#tempestshade

Somehow, giving birth to three kits was more exhausting than five. Perhaps it was all the stress of recent moons; Scrubmask’s death, three of Clammask’s four kits coming down with food poisoning, casually seeing Halibutdusk only to become pregnant… that was a lot for one molly to handle! Add in the fact that the moon did not shine over the Clans on the first day of autumn’s third moon when Clammask felt a familiar pain in her gut, and Halibutdusk was stuck in the quarantine den with a loud case of greencough, how could she not be stressed?

This kitting was shorter, thank StarClan. It was still nightfall when Clammask cleaned off her last little kit and helped her snuggle up to her belly. Oilstripe, Tallowkit, and Slushkit had vacated the nursery for a while to give Clammask room to kit, but Lemmy, her belly fat against her thin frame, still slept inside, dreams undisturbed by the new life born to the Clan. The only other cat in the nursery was Troutpool (Clammask simply couldn’t ask her own son to help deliver her kits, it felt so strange!). 

The head cleric carefully examined the three mollies at Clammask’s side while the golden molly caught her breath. The first was red with markings that reminded Clammask of her father. The second-born kit was white, with pale gray rosettes along her back. Although she was still slick from birth, Clammask could tell she would be long-furred in the future. The youngest looked so much like Drumtooth that Clammask was taken aback for a moment.

“They all look very healthy,” Troutpool said, stepping back. She placed her dirty bowl (once full of strengthening medicine for the kitting) and the broken stick Clammask bit into a basket at the den’s edge. “I don’t notice any deformed limbs or other issues. I… I won’t try to predict their future this time.” Clammask licked each kit’s head. None of them looked like her lost golden daughter. Perhaps that was for the best. “Do you still want me to perform that ceremony we discussed?”

“It would make me feel better,” Clammask sighed. Troutpool nodded and stuck her face into her basket. She took out a tiny jar; the gouges carved in for teeth holds left little room on the inside. She peeled off the thin leather lid trapping the contents. The jar was full of dirt. Troutpool sprinkled a bit of dirt over each kitten’s back. Each was too caught up in the shock of being alive, mewing and nursing, to really care.

“Dustfur, Celestial of the Newborn,” Troutpool prayed, setting the jar at Clammask’s head, “you taught the Clans not to mourn the stillborn and those taken before they even got a chance to see the faces of their kin. You were the one who revealed to us how StarClan accompanies litters on their way to the Clans and return to Silverpelt when their time is done. One of Clammask’s kits was one of these StarClan guardians. We do not know what awaits these kits in the coming quarter moon, but we ask you, give them souls of their own. Allow them to grow into strong and proud individuals who will make RippleClan proud. Do not taunt Clammask once more by taking a kit away. Allow them all to live, Dustfur. Give us your celestial blessing.” The ritual done, Troutpool licked the dirt off the kittens, sneering at the taste. 

“If one of your daughters is a StarClan warrior,” Troutpool explained, “performing this ritual so soon after their birth may allow them to become cats of their own, rather than a protector for the others.” Clammask nudged her little mollies back to her belly, purring as they cried outrage at yet another grooming. “When you feel strong enough, we can move you to a fresh nest and get rid of all this dirty moss. Do you need anything else?”

“Maybe a leather pelt over my back?” Clammask asked. “It’s a cold night.”

“I’ll also have Mosspounce build a fire outside the den when he wakes up,” Troutpool promised with a nod. She touched noses with Clammask and trotted off. 

With a few moments alone in the nursery, Clammask stared at her daughters. Halibutdusk’s daughters too. Scrubmask wasn’t one to hold grudges, Clammask doubted she would be mad at her for finding another mate. But was she right for Halibutdusk? Her feelings for them were not a perfect match to her relationship with Scrubmask. Perhaps it was because she grew up alongside Halibutdusk, shared every heartbreak and celebration alongside them. Scrubmask was a whirlwind that pulled Clammask into a new life, a new family. Halibutdusk had just… always been there. They were the ocean, forever licking the shore, something whose absence Clammask could not imagine.

She prayed she would not have to live in that absence soon.

“I’ll warn you now,” Troutpool said, entering the den with a stitched-up pelt thrown across her back, “your sons are chomping at my tail to see you.” Troutpool threw the pelt over Clammask’s haunches.

