#slushpaw

Honeybuzz helps the three star-blessed apprentices.

[Image ID: Honeybuzz, Weevilpaw, Wolfpaw, and Anchovypaw watch Estherfern talk with a Dark Forest spirit. Under Honeybuzz, it says + NEW SKILL: GOOD TEACHER.]

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Honeybuzz cupped his paw around one of the many plucked mushrooms that formed the unholy circle. He sniffed at the herbal mixture that sealed the pickings together. A few strands of black and red fur clung to the wet earth that lined the edges of the muddy den. The constant rain of the last four days made the ground slick and sent water dripping from the root-lined ceiling. Anchovypaw, Wolfpaw, and Weevilpaw stood outside the den, heads close together as they peered inside. The rain glued their pelts to their skin.

“And you’ve known about this for how long, Anchovypaw?” Honeybuzz asked. He absently batted at his wooden necklace, the freshly plucked cicada wing glistening with raindrops. He pointedly sat outside of the circle, mud sinking into his thin fur.

“Only a few days,” Anchovypaw admitted. “I didn’t want to say anything until I could come back here, but there’s even more ichor here than there was when I first found the den.”

“You should have told us sooner,” Weevilpaw huffed with a glare so sharp that, had she had her sister’s ability, Anchovypaw would have frozen stiff.

“I wasn’t going to scare anyone if I didn’t have to!” Anchovypaw huffed. A sharp flick of his tail sent a stream of water flying over Weevilpaw and Wolfpaw’s backs. “It could have just been where the beast that killed Weedfoot went to die. I only waited a few days! It took me that long to get away from Halibutdusk!”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Honeybuzz promised. He squeezed around the apprentices, squinting as the rain splashed his eyes.

“Now we know someone else has been here,” Wolfpaw pointed out. 

“What is it, Honeybuzz?” Weevilpaw asked. She moved further into the den, eyes locked on the circle.

“You remember my lessons on channeling StarClan?” Honeybuzz said, shivering. “It exhausts power StarClan wasn’t planning to use, but the immediate and physical communication can justify an absence of subtle signs and assistance.”

“But we don’t use mushrooms,” Weevilpaw said. She poked at a mushroom, making it roll out of its spot. “We form a circle of cats, not plants.”

“But do you remember when you met Terracottafoot?” Honeybuzz sighed. “I asked them to tell you about last Harvest Moon, and some of their knowledge of the Dark Forest. Newtstream, their mentor, taught them about channeling Dark Forest spirits using a circle of mushrooms.”

“Someone’s summoning Spirits of Shadow,” Wolfpaw gulped.

“Who would be that mouse-brained?” Anchovypaw growled. His claws left gouges in the mud. “We all remember the Shardling. Who would want to bring something like that back?” Anchovypaw looked like he was going to be sick. Wolfpaw rubbed against Anchovypaw’s side. “You were right, Weevilpaw. I should have destroyed this den as soon as I found it.”

“Then they would have made another one,” Honeybuzz pointed out. “No, we need to find a trusted warrior to watch this den. They can wait until the culprit visits again. Waspdawn or Puddlewhisper would do well. I trust them.” Weevilpaw’s soaked fur prickled. Her eyes widened, locked on something Honeybuzz couldn’t see. Her mouth dropped slightly, breath catching. 

“Out, out!” Weevilpaw hissed, lunging past Wolfpaw. She scrambled into a thick bush, still bursting with summer life. Wolfpaw and Anchovypaw were instantly at her side, following her into the shadows. Honeybuzz stumbled in after them, sharp branches poking his ribs.

“Who did you see?” Anchovypaw whispered just as the shrubbery on the other side of the dark den shifted. Bicolored eyes glimmered through the mid-morning haze.

“Estherfern?” Honeybuzz gasped as the older cleric stepped into full view. Estherfern carried a ball of fur in her jaws, the same red and black colors Honeybuzz found in the strange den. Her fur on her cheeks drooped like heavy leaves. She strolled into the shadows, ignorant to her spies.

“The Shardling almost killed her kits,” Anchovypaw growled, his rage making the leaves shake. “Why would she deal with the Dark Forest?”

“Keep listening,” Wolfpaw whispered. “We might find out.” Estherfern placed the furballs in the center of the circle. Her cool gaze settled on Weevilpaw’s disturbed mushroom. Honeybuzz grit his teeth. Estherfern carefully nudged the mushroom back into its original position. She sat in the den’s entrance, back to Honeybuzz and the apprentices.

Estherfern declared, “I call upon the spirit of Hawthornstealer, banished from StarClan for murder in the name of his kits. Despite your sins, your assistance is required. Return to the Clans, if only for a moment. Speak to us.”

“Do you see that?” Anchovypaw whispered, pressing into Weevilpaw. “Do you see that?” Honeybuzz squinted. The circle was still. Suddenly, Weevilpaw gasped. She bit into her paw to muffle her shock. Honeybuzz braced his heart for whatever the star-blessed apprentices saw.

It began as a shift in the mud, like water in a pot at the first stages of boiling. The ground around the fur offering darkened. Black sludge bubbled out of the mud and lapped up the fur balls like medicine. The sound of its formation reminded Honeybuzz of paws trapped in thick gunk, pulling out of the mess with a sucking slurp. It leaked from under the mushrooms and collected in the circle’s center. The ichor pulled itself upward like drops of water falling from the ceiling, perverting the pull of the earth. A subtle red glow illuminated the den.

“It’s finally working,” Estherfern gasped as the ichor took shape. It lifted itself high like a cat arching their back. It clung to the ground at four points that slowly took on the details of paws. A claw-like tail sprouted from its back. The ichor bubbled and bulged into a muzzle. Two glowing red eyes erupted from the spirit’s face. StarClan help them all.

“So you are Estherfern,” the spirit said. Its voice was as sticky as the mud from which it was born, dissolving into the sound of the tumbling rain.

“Hawthornstealer?” Estherfern asked. The spirit blinked slowly, its eyelids like a mudslide. 

“Why do you call?” the spirit groaned.

“Oilstripe and Lavendertwist told me your story,” Estherfern explained. She inched closer, back still stuck in the rain. “You killed an elder to ensure more food for your kits in a famine. You would have done anything for them. StarClan doesn’t seem to have the power I need. I’m hoping you can help.”

