow, and his own fur stood on end. They had come to learn that meant an Unseen was around. It would disappear with the rainfall, but it also told them that this particular band of rain was a large one, stretching far beyond their camp.

Amberleaf came to join them and grunted softly at the sight, and Quietback knew he was thinking of Flintfur. He flicked his tail instinctively to rest it over the young cat's, but caught himself at the last moment, curling it around his own paws firmly.

They watched the rainbow quietly, watched the ground for black prints, but none appeared. The rainfall cleared up, the rainbow vanished, the sky brilliant with sunset and clouds colored by it rather than the heavy gray the rainfalls brought.

By that time, Quietback's intended argument with Skypelt was forgotten, and when he remembered later that night, it would be too late to bring it up again.

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The warrior ceremony was just what the clan had needed. Not that it had been that long since Amberleaf's, but new warriors were always needed, and it gave some hope.

Quietback sat to the side with Skypelt, watching as Stoneleaf gave her kits some quick last-minute grooming, the siblings then approaching the front of the group to stand before Goldstar.

Tumbledaisy and Buzzardglide sat next to Stonleaf, shining with pride, and they deserved to be proud. They had done well training their apprentices, even with the way the world was these days, and they would make fine warriors.

Goldstar began the ceremony and it was the usual one, and she honored the two apprentices for their best traits, naming them Tulipscratch and Fogvalley.

Quietback cheered with the rest of the clan, yowling the names to the sky, and it was the perfect day for the ceremony, and, hopefully, there would be no rainfall to spoil it.

The clan lined up to congratulate the pair and touch noses with them, but Amberleaf did not touch noses with them, nor did he really say anything to Tulipscratch. Not that Quietback blamed him for that; Tulipscratch had a sharp tongue, and it was often wielded against Amberleaf. She had been sore and jealous of the clan treating Amberleaf like he was precious after Ashtalon had died, though Stoneleaf had treated all the kits fairly as she watched them in the nursery.

Quietback touched noses with the new worries, feeling proud of them, because while they might not have been his apprentices, they were his clanmates and he had watched them grow up. After all the congratulations were given, patrols were assigned, and the newer warriors, or at least some of them, all went out together. They let them have their fun, and of course Skypelt had done that on purpose. Quietback remembered being very excited to patrol together with Ashtalon once both of them were warriors, and it was nice to let the younger cats have that.

With everyone assigned to their patrols, Skypelt stretched in the clearing, and Quietback watched her. She was a beautiful cat, and his feelings for her had not diminshed over the moons. She had requested time, requested that before they talked about becoming mates he wait until Amberleaf was a warrior. Well, Amberleaf was a warrior, the clan was doing well, and Skypelt was settled in her role as deputy. Now seemed like a good time.

"Skypelt, would you like to come on a walk with me? I thought we could walk along the river." Quietback asked after approaching, swallowing.

The river was Skypelt's favorite place to walk, but taking a walk wasn't so simple anymore. You needed protection; well, it wasn't necessary and you could leave camp without it, but it was often better to be safe than sorry. Then again, there were plenty of places to shelter along the route, and both he and Skypelt decided to risk it.

It was foolish, most likely, but the tunnels and crevices hadn't changed with the rainfalls, at least, and they knew their home.

They went for the walk and it was a beautiful day, Quietback enjoying the closeness with Skypelt, hearing the birds and breeze and being able to pretend that nothing was wrong, that nothing was going to happen, that the world was normal. Pretending like that could be dangerous, but sometimes it was just a relief to do so.

They talked as they walked along the bank of the river, which was not overly loud or had too fast of a current, stepping stones conveniently dotting it every now and then. As they reached Skypelt's favorite spot, they sat down and admired their territory, and Quietback did his best to quell his nerves.

They sat in silence for a little while and Quietback shifted closer, flicking his tail over hers, and he opened his mouth to speak, but he never got a sound out.

A scream split the air and they both jumped, heads snapping upriver, and they saw the patrol of young warriors bursting from the woods, Quietback not understanding what was going on at first. Then he spotted Tulipscratch flailing in the river; the current wasn't too fast, but it was fast enough that if you didn't know how to swim, it was dangerous. Not all of the cats of Hyacinthclan, despite living close to the sea, knew how to swim; Tulipscratch had been scared to do so after seeing Amberkit fall into the water during their kithood.

That didn't stop her from fishing, though, and Quietback knew immediately that was what she must have been doing, her patrol emerging from the woods in confusion for a moment as she was swept away. She was struggling and doing it all wrong, and Quietback surveryed the water quickly, bunching up his muscles and diving in as she went under. Another splash followed and he clawed through the water, praying to Starclan that Tulipscratch came up, because he couldn't see her, her dark pelt blended in with the riverbed as he tried to dive and peer into the water.

He surfaced, looking around for her, and then Amberleaf surfaced, protection streaming off both young warriors in brown slicks on the river's surface. Quietback swam over and helped, Amberleaf getting to the shore, Quietback supporting Tulipscratch so the other cat could haul himself out. They got her out together and Quietback climbed out, Tulipscratch limp with water streaming off her pelt.

Amberleaf clearly didn't know what to do, but Quietback did, because he had done it for this cat when he had been a little kit. He began to rub Tulipscratch vigorously and she gasped, rolling onto her stomach and beginning to vomit up water. She hacked and gagged, Quietback continuing to rub her back, and when she stopped, she was shivering and coughing, but she was alive.

"Tulip! Oh, Tulip!" Fogvalley cried, darting by Amberleaf to shove his head against his littermate's.

She coughed and shivered again, rasping something Quietback didn't understand. He crouched down.

"Get her on my back; we need to get her back to camp as soon as possible." he said, though the stepping stones we're going to be tricky.

"We'll have to swim her back across, or you could both fall in." Amberleaf corrected, and he did have a point.

Though he didn't want to do it, there was no bridge for far too long, and even then, the Twoleg structure long disused and falling apart. Not close enough in the even of an emergency.

So swimming it was, and Amberleaf was very good at it. Quietback swam with them to assist, and they got Tulipscratch out and onto Quietback's back. They went back to camp, Skypelt ordering everyone but Fogvalley to continue the patrol, which Quietback thought was a tad harsh. They got Tulipscratch to the medicine cat den and he laid her down, Stoneleaf darting in, Jackdawnudge grumpily shooing Quietback and Skypelt out of the den.

They obeyed, Stoneleaf and Fogvalley sitting near the entrance, and there was nothing more they could do. Quietback let out a breath, glad that Tulipscratch as all right, and now was definitely not the time to bring up becoming mates to her. So instead, they parted ways, Quietback promising Stoneleaf he would watch the kits until the medicine cats were done.

He had never really watched kits before, let alone kits so separated in age, but it helped that the older ones seemed intimidated by him, and the younger ones were as sweet as honey.

He settled down, watching them, glancing toward the medicine cat den. Hopefully, Tulipscratch would be all right, but she had very nearly drowned. It happened all the time, but... Quietback wasn't ready to lose another clanmate. Not yet. So instead, he tried to focus on the kits he was watching, calling out tips as they spared, flicking his tail back and forth for the little ones.

Hopefully, one of the medicine cats would come out with good news. If not... Quietback did his best not to think of that.

3/28/2026-4/24/2026

Flower meanings:

Poppy- Fantastic extravegence, associated with soldiers, the latter being used here

Zinnia- I mourn your absence

Hyacinth (Purple)- Forgiveness