“Send them in,” Clammask purred.

“We can come in? Finally!” Honeybuzz and Splashtuft shoved their way into the nursery, bumping shoulders to get a better look at their new siblings. Leathermask and Drumtooth lingered behind them, trying to catch a glimpse from the side. Honeybuzz and Splashtuft almost knocked Troutpool over.

“Is that all of them?” Leathermask gasped, squirming between his two boisterous brothers.

“They’re all mollies,” Clammask purred. “How funny is that?”

“Big brothers for little sisters,” Drumtooth hummed, finally managing to get into the den by shoving Splashtuft’s big flank to the side.

“I don’t suppose you can let me out?” Troutpool chuckled, slipping her basket around her neck.

“Sorry, Troutpool,” Splashtuft chirped. He moved to the side and knocked Drumtooth against the den wall. Troutpool left before she became the next victim of the litter’s excitement.

“How do you feel, Mom?” Honeybuzz asked. His clerical eye studied Clammask’s messy nest and the newborn shine on his sisters’ pelts.

“Very tired,” Clammask admitted, “but very happy. And I'm a little nervous if I’m honest.” Clammask nuzzled her daughters once more. “I want to do something, but I’m afraid you may judge me a little, Honeybuzz. I know I should wait to name them, like Scrubmask and I waited to name you four, but I don’t want to do that this time around. I want them to have names now.” Clammask was right; the enthusiasm in Honeybuzz’s face froze as he tried not to let it drop.

“Don’t do that,” Drumtooth huffed, appearing on the other side of the pack and shoving Honeybuzz’s shoulder.

“If you want,” Clammask sighed, “you can help name your sisters. We can keep it between the five of us for now.” 

“Really?” Leathermask gasped softly. “Honeybuzz, let’s name the red kit first!” Honeybuzz squirmed a bit, but joined his brown-furred brother in study of their red-colored sister.

“Could we call her Redkit?” Honeybuzz suggested.

“That’s such a boring name,” Splashtuft scoffed. Clammask couldn’t help but laugh at that. He looked so much like Scrubmask in that moment.

“Troutpool left something behind,” Leathermask pointed out. The small jar with the ritual dust still sat at Clammask’s head. “Huh. The jar is the same color as the red kit’s fur. What if we called her Potterykit?”

“I approve,” Clammask purred. “Let your other brothers name the white molly.” Drumtooth squirmed closer to Splashtuft and they turned their gaze to the long-furred kitten.

“I want to name her Moonkit,” Drumtooth said.

“But our Clan’s guide is called Moonpaw,” Honeybuzz reminded him. “That feels… wrong, in a way.”

“StarClan isn’t going to ban the use of a prefix for the rest of history just because of one cat,” Splashtuft scoffed. “I like it, Drumtooth. Potterykit and Moonkit.”

“But what in the world do we call the last kitten?” Leathermask sighed. All four brothers leaned so close to the black molly, they were practically touching Clammask’s belly.

“I can’t think of a single good name for her,” Splashtuft muttered.

“Nightkit?” Leathermask suggested.

“How many black cats in history have been named Nightkit?” Drumtooth said. “Don’t we want our sister to stand out?”

“Stormkit, Butterflykit, Oysterkit…” Honeybuzz muttered. “Hootkit?”

“Hootkit?” Splashtuft laughed. “Do you want apprentices to make fun of her at Gatherings?”

“Hear me out, hear me out,” Drumtooth said, his soft voice catching his brothers’ attention. “Vervainkit.”

“But vervain is purple,” Splashtuft said.

“And drums are brown,” Drumtooth pointed out. “Vervains are pretty flowers. Something about their color reminds me of her.”

“Potterykit, Moonkit, and Vervainkit,” Clammask declared. She leaned over and nuzzled all of her kits, toms and mollies, newborn and adult. “Welcome to the family.” All four toms purred deeply.

“Do you think Halibutdusk will be upset that we named the kits without them?” Drumtooth wondered. 

“To be fair,” Splashtuft chuckled, pulling back, “we don’t have to tell them.”