“Explain.”

“My kits are sick, and RippleClan can do nothing to help them. One of my daughters is going deaf, the other is half-blind. And now my only son has issues of the head, issues the mediators are simply bandaging, not fixing.” Was she talking about Brightpaw? Spikecrash had asked Honeybuzz and Troutpool about any relaxing herbs the young tom could take before the Gathering, something to ease the panic that overtook him when too many cats surrounded him. It was manageable. There was no need to resort to such extremes.

“You are searching for a cure.”

“I can’t let them struggle like this. How can I fix them?” The spirit stared at Estherfern silently, the rainfall burning into the background of Honeybuzz’s mind. The only sign of un-life in the spirit rested in its long, slow blinking. Even Estherfern, collected as she was, twitched under the spirit’s unending, blank stare.

“I…,” Anchovypaw whispered, “I don’t think that’s the ghost of Hawthornstealer.”

“Why not?” Wolfpaw whimpered.

“It’s too empty,” Anchovypaw groaned, struggling to find the right word. “Weedfoot’s stories said Dark Forest ghosts looked like themselves. Even the Shardling looked a little like Autumnstar, isn’t that what Downstar told us? This thing doesn’t look like anyone. It looks like a shadow."

“We may have the power,” the spirit finally coughed through its thick ichor. “We need help.”

“That’s what I expected,” Estherfern sighed. “What sort of ritual do I need to perform? Is there another spirit I should talk to?”

“Your children were destined to develop these afflictions,” the spirit gurgled. “Their destinies must be replaced. Replaced with another’s.”

“Elaborate.” 

“The eyes of the clear sighted.” The spirit’s red eyes shone like a flickering fire. “The ears of the cautious listener.” Its pointed ears flicked, their first movement since the spirit’s arrival. “The tongue of the charmed.” Its black teeth peered out from muddy lips. “Three sacrifices. Three kits.” Estherfern stilled. Honeybuzz’s heart sank. Despite her standoffishness, despite her argumentativeness, Estherfern was part of the Clan, her kits were part of the Clan. How could she throw that away to fix what didn’t, what couldn’t be fixed?

“We’ll stop her before she begins,” Anchovypaw growled, inching a paw out of hiding. StarClan asked for Estherfern. Why would they send for her if she could be swayed like this?

“Offer the dead—”

“No.” All four hidden cats perked their ears high. Estherfern stood, tail rippling slowly as she stared the spirit down. The spirit, to Honeybuzz’s continued shock, flinched.

“No?” the spirit spat.

“What do you take me for?” Estherfern scoffed. “You think I’m so blindly devoted to a cure that you can turn me into a murderer? A sadist for the sake of my children?”

“You want them cured,” the spirit growled. Its paw lingered at the edge of the circle. “This is how you cure them.”

“And what happens when I do?” Estherfern asked, tilting one ear in a shocking taunt. “I know how your land works, the rules of your afterlife. They will go to StarClan some day and learn what I did for them, if they do not find out in life. They will despise me for what I have done.”

“But they will be cured.”

“Furthermore, I know the creatures that inhabit your Dark Forest.” Estherfern walked around the circle like a hunter. The spirit never turned its head, face stuck in a sneer. “It is the home of murderers and scoundrels. I would surely arrive there after my own death were I to kill three innocents for you. You would condemn me to eternity without my children.”

“You’ve already been damned, Estherfern. You brought forth the Skin N’ Bones that slew your deputy. You are the cause of your Clan’s suffering. Do you believe StarClan will forgive you for that?” A Skin N’ Bones. Of course. Nothing else would have injured Downstar like that. Nothing else would have devoured Weedfoot alive. Estherfern stopped. The calculated and callous look that always hung in her eyes cracked. Honeybuzz could almost see Estherfern’s soul drop. “Why give up now? You’re too far gone. Your children are not. Why summon us if you were not willing to do whatever it took to fix your kits?”

“I will not have them hate me!” Estherfern rounded on the spirit, lips curled tight. “I will not have them curse my name!” She shook her head low. “I will find a different cure for them. I will find another way. I send you back, spirit, back to your dark wanderings, where StarClan’s light does not reach.” Estherfern reached for one of the mushrooms. Her paw breached the circle.

“No!” The spirit dug its fangs into Estherfern’s paw. Ichor dripped into her fresh wound. She pulled back, ripping more of her skin in the process. 

“I respect what you did for your kits, Hawthornstealer,” Estherfern hissed, licking her paw. “I realize now, however, that where you could put aside your kits’ emotions for their futures, I cannot.”

“We,” the spirit growled, voice dissolving, “are not Hawthornstealer.” 

The spirit’s legs melted like snow. Its form dissolved and splashed about in a massive sticky pool. One by one, the mushrooms rolled into the ichor and vanished under the writhing mass as though falling into a great black hole. The ichor bubbled and squirmed as though in a death rattle. It leaked from the confines of the circle and coated the den floor. Estherfern backed up, back paws slipping on the soaked grass.

Weevilpaw raced out of the bush before Honeybuzz could react. She threw her full weight into Estherfern’s side. The two clerics tumbled into the shrubs. In that moment, the ichor exploded. It sprayed the walls of the dirt den and shot into the rain in an endless cascade. More ichor escaped the den than could have possibly made up the spirit in the circle. As it flew into the forest, large clumps tumbled to the side like wayward drops from a massive wave. The glops tumbled and sloshed against the wet ground before launching through the trees and out of sight. More and more of these glops scrambled away until finally, finally, the spray slowed. A long black trail led out of the den, which was now nothing but ichor and goop. 

Honeybuzz, Anchovypaw, and Wolfpaw crept out of hiding as Weevilpaw got off Estherfern. Mud coated half of her brown pelt. The ichor stunk like rotting flesh and mushrooms.

“How long have you been there?” Estherfern asked, slow to her paws.

“Wolfpaw, you might have to freeze me,” Anchovypaw growled, claws out. “I’m a whisker’s length from killing her.”

“Anchovypaw, no!” Weevilpaw stood in front of Estherfern, paws skidding. “She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She was trying to help her kits. We can’t blame her for that!”