“I know you all said you were happy for me,” Clammask said, shuffling tighter around the newborns, “but I want to be sure here. They aren’t a replacement for Scrubmask. I wasn’t trying to do that.”

“We know, Mom,” Honeybuzz promised. “We’ll still love the kits. We’re happy to have little sisters to care for.” Clammask’s purrs took over her entire body. Her sons gathered around her and groomed her tired pelt as she soaked in the joy.

(Clammask: 59, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Halibutdusk: 57, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Splashtuft: 13, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Leathermask: 13, male, warrior, nervous, great speaker, good fighter)

(Drumtooth: 13, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Potterykit: 0, female, kit, self-conscious)

(Moonkit: 0, female, kit, quiet)

(Vervainkit: 0, female, kit, fearless)

Lavendertwist works with the AshClan historians to make a proper record of the Rippling Ashes (Darkkick, Weedfoot, and Paleseed) and their exploits in the Dark Forest.

[Image ID: Lavendertwist and Splashtuft face a black rosette apprentice. Under her, it says NEW PLAYER: MITEPAW, 7, FEMALE, INSECURE, QUICK TO MAKE PEACE.]

---

“It’s hard to believe our former leader would grow to hate us so much…” sighed Minkshine, an AshClan historian. She and two other historians, Blackmist and Comfreytoe, sat along the AshClan border while Lavendertwist and Splashtuft lounged on their side, sharing tongues with their forest counterparts. It was sunhigh, after all, and if the group was going to spend most of the day describing the official story of the Rippling Ashes, Lavendertwist and Splashtuft were going to relax.

“When you’re stuck in your ways like he was,” Lavendertwist sighed, “friends can quickly become enemies.”

“So Autumnstar used his Dark Forest powers to curse AshClan…” Blackmist muttered, grooming Splashtuft’s long fur as he spoke. “So many of our friends and family died because of him… their names have to be recorded in the story. All of them.”

“Ah, name memorization,” Lavendertwist chuckled, squirming. “My old nemesis.”

“I can handle that,” Splashtuft chirped. “Start listing out names, Blackmist.”

“Actually,” Comfreytoe groaned, glancing back into the trees of AshClan, “we’re still waiting on someone. She should be here before we continue.”

“Who’s our special guest?” Lavendertwist asked, leaves crunching underneath him as he rolled onto his back. 

“Someone who needs a fresh start,” Comfreytoe sighed.

“It’s still hard to believe Eelstar and Barkfur agreed to this,” Blackmist muttered, letting Splashtuft take a turn grooming him, “but if Mitepaw can find some peace from it, so be it.”

“Mitepaw?” Lavendertwist hummed.

“I’m here!” a young voice gulped. While Lavendertwist heard the cat crunching leaves under her paws and panting, he only saw her once she stood in front of a pale bush. She was one of the blackest cats Lavendertwist had ever seen, with even blacket rosette markings. Pale yellow eyes bounced between Lavendertwist and Splashtuft. Bouldersong, one of AshClan’s caretakers, joined the small apprentice.

“RippleClan,” Bouldersong purred, placing his tail on the apprentice’s back, “I would like you to meet Mitepaw. She would like to join your Clan.”

“What?” Splashtuft gasped, sitting up so quickly that his head smacked Blackmist’s jaw. 

“Both of her parents died as a result of the chronic frostbite that kept infecting our older Clanmates,” Minkshine explained as Mitepaw rubbed a paw deep into the leaf litter. “She’s struggled in our Clan ever since. We believe that in order to give her a fresh start, she needs to leave our home for another. Since RippleClan’s developed a reputation for accepting wayward apprentices, we thought she would fit in well with you.”

“Eelstar is letting one of his apprentices join RippleClan?” Lavendertwist scoffed. “I thought he hated us.”

“His opinions are more nuanced than you’d think,” Comfreytoe insisted. “Mitepaw is an artisan apprentice. She has a knack for woodwork and should take to your Clan’s crafts well.”

“You really want to join us, Mitepaw?” Splashtuft asked. He risked crossing the border to approach the small apprentice. Since no one clawed his ears off, he kept going. “This isn’t a decision you can take back.” Mitepaw hesitated, words getting caught in her mouth. She looked at her Clanmates, as though waiting for someone to snap at her. She swallowed hard.

“I don’t like AshClan,” Mitepaw said. “Everyone is grieving. It makes it hard to breathe. I don’t want to grow up in a Clan that’s carrying such hurt with them.” The AshClan historians grew lost as Mitepaw explained herself. No one countered her claim.

“I’m sure Downstar will welcome you, then,” Splashtuft purred, touching noses with Mitepaw.

“You can always talk to your old Clanmates at Gatherings, Mitepaw,” Bouldersong sighed. “I hope RippleClan will be better for you than we have been.” Bouldersong licked Mitepaw’s ear. The young apprentice purred softly. She left Bouldersong’s side and joined Splashtuft.

“So you’ll take her to your camp when we’re finished here?” Minkshine asked.

“Absolutely,” Lavendertwist promised as Splashtuft led Mitepaw across the border. “We have just the mentor for her.” 

(Lavendertwist: 31, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Splashtuft: 13, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Mitepaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, quick to make peace)

[Image ID: Rapidleaf, Asterpaw, and Elmsprout stand behind Mitepaw as she listens to Rattlepelt say, “It will be better for you to live in a Clan that is loyal to its members. You’ve escaped a rotten place, Mitepaw.”]

Later that day, as RippleClan buzzed with sunset activity, Mitepaw took in the sights of her new home. The shipwreck was so tall! Despite the late autumn cold, the sand felt warm from the sun. Even the air felt lighter in RippleClan! This was the right choice, Mitepaw was certain of it. There was a glimmer in everyone’s eyes as they surrounded her following her new apprentice ceremony. She soaked it all in as she stood beside her strange and famous new mentor; Rattlepelt. 

“Mitepaw!” A long-furred gray molly made her way to the front of the crowd of unfamiliar faces. A brown molly and a silver tom followed close behind.

“Hello,” Mitepaw chirped softly, bowing to the strangers. 

“No need to bow to your Clanmates in this Clan!” the silver molly said. “You’ve probably heard about me. I’m Elmsprout.”

“Oh, Eelstar’s daughter,” Mitepaw gasped. She took Elmsprout in a second time; she could see Eelstar’s color in Elmsprout’s darker tints. “Your father’s told the kits about you.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Elmsprout chuckled. “He and I have… an awkward relationship. I wanted to make sure I could talk to you after your ceremony, because I’ve been where you are. We all have. We’re a bit of a Clan-within-a-Clan, you could say. We’ve all left our original Clans to join RippleClan. This is Rapidleaf and Asterpaw.”

“I’ll show you how to adapt to life in RippleClan,” Asterpaw promised, raising his tail high.

“Leaving my Clan was hard for me as well,” Rapidleaf said with a nod. “Like you, staying in LynxClan would have been too painful. RippleClan has built itself on second chances. Elmsprout befriended me as we both recovered from a bought of food poisoning a few moons ago, and we’ve both looked after Asterpaw since his arrival. If you need help, we promise to look after you, too.” 

“That’s…” Mitepaw purred, her whole body rippling, “that’s amazing!”

“It will be better for you to live in a Clan that is loyal to its members.” Oh, right! Rattlepelt was still standing there! She was so unlike any other cat Mitepaw had ever seen. Who else would have the courage to wear a fox pelt? She looked more like a fearsome warrior than the talented artisan Lavendertwist and Splashtuft made her out to be on the walk to RippleClan. “You’ve escaped a rotten place, Mitepaw.”

“I’m excited to learn under you, Artisan Rattlepelt,” Mitepaw said, bowing once more.

“Mitepaw, we don’t bow here!” Elmsprout laughed.

“Leave her be,” Rattlepelt scoffed. “If she wants to bow and use honorable titles, let her. It’s nice to be respected. Now Mitepaw, how would you like to learn the intricacies of leather-making from a master?” Mitepaw’s eyes sparkled. Learn to craft a leather pelt with the quality and skill of Rattlepelt’s fox fur? Learning in a Clan so bright and welcoming, under a mentor that was clearly wise and strong and clever, better than her old mentor in every way?

“Yes please!”

(Mitepaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, quick to make peace)

(Elmsprout: 32, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

(Rapidleaf: 84, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

(Asterpaw: 12, male, caretaker apprentice, thoughtful, has lots of ideas)

(Rattlepelt: 48, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

Tallowkit reminds himself it will all be okay while Slushkit chews on a stick.

[Image ID: Tallowkit says “She won’t choke, she won’t choke…” as he watches Slushkit. Under Tallowkit, it says + NEW SKILL: SPLASHES IN PUDDLES. Under Slushkit, it says + NEW SKILL: QUICK WITTED.]

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

(Slushkit: 1, female, kit, polite, quick witted)

Scaleripple and Tempestshade officially become mates.

[Image ID: Scaleripple and Tempestshade face each other. Under Scaleripple, it says + MATE: TEMPESTSHADE. Under Tempestshade, it says + MATE: SCALERIPPLE.]

---

Scaleripple couldn’t help but be in awe of Troutpool and Honeybuzz’s skill. When he had found Tempestshade half a moon prior, leg encased in a shimmering silver jaw, he had been certain it would have to come off. Yet there they were, half a moon later and still possessing four legs, even if one was so bandaged and slathered in ointment that it could hardly be called a leg. Honeybuzz had changed the bandages not so long ago, but Scaleripple could already see dots of blood leaking through. Not that Troutpool and Honeybuzz would notice; no, when Scaleripple visited Tempestshade that day, the Clan had a bit more exciting news to swallow.

“Our instincts are never more controlling than when a queen is kitting,” Troutpool explained to Mosspounce, waiting eagerly outside the den as she and Honeybuzz collected a few supplies into a basket. “Lemmy will know what to do with her kits, but she’ll need spiritual and emotional support. We’ll be with her the entire time, Mosspounce.”

“Are you sure Tempestshade can’t join us?” Mosspounce groaned, glancing around Troutpool to Tempestshade, whose nest sat in a quiet, warm corner of the medicine den. Scaleripple sat beside her, ice-faced and observant. “I want my kits to meet all of their kin.”

“Mosspounce, your kits won’t be able to meet anyone for a while,” Honeybuzz laughed. He slipped the basket around his neck. “They’re born with their eyes and ears shut. They’ll get to meet Tempestshade in the future, don’t worry.”

“But I wanna meet them,” Tempestshade whined. They laid sprawled across the nest, mangled leg carefully frozen on the edge. Their dark green eyes lacked some of their usual sparkle, devoured by the pain.

“You will, I promise,” Mosspounce said. Honeybuzz joined Mosspounce outside the den and the two trotted to the nursery. Troutpool, however, lingered, eyes wandering to Scaleripple.

“Will you be okay while we help Lemmy?” Troutpool asked.

“I won’t die,” Scaleripple growled. He laid in a loaf against Tempestshade’s nest, ignoring Troutpool’s gaze. Tempestshade chuckled, a soft, almost feverish sound. Troutpool shuffled her paws about.

“I didn’t want to have that vision,” Troutpool gulped. “I thought revealing it would spare Tempestshade a guilty verdict and protect RippleClan. I wouldn’t use StarClan to hurt them.”

“Did I say that’s what you did?” Scaleripple scoffed, daring to look up, even if Troutpool’s awkward expression made his skin hurt. “You don’t need to explain yourself. You just have to live with making Tempestshade a living omen of death.” Troutpool bowed her head low, closing her eyes. She followed her former apprentice and Mosspounce to the nursery, where Scaleripple could already hear Lemmy panting with the effort of her kitting.

“You showed her,” Tempestshade mumbled, purring. Scaleripple stared at Tempestshade. Why were they seemingly the only cats who truly understood the other? Scaleripple’s family loved him, he was certain of that, but did they know him like Tempestshade? Did they understand the strange way he worked, which separated him from everyone else? And did anyone else in the Clan dare to face the blunt of Tempestshade’s curse just to spend time with them? Did they appreciate their youthfulness, their honesty, their loyalty? From everything Scaleripple knew, two cats who were as close as he was to Tempestshade could only be called one thing.

“Tempestshade, are we mates?” he asked. Tempestshade cocked their head. A little life came back to their eyes.

“Haven’t we been mates since the summer?” they laughed. Oh. Well then.