“But the Dark Forest…” Wolfpaw gulped. With the puff in her fur dissolved in the rain, she seemed half her size.

“It is full of dead cats, not unlike StarClan,” Estherfern huffed. She stepped around Weevilpaw and faced down the furious crowd. “All I wanted was a way to cure my kits, something you’ve shown you cannot do.”

“Estherfern, you weren’t talking to a dead warrior,” Honeybuzz groaned, almost stepping on the ichor trail. “That was a Herald. Their entire purpose is to trick the living into allowing Spirits of Shadow into the territories.” His gaze lingered on the forest. He could almost hear the half-formed monsters slurping across the grass, taking their true, cursed forms.

“You heard her!” Weevilpaw huffed. “She wasn’t going to listen to the spirit. She was going to destroy the circle.”

“She didn’t commit murder,” Anchovypaw scoffed. “You did well, Estherfern. You did the bare minimum.”

“Is it your fault?” Wolfpaw muttered, voice almost lost in the rain. “Did you get Weedfoot killed?” Estherfern stared into the ichor-soaked den. 

“I didn’t know,” she said softly. 

“She didn’t know, Anchovypaw,” Weevilpaw snapped. “She’s a good cat!”

“She didn’t care about killing anyone, she cared about what her kits would think,” Anchovypaw growled. “How can we trust a cleric who doesn’t care if you live or die?”

“I trust her,” Weevilpaw huffed, pressing into Estherfern. “Even though she’s strange.”

“Weevilpaw,” Honeybuzz sighed, jumping over the ichor, “take Anchovypaw and Wolfpaw and go back to camp. Just go to the medicine den and wait for us.” 

“What are we going to do with her?” Anchovypaw asked.

“Leave that to me,” Honeybuzz said, shaking his head. “Now go. Stick together, and hurry. We’ll follow you soon.” The apprentices hesitated, all glancing at one another. Weevilpaw was the first to break; she joined Wolfpaw and nudged her onward. The sisters ran toward the coast. Anchovypaw followed, his burning eyes digging into Estherfern as he vanished into the foggy trees.

“It seems I underestimated the vigor of the Dark Forest’s supernatural entities,” Estherfern hummed, cleaning the mud off her injured paw.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” Honeybuzz hissed softly.

“Of course I do,” Estherfern snapped, curling her lips. “You love to tell the story of the Rippling Ashes. They ventured into the Dark Forest, they had Newtstream’s advice. What made my own approach so wicked?”

“Because it’s dangerous!” Honeybuzz groaned. “Because channeling Dark Forest souls, even when they want to help, clears a path for Spirits of Shadow, and they don’t care about any of us. They’re born to hunt. This isn’t worth it.”

“If your kits were sick, wouldn’t you do what you could for them?” Estherfern growled with a large thrash of her tail. “You can’t fix them. I thought the Dark Forest could.”

“They don’t need to be fixed!” Honeybuzz yowled, throwing his whole height up to glare down at Estherfern (who, unlike Rapidleaf, would not cower). “They aren’t dying, Estherfern! They can adapt! I’m sorry I can’t cure Thunderkit or stop Brightpaw’s anxiety, but they’ll be fine!” As Honeybuzz yowled, the first crack appeared in the sky, striking through the gray clouds. Thunder echoed far overhead. Estherfern stared at the growing storm.

“What’s out there now, do you think?” Estherfern sighed.

“Dog-cats, forsaken prey, honeybites…” Honeybuzz muttered, spine itching. “There may even be monsters we rarely see, ones we don’t have names for. We don’t want to know everything that’s out there now.”

“This is something we can fix,” Estherfern huffed. She marched around Honeybuzz and stood on the roof of the wicked den. Jaw tight as her bit paw moved, Estherfern dug at the soaked grass. Her pelt was more mud than fur. Chunks of earth tumbled into the den. The sopping ground folded in on itself like a wave. Estherfern rolled away as the roof of the den fell and covered the sticky, stinking ichor. Grass stuck to Estherfern’s underside. Honeybuzz hurried to her, helping her away from the crumbled remains of her sins.

“We can,” Honeybuzz gulped. “We can fix this.”

(Honeybuzz: 23, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Anchovypaw: 10, male, warrior apprentice, playful, curious about StarClan)

(Weevilpaw: 10, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)

(Wolfpaw: 10, female, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

(Estherfern: 109, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

Sandpaw and Spikecrash arrange time for Estherfern to see the kits she worked so hard to “fix”.

[Image ID: Estherfern faces Thunderpaw, Wolverinepaw, and Brightpaw.]

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Estherfern didn’t belong at such a lively celebration. The sumptuous food, the well-rehearsed performances… Harvest Moon was as grand as RippleClan claimed it to be. Every Clan gathered as the sunrise poked through the trees, preparing their stews and games and performances. But it was a holiday to drive off Spirits of Shadow. What good would it do to have their herald nestled in the safety of the firelight?

“Spirits of Shadow hate charms,” Troutpool explained as she tucked a cat’s wood-carved face into the boughs of a low-hanging pine. “AshClan spends a lot of time carving these trinkets, and all that care under StarClan’s protections makes them especially useful in warding off danger.” All the clerics roamed the edge’s of the great clearing with baskets of charms and other concoctions to protect the five Clans. Estherfern carried RippleClan’s heavy basket as Honeybuzz, Troutpool, and Weevilpaw prepared the defenses to Troutpool’s instruction.

“How many do we have to place?” Weevilpaw asked, shoving a charm as far into a bush as she could reach.

“We’re covering this entire corner,” Troutpool explained. “We don’t want to leave any openings for spirits.” Estherfern nearly broke the charm in her jaws with how tightly she grit her teeth. She quickly passed it to Honeybuzz.

“Estherfern!” Two figures slipped through the massive crowd. Spikecrash and Sandpaw walked side by side, mentor and apprentice in sync. Sandpaw’s gaze wandered throughout the clearing, taking in the sights of all five Clans for the first time.

“You want to speak to me?” Estherfern asked. While her tone made her question sound casual, the brown priestess hid her surprise deep. She didn’t talk to many cats outside of the medicine den. Why would two of the Clan’s mediators want her? Did they know the real reason why Honeybuzz reported a surge of spirits in the Clan? The reason it was too dangerous to leave camp alone? Why all five Clans, not just RippleClan, now had a newfound fear for their lives? Had Honeybuzz not lied for her, Estherfern would have told the truth and accepted the consequences, yet why he kept it secret, Estherfern didn’t know She glanced at Honeybuzz, but the young gold and white cleric focused on his charms.

“I’m hoping we can borrow you,” Spikecrash explained. “Troutpool, do you still need Estherfern’s help?”

“We’re just placing our wards at the moment,” Troutpool explained, reaching into Estherfern’s basket. “We could finish without her if you really need her.” Estherfern carefully slipped the basket off her neck.

“Thank you, Troutpool,” Spikecrash sighed. She flicked her tail for Estherfern to follow. It seemed no one cared if Estherfern actually wanted to speak with Spikecrash, but who was she to refuse? She trailed after Spikecrash and Sandpaw, heading over to the ovens. Clammask and Stormpaw worked with Drumtooth and Thunderpaw, laughing over an unheard joke as they tended the fire under a massive pot of stew.

“I hope this isn’t too much of an invasion of privacy,” Spikecrash began, her scarred flank lifted high in a long stretch. “Honeybuzz and Weevilpaw spoke with me a few days ago and said you were having some difficulties with your kits.” Estherfern narrowed her eyes.

“If we’re going to discuss my kits,” she sighed, “maybe you could tell me why no one told me about Brightpaw’s meetings with you?”

“So you do know about that,” Spikecrash sighed. “Brightpaw is an apprentice now, Estherfern. We aren’t pressured to tell you anything he didn’t want you to know.” 

“If he’s sick, I want to help him,” Estherfern huffed.

“Why do you think he didn’t want you to know?” Sandpaw scoffed. “Look how you acted with Wolverinepaw and Thunderpaw.” Oh if only he knew just what Estherfern had done for them. What the Dark Forest wanted her to do.

“I’ve only ever tried to help them overcome their own limitations,” Estherfern said, her sharp stare ricocheting off Sandpaw and muting his confident words.

“That’s why we wanted to show you a few things,” Spikecrash explained. She waved a paw toward the oven where Thunderpaw and the other RippleClan cats gathered.

“The only goal of tonight is to have a better stew than WheatClan,” Drumtooth explained, shooting a friendly sneer at WheatClan’s oven and their large pot. He licked the surface of the stew and smacked his jaws. “It’s good, but it’s missing something.” Thunderpaw copied her mentor. Her face squirmed, thinking hard. She then made a strange motion with her paws; balancing on her back legs, she brought her paws close to her mouth and wiggled them as they moved away.

“I know this one,” Stormpaw chirped, completely focused on Thunderpaw. “If the wiggles are the sea… seaweed! That’s seaweed!”

“Yes!” Thunderpaw squealed. The two young apprentices cheered and giggled at their success, bunting one another

“AshClan borrowed our basket of seaweed,” Clammask explained, nudging Thunderpaw. “Grab some for us.”

“Grab seaweed,” Thunderpaw laughed. She quickly swiped the air like she was dragging a mouse out of hiding, then made the ‘seaweed’ motion again. Stormpaw mimicked the dragging motion as Thunderpaw hurried to AshClan’s oven.

“Why is Stormpaw learning Clan-sign?” Estherfern asked her mediator companions.

“Because Thunderpaw’s teaching her,” Sandpaw chirped. “Whenever Thunderpaw gets back from her sign lessons with Mummichogleap, she practices with us apprentices. Most of us are learning a few words so Thunderpaw isn’t left out.”

“And you want to learn?” 

“Thunderpaw makes it fun!”

“You can’t expect the whole Clan to learn this second language.”

“No one does.” Spikecrash touched her tail to Estherfern’s shoulder.. “But there are cats who want to make the effort. They can translate for those who don’t know. It puts pressure off Thunderpaw. She can miss what someone said, but she’ll have friends and family who can let her know.” Thunderpaw trotted back to the oven with a few long strips of seaweed. Clammask tore the seaweed into stew-sized chunks, showing the apprentices how to curl their paws just right. Thunderpaw seemed… happy.

“Now if you’ll follow us over here…” Sandpaw purred, strolling around the Leader’s Stone. Estherfern followed, tail a bit higher than before.

Brightpaw, Ravenpaw, and Vervainpaw sat with a gaggle of apprentices from the other Clans. They lounged about, chatting and laughing. Brightpaw nodded along to an apprentice’s story, his flank stretched out like frog legs. Ravenpaw relaxed on top of him, oohing and awing over the tale.

“I don’t know what your birth place thought of disorders of the mind,” Spikecrash whispered, brushing against Estherfern once more, “but like most disabilities, you can learn to live with them. There was a great gathering of warriors and codekeepers here at the new moon, do you remember? Brightpaw managed to befriend these apprentices during the visit. They invited their friends and littermates to chat today, and Brightpaw is happy to spend time with them. His mind is likely lying to him right now, but he knows ways to manage that. He could overcome his anxiety naturally some day, but that’s a minor part of who he is.”

“I know that,” Estherfern huffed. “He loves to play with Rabbitjoy’s paint supplies. He’s sensitive, and loves his sisters with all his heart. I’ve only ever wanted to help those traits shine.”

“That’s not how Brightpaw sees it,” Sandpaw scoffed under his breath. The comment hollowed out Estherfern’s chest. Before she could respond, two brown blurs shot past the Leader’s Stone with a horde of apprentices and young warriors at their tails. Wolverinepaw and Yarrowpaw led the crowd to an open spot within the festivities. They studied their followers like leader and deputy, the sunrise framing their profiles.

“We’ve got until after sunhigh to prepare!” Wolverinepaw cheered. 

“Are we going to let some dusty old bones beat us?” Yarrowpaw cried.

“No!” the young crowd yowled joyfully, already shoving and jumping over each other.

“Let’s show them what the new generation can do!” Wolverinepaw called. Her followers cheered, yowling to the high branches. They scattered throughout the clearing and split into sparring groups. They steadied their stances and wiggled their flanks. With sheathed paws, the youth of the Clans launched into training, trading blows and careful bites. Slushpaw lingered near the edge of the training grounds, cheering the others on.

“Slushpaw!” Sandpaw yowled to the older mediator apprentice. “What are they doing?”

“Well,” Slushpaw laughed, trotting up to Sandpaw, Spikecrash, and Estherfern, “Yarrowpaw and Wolverinepaw were arguing with Darkkick and another old warrior about what was a better trait in a fight; youth or experience. Suddenly all these other cats started joining in, and now the senior warriors are going to have a big mock-battle with the apprentices, plus some warriors who haven’t attended a Harvest Moon before.”

“And Wolverinepaw’s participating in this?” Estherfern huffed. She searched for her daughter in the crowd. She found Wolverinepaw rolling about with Yarrowpaw in the middle of the mess. Yarrowpaw shoved Wolverinepaw’s head into the dirt. Wolverinepaw snapped her jaw around Yarrowpaw’s leg and pulled her onto her shoulder. Yarrowpaw laughed as Wolverinepaw took her place on top of the older apprentice.

"She's as capable as any apprentice her age," Spikecrash assured Estherfern.

"She seemed so insecure during her ceremony…" Estherfern muttered.

"Wolverinepaw?" Spikecrash chuckled. "I don't think so. From what I've heard, she thinks she's strong enough to take on an actual wolverine."

"She didn't choose a role in time, though," Estherfern pointed out.

"Because she wanted to do everything!" Slushpaw laughed. "I talked with her right up to her ceremony. She had a new role in mind every day!" Oh. Had Wolverinepaw's sight not come up at all? Surely her decaying vision would make it hard for her to fight. Yet she kept up with Yarrowpaw, tumbling across the clearing with abandon. Had Estherfern's kits always been so sure of themselves? Surely they wanted cures. How else could they survive in a world that showed no mercy to the weak? In the cat-minded human's den, if you couldn't match up to the others, you wouldn't eat. Three of Estherfern's brilliant kits would have died in that awful place. Except…they weren't there anymore, were they?

"Can I guess what's been going on?" Spikecrash asked. "You've been so focused on a cure in their future, you've ignored how they are in the present. When's the last time you talked to them about something, anything but their health? Have you talked to Foampaw or Boughpaw at all?" Estherfern glanced from one kit to another. Their faces glowed with holiday glee. Did they ever glow around Estherfern anymore? When was the last time she shared a meal with them?

"Spikecrash," Estherfern muttered, her pride burning her words, "I need you to teach me something."

A short time later, Estherfern approached Thunderpaw and the RippleClan stew. The bounties of the ocean danced in the broth, specially prepared for that oh so exciting celebration. Thunderpaw stared eagerly into the stew while Stormpaw and their mentors talked with other caretakers. She spotted her mother and her eyes grew big and calm, mimicking Estherfern's eternally serene expression. Estherfern's heart did not carry that serenity as she approached her bold daughter.

"Do you need…" Estherfern said hesitantly. She awkwardly sat on her hind legs. She held out one paw, pads down, and angled the other on top of it, claws out. Thunderpaw's eyes sparkled at the sign.

"Help," she whispered as Estherfern quickly returned to a natural position. Thunderpaw made the sign with ease, quickly hopping from her hind legs and back. She ogled Estherfern, her thoughts not caught up to reality.

"I want to spend time with you," Estherfern explained. It felt like someone carved her pelt off, leaving her exposed. "I want to share your stew with you and your littermates." Thunderpaw blinked slowly. It took her so long to reply, Estherfern was about to repeat herself, just in case her pounding heart muffled her words.

"Do you want to learn the sign for littermates while the stew finishes cooking?" Thunderpaw gulped. The tip of her tail twitched wildly as her earlier joy bloomed across her face once more.

"If it means time with you," Estherfern sighed.

(Estherfern: 109, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Troutpool: 36, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Weevilpaw: 10, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)

(Honeybuzz: 23, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Spikecrash: 50, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Sandpaw: 6, male, mediator apprentice, loyal, interested in Clan history)

(Drumtooth: 23, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Thunderpaw: 7, female, caretaker apprentice,

(Stormpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, charismatic, loves to eat)

(Clammask: 69, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Brightpaw: 7, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, lover of art)

(Wolverinepaw: 7, female, warrior apprentice, compassionate, always asking questions)

(Yarrowpaw: 10, female, warrior apprentice, thoughtful, stares at fire)

Tallowheart and Slushtrail earn their names.

[Image ID: Tallowheart and Slushtrail are adults! Under Tallowheart, it says LEVEL UP! TALLOWPAW → TALLOWHEART, SPLASHES IN PUDDLES → GOOD SWIMMER. Under Slushtrail, it says LEVEL UP! SLUSHPAW → SLUSHTRAIL, QUICK WITTED → CLEVER, BATS AT STRING → TALENTED WEAVER.]

(Tallowheart: 12, male, historian, nervous, good swimmer)

(Slushtrail: 12, female, mediator, wise, talented weaver, clever)

Lightningpaw feels Weedfoot beside her as she and Cobaltpaw are apprenticed to Tallowheart and Lemmy. Lemmy agrees to train two apprentices since there are no more codekeepers for Cobaltpaw. Vervainpaw is left unhappy with sharing a mentor.

[Image ID: Vervainpaw watches Lightningpaw and Cobaltpaw become apprentices. Under Lightningpaw, it says LEVEL UP! LIGHTNINGKIT → LIGHTNINGPAW, SELF-CONSCIOUS → INSECURE. Under Cobaltpaw, it says LEVEL UP! COBALTKIT → COBALTPAW, QUIET → LOYAL. Under Vervainpaw, it says LEVEL UP! AMBITIOUS → BLOODTHIRSTY.]

(Lightningpaw: 6, female, historian apprentice, insecure, always wandering)

(Cobaltpaw: 6, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, loves to eat)

(Vervainpaw: 11, female, codekeeper apprentice, bloodthirsty, loves nature, quick to make peace)

Having snuck away from Puddlewhisper, Silverpaw finds an abandoned human den she didn’t remember seeing before. It takes her too long to figure out the den is secretly a honeybite’s mouth. The Clan never finds her body.

[Image ID: Silverpaw approaches a red bush with white eyes inside.]

Tallowpaw and Slushpaw are apprenticed to Lavendertwist and Paleseed. Mitespark earns her name.

[Image ID: Tallowpaw and Slushpaw have their apprentice sprites, while Mitespark has her adult sprite in the middle. Under Tallowpaw, it says LEVEL UP! TALLOWKIT -> TALLOWPAW, SKITTISH -> NERVOUS. Under Mitespark, it says LEVEL UP! MITEPAW -> MITESPARK, INSECURE -> CHARISMATIC, QUICK TO MAKE PEACE -> GOOD MEDIATOR. Under Slushpaw, it says LEVEL UP! SLUSHKIT -> SLUSHPAW, POLITE -> WISE, + NEW SKILL: BATS AT STRING.]

(Tallowpaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, nervous, splashes in puddles)

(Mitespark: 12, female, artisan, charismatic, good mediator)

(Slushpaw: 6, female, mediator apprentice, wise, quick witted, bats at string)

Rattlepelt glares at Littlekit and his littermates from across camp.

[Image ID: Rattlepelt stares at Stormkit, Sandkit, Littlekit, and Yellowkit. Under Stormkit, it says + NEW SKILL: LOVES TO EAT. Under Sandkit, it says + NEW SKILL: INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY. Under Littlekit, it says + NEW SKILL: SPLASHES IN PUDDLES. Under Yellowkit, it says + NEW SKILL: QUICK TO MAKE PEACE.]

---

Were Weevilkit and her sisters as cute as Waspdawn’s sons and daughters when they were that little? Sure, Weevilkit was still technically a kit, but she was practically an apprentice in her eyes, and Waspdawn’s litter was so… little! 

Weevilkit, Wolfkit, and Anchovykit watched as Stormkit, Sandkit, Littlekit, and Yellowkit made piles of sand. Stormkit’s fur had darkened exceptionally fast in the last moon, leaving her a dark ginger molly standing out against her white and golden littermates. She sniffed and batted at her sand pile while Sandkit buried his face as deep as he could. Weevilkit couldn’t tell if Sandkit was white or an impossibly pale cream tom, but he did, in fact, look like the sand around him. Littlekit and Yellowkit worked together to build as big a sand pile as they could manage. It was about their height, but whenever Littlekit tried to put more sand on, the pile crumbled. Weevilkit couldn’t help laughing when they squealed in dismay.

The older kits were in charge of watching Waspdawn and Estherfern’s litters run around camp while the caretakers expanded the apprentice’s den, arguing about how to best move the large boulder that made the back wall. There was no chance of keeping Estherfern’s kits in once place; they were scattered around camp, investigating as much as they could. Thunderkit and Foamkit demanded to help the caretakers, much to Mosspounce’s woe. Brightkit and Wolverinekit sniffed around the warrior’s den, daring the other to enter. Weevilkit had no idea where Boughkit had run off to, but since no one was panicking, she didn’t worry.

Weevilkit, Wolfkit, and Anchovykit were the only kits taking their kitsitting duties seriously. Potterykit, Moonkit, and Vervainkit were talking with Tallowpaw and Slushpaw about what it was like to be apprentices. The other six kits were either denying the morning’s arrival or basking in the newfound spring warmth. Weevilkit and her friends knew better, though. The kits needed protection only they could provide. They stood watch a short ways from Waspdawn’s litter, sitting like little warriors at vigil.

“There she is,” Wolfkit whispered, nodding to the artisan’s storage den. Rattlepelt emerged from the darkness, the snout of her fox pelt the first thing to see the light. Weevilkit’s stomach flipped. Did no one else see the hate in Rattlepelt’s eyes? How had she not seen it before Anchovykit told her what he saw? How could she be the daughter of two of the Clan’s most beloved mollies?

“She’s just as creepy as usual,” Anchovykit muttered, sneering.

“What do you think she’s doing?” Weevilkit wondered.

“You’re the one who has premonitions,” Anchovykit huffed.

“I think she was testing some of the old baskets,” Wolfkit explained. “You have to take apart any that have faded too much.”

“She probably loved destroying something,” Weevilkit growled softly.

“Remember Tempestshade, though?” Anchovykit sighed. “They didn’t like being cursed either. Maybe Rattlepelt’s the same.”

“I don’t trust her,” Weevilkit huffed.

She was right not to. As Rattlepelt stood outside the storage den, her eyes settled on Littlekit, who tried balancing on his back paws. Stormkit jumped onto her little sand pile and howled like a wolf. Sandkit copied her, howling along.

“Wolves outside camp!” Littlekit yowled. “Help me, deputy!”

“Yes, Littlestar!” Yellowkit cheered. Littlekit and Yellowkit charged at their brother and sister. They tackled the pair off their perches with dramatic battle cries. 

All the while, Rattlepelt’s glare hardened. Her breath grew heavy. Her eyes were huge, unblinking, dilated so wide they seemed black rather than copper. Her snake-like tail curled behind her, wound tight and shaking.

The premonition began. A sparkling, transparent Rattlepelt launched out from where the real Rattlepelt stood. Her fox pelt tumbled to the sand. Rattlepelt’s sleek form charged into Stormkit, the red kitten’s future tumbling out of her real body. The ghostly Rattlepelt’s sharp fangs dug into Stormkit’s scruff. She lifted the kit, barely a moon old, high. She shook her head violently, like one might shake a rat to death. Future figures of the other three kits screamed in silence as Rattlepelt let go of Stormkit. Stormkit’s limp body flew into the stones and brambles that formed the camp wall. The premonitions had no voice, but Weevilkit could feel her denmate’s bones shatter at the impact. Her chunky body laid limp against the rocks.

Rattlepelt’s foggy form set against the other three kits as the adults, finally aware of the bloodshed, ran to the litter’s defense. A powerful blow there, a strong bite to the skull there, the kits were too small, too scared, they couldn’t get away, their ghostly blood splattered against the sand as all of RippleClan fought to pull Rattlepelt back, unheard caterwauls of bloodthirsty glee reverberating from her—

“No!” Weevilkit screeched before the premonition could end. She ran at Rattlepelt as fast as her untrained paws could carry her. Wolfkit and Anchovykit scrambled to catch up, the imprisoned energy of an entire moon of careful watch released. Rattlepelt took a step forward, claws out. Before the awful vision could unfold any further, Weevilkit launched into Rattlepelt and dug her teeth into the artisan’s bony shoulder.

Rattlepelt yowled as Anchovykit head-butted her side, making her stumble into Wolfkit. Wolfkit flung her paws wildly, reckless claws trying to cling to thin skin. Weevilkit dug deeper and deeper into Rattlepelt’s shoulder until she tasted blood. The sharp, salty taste suddenly reminded her of Rattlepelt and Carnationspeckle, showing Weevilkit and her sisters a pot of hard-to-produce salt, allowing them each a taste. Where did that Rattlepelt go? What sort of curse could bury her passion and fire under so much anger?

“You mangy, flea-bitten piles of bear-shit!” Rattlepelt screeched. She flailed wildly under the three young bodies. Her fox pelt fell over Wolfkit. Weevilkit slid off Rattlepelt’s sleek shoulder, but latched back onto her front paw, preventing her from swiping at Wolfkit. Anchovykit grabbed her other front leg. Something black pooled under his fangs.

Panicked and outraged yowls filled the camp as the adults finally realized their furless artisan friend was under attack. Downstar appeared from the nursery, where she had been meeting with Weedfoot as she rested from kitting. Downstar grabbed Anchovykit and pulled him off Rattlepelt. The black substance vanished as soon as Anchovykit’s jaws unclenched, leaving another bite-wound. Mosspounce dragged Wolfkit away, trapping her in the fox pelt. Someone grabbed Weevilkit by the scruff.

“No!” she cried as the figure wrenched her off Rattlepelt. “I won’t let you hurt them! They’re so small! Why would you do that? You’re a monster! You’re a monster! You can’t hurt them!” Weevilkit’s captor, Waspdawn, dropped her in the sand beside Anchovykit and Wolfkit. Half the Clan gathered around them, yowling and gasping at the blood on Rattlepelt’s gray skin. Waspdawn hissed at her like an enemy warrior. Weevilkit gagged at the blood in her mouth.

“Who attacked who?” Rattlepelt spat as Wildclaw shoved through the crowd. She sniffed her mate’s wounds.

“What were you thinking?” she growled, lips curled, glaring at the three kits. Wildclaw licked the deep bite on Rattlepelt’s shoulder.

“Just take me to Troutpool,” Rattlepelt snapped, pulling her shoulder away. She marched toward the medicine den, fox pelt abandoned. No one dared stand in her way. Wildclaw ran after her, shooting claws from her eyes toward Anchovykit, Weevilkit, and Wolfkit.

“You three,” Waspdawn hissed, short tail thrashing. “Walk. That way. Now.” He shoved Anchovykit toward the dirt-place path. Weevilkit and Wolfkit hurried alongside their friend, braving the shocked stares of the Clan as Waspdawn escorted them to their doom.

“I’m not doubting you acted for a good reason,” Wolfkit whispered, voice shaky, “but what did you see?” There were no words in Weevilkit’s mouth; only blood and the memory of cat flesh.

Waspdawn herded the three kits around the shipwreck and into the quarantine den. Anchovykit puffed himself up under Waspdawn’s furious gray glare, matching the codekeeper’s expression. Weevilkit could still hear the Clan yowling and debating what had unfolded, yet lacking answers. Downstar herself appeared around the corner, emotions hidden under a sharp and studious gaze.

“Explain yourselves, right now,” Waspdawn growled, unafraid to show his claws. The kits said nothing. Anchovykit and Wolfkit glanced at Weevilkit. “This isn’t a game! You just attacked a Clanmate, and I want to know why!”

Why? Why? What could Weevilkit say? Had she not acted, Waspdawn would be mourning at least one of his cute little kittens. He should be thanking Weevilkit for saving their lives! 

“Weevilkit, what were you yowling about?” Downstar asked, her voice far more controlled than the golden codekeeper’s. 

Flesh. Cat flesh, bleeding into her mouth. It was so wrong. Not in a supernatural sense, but… was that what warriors did? Bite into the flesh of other cats as easily as they would prey? Would Weevilkit have to do that again if she hoped to protect her friends, her family?

“Weevilkit, say something,” Wolfkit begged.

“Wait a moment!” Honeybuzz hurried into the den with something long dangling on his back. Weevilkit broke out of her stupor when she realized Honeybuzz was carrying a dead snake.

“Honeybuzz, shouldn’t you be helping Rattlepelt?” Downstar asked as Honeybuzz set down the snake. 

“And what is that?” Waspdawn huffed. He nudged the snake.

“Carnationspeckle caught this rattlesnake before it could bite a member of her patrol yesterday,” Honeybuzz explained. “It’s the only venomous snake that lives near the Clans.” Weevilkit peered at the dead beast. Its gray scales were so much like Rattlepelt’s skin…. “I’ve been wondering if it was an omen related to Rattlepelt. I was going to speak to her this morning, but you three needed to see her more, it seems.” 

“Weevilkit had a good reason!” Anchovykit yowled, standing in front of his friends.

“Then why won’t she tell us?” Waspdawn hissed. “And why did you two join her?” Wolfkit stared at her paws. Honeybuzz gently nudged Anchovykit aside. With Weevilkit being small for her age, and Honeybuzz being one of the lankiest cats she knew, the cleric loomed over her like a giant pine. Yet he crouched, lowering himself to Weevilkit’s level.

“Weevilkit,” Honeybuzz said softly, “you can tell me why you attacked Rattlepelt. Whatever the reason was, I’ll listen. I know you. You’re cocky, but not vicious. Anchovykit and Wolfkit listened to you for a reason. What was it?”

“She…” Weevilkit gulped. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth, bleeding and smooth like Rattlepelt’s flesh. She couldn’t stop tasting blood. “Rattlepelt’s cursed. She was going to hurt them. They’re so little, Honeybuzz! What have they done to hurt her? They’re innocent!” StarClan, Weevilkit’s voice couldn’t break now! She was the leader of this strange trio, she had to be strong! She couldn’t cry in front of Honeybuzz, in front of Downstar! “She was so cruel. I couldn’t let her kill them.” Honeybuzz nodded along while Waspdawn’s tail thrashed derisively. 

“Who do you think she was going to hurt?” Waspdawn huffed.

“Your kits!” Weevilkit cried, gagging on her tongue. “She was going to kill Stormkit. It was awful, Honeybuzz! It was awful!” She couldn’t stop shaking, no matter how much she wanted to. Anchovykit growled, his warrior’s courage burning brighter at the reason for his first battle. Wolfkit stared at Weevilkit and Waspdawn, horrified. Waspdawn curled his puffed-up tail close to himself, holding tight to his confidence posturing, even as it cracked.

“How can you know that?” Downstar asked, creeping closer.

“Because she sees the future!” Anchovykit snapped, his whole body turning into one giant puffball, standing strong under the hard looks of the adults. “She saw it happen, and she stopped it! And she’s right! Rattlepelt is cursed! There’s ichor all over her and only I can see it! I swear it’s real! And Wolfkit, she’s special too! Show them, Wolfkit!” Wolfkit flinched at her name.

“I don’t want to get in more trouble,” she gulped.

“Wolfkit,” Downstar huffed, the caution in her tone vanishing. “Show us.”

“Like we practiced, Wolfie,” Weevilkit managed to say, swallowing hard through her fear. Wolfkit nodded, head barely moving. She stared at Waspdawn with as confident a stare as the scared fuzzy molly could muster. Waspdawn’s tense shoulders froze. He paused mid-breath. The sudden absence of his heavy breathing shocked everyone in the den. Downstar and Honeybuzz gawked at Waspdawn. Downstar waved her tail in front of Waspdawn’s face, but he did not react. Honeybuzz put his paw on Waspdawn’s side, and still he did not move.

“Wolfkit can freeze you in place!” Anchovykit explained. Wolfkit blinked hard. Waspdawn snapped back to life, jumping at Honeybuzz’s sudden touch. “We’re all special, and we’ve been making sure Rattlepelt’s curse doesn’t hurt anyone!”

“This sounds like something from an ancient story,” Downstar muttered as Waspdawn fought to collect himself.

“I believe you,” Honeybuzz said.

“What?” Weevilkit gasped. The horror gripping her throat slipped away. Her heart still burned, but she could breath.

“I believe you three,” Honeybuzz said, nodding and turning to Downstar. “Downstar, do you remember the prophecy I received a few moons ago, the one I brought up to Estherfern after her arrival? It was about blessings and curses. Estherfern theorized it was about StarClan and the Dark Forest, and I think she’s partially right. I think these kits are the blessings from that prophecy.”

“That can’t be true,” Waspdawn muttered, but he no longer sounded confident in himself.

“We have stories of strange abilities in our history,” Honeybuzz pointed out. “If the historians tell those tales, they have to have happened. The other clerics might know more about it, but I believe StarClan wanted to make sure I help these kits.” He believed them. He believed them!

“Say this is true,” Downstar huffed, closing her eyes and collecting herself. “We’ve been ignoring something else the kits have been saying. Anchovykit, how do you know Rattlepelt is cursed?”

“I see curses,” Anchovykit explained. “Well, I think. I also see blessings too, maybe. Oilstripe’s eyes glow, and Weevilkit and Wolfkit, there’s this little shine to their pelts. Other things glow too, like the medicine den and the clerics, but not always. I think it’s when you’re doing rituals or something.” Weevilkit didn’t know she glowed! The world must look so pretty from Anchovykit’s eyes. “Rattlepelt is different. She has this black mud all over her legs, and it never stops flowing! Her eyes look weird to me too. I know they’re supposed to be copper, but to me, they look bright yellow.” Downstar froze, but not because of Wolfkit’s gaze.

“Yellow eyes?” Downstar gulped.

“It was different from when I saw Tempestshade in my dream,” Anchovykit said. “Oh, uh, I saw them too. It’s how I learned what it is I see!”

“Honeybuzz,” Downstar gulped, ears and whiskers flattening. “The Shardling.” Honeybuzz cocked his head for a moment, confused. Then his expression mirrored Downstar’s, tail tucked and back arched. Waspdawn backed out of the den.

“What’s a Shardling?” Wolfkit hesitantly asked. Downstar took a shaky breath.

“Has anyone told you three about the Rippling Ashes?” she asked. “It happened shortly before you were born. Weedfoot, Darkkick, and Paleseed entered the Dark Forest to fight Autumnstar, who had cursed all of AshClan. Weedfoot destroyed his spirit in the battle. When a Dark Forest spirit dies, they break apart into monsters called Shardlings. They house small elements of emotion and memory leftover from the former spirit. One of Autumnstar’s Shardlings attacked Weedfoot and gave her that scar on her leg.”

“Rattlepelt was right next to her when that happened,” Waspdawn gulped, claws digging into the sand outside. “She was wrapping her wounds.”

“So the Shardling cursed her?” Weevilkit guessed.

“We don’t think Rattlepelt is cursed, Weevilkit,” Honeybuzz said, fighting his own fear to speak. “We think she’s possessed.”

“Like a ghost?” Wolfkit yelped, sticking close to Weevilkit.

“That’s why her mood has changed so much,” Downstar gasped, shaking her head. “StarClan, I… I would never have known. Autumnstar had yellow eyes. Anchovykit, you’re seeing the Shardling’s eyes when you look at Rattlepelt.”

“Cursed, possessed, I want to stop it,” Anchovykit snapped. “If you believe us, can you help us hold her down?”

“What would that do?” Waspdawn asked.

“I thought I said it already,” Anchovykit said, lifting his chin high. “I don’t just see curses. I can remove them, too.”

(Weevilkit: 5, female, kit, bullying, curious about StarClan)

(Wolfkit: 5, female, kit, polite, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

(Anchovykit: 5, male, kit, charming, curious about StarClan)

(Stormkit: 1, female, kit, noisy, loves to eat)

(Sandkit: 1, male, kit, self-conscious, interested in Clan history)

(Littlekit: 1, male, kit, skittish, splashes in puddles)

(Yellowkit: 1, female, kit, noisy, quick to make peace)

(Rattlepelt: 53, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

(Wildclaw: 62, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Waspdawn: 36, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Downstar: 129, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)