“Maybe so,” Scaleripple purred. He rested his head on the edge of Tempestshade’s nest, a whisker length from their nose. Tempestshade hummed happily. They stretched and quickly touched noses with Scaleripple.

For once, Scaleripple didn’t mind.

(Scaleripple: 18, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Mosspounce: 26, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Tempestshade: 26, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Mosspounce wants to be a father with different motivations than his own, and feels proud when Lemmy delivers four healthy kits.

[Image ID: Lemmy and Mosspounce watch four newborn kits; a tortoiseshell, a black molly, a silver molly, and a gray tabby. Under Lemmy, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. The tortoiseshell says NEW PLAYER: WEEVILKIT, 0, FEMALE, BULLYING. The black molly says NEW PLAYER: RAVENKIT, 0, FEMALE, SWEET. The silver kit says NEW PLAYER: SILVERKIT, 0, FEMALE, DAYDREAMER. Finally, the gray tabby says NEW PLAYER: WOLFKIT, 0, FEMALE, POLITE.]

(Mosspounce: 26, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Lemmy: 41, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Weevilkit: 0, female, kit, bullying)

(Ravenkit: 0, female, kit, sweet)

(Silverkit: 0, female, kit, daydreamer)

(Wolfkit: 0, female, kit, polite)

Downstar is almost intimidated by the knowledge Asterpaw has gained in his short time in RippleClan and confidently names him Asterblaze.

[Image ID: Asterpaw, now Asterblaze, is an adult! Under him, it says LEVEL UP! ASTERPAW -> ASTERBLAZE, HAS LOTS OF IDEAS -> CONSTANTLY FIDDLING WITH TOOLS.]

(Asterblaze: 12, male, caretaker, thoughtful, constantly fiddling with tools)

While Troutpool and Honeybuzz are on patrol, Troutpool sees strange shimmers in the distance. They encounter a kittypet who grew up with old stories of RippleClan and wanted to raise her kits in the wild. Troutpool and Honeybuzz help welcome five more kits to the nursery.

[Image ID: Troutpool and Honeybuzz approach a brown and white molly and five kits; one light brown, two red, and two brown, all with white markings. Undee the mother, it says NEW PLAYER: HARVEST, 53, FEMALE, NERVOUS, GOOD FIGHTER. Under the light brown kit, it says NEW PLAYER: ANCHOVYKIT, 0, MALE, CHARMING. Under the upper red kit, it says NEW PLAYER: CURRENTKIT, 0, MALE, POLITE. The second red kit says NEW PLAYER: ROBINKIT, 0, MALE, UNRULY. The first dark brown cat in the upper corner says NEW PLAYER: YARROWKIT, 0, FEMALE, NOISY. The last brown kit says NEW PLAYER: BILLOWKIT, 0, MALE, BOSSY.]

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Harvest: 53, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Anchovykit: 0, male, kit, charming)

(Currentkit: 0, male, kit, polite)

(Robinkit: 0, male, kit, unruly)

(Yarrowkit: 0, female, kit, noisy)

Rapidleaf talks with Honeybuzz about what it’s like to be a cleric.

[Image ID: Honeybuzz says to Rapidleaf, “It isn’t worth the pain.”]

---

Honeybuzz adjusted the long hunt pelt covering Tempestshade’s back. The black cat was asleep, one of their few peaceful naps as their leg deteriorated more and more. The thick snowfall outside sent cold air stirring between the wooden walls. Mosspounce and Carnationspeckle tirelessly tended to the fire outside the medicine den, making sure their fellow caretaker would not suffer anymore than they already did. Honeybuzz doubted it would do much, though. Whatever damage the silver jaw caused to Tempestshade’s leg, Honeybuzz and Troutpool only delayed its endgame. 

Honeybuzz groomed Tempestshade’s neck as his patient groaned softly. He muttered a soft prayer and turned to his pots and baskets of medicine. As he checked on the Clan’s supply of painkillers, paws trudged through the clumpy snow outside. Rattlepelt made her way inside, snow gathering in balls on her fox pelt. She slipped it off, seemingly unphased by the storm.

“Are you busy, Honeybuzz?” Rattlepelt asked. Honeybuzz glanced at Tempestshade.

“Not really,” Honeybuzz muttered. He peeked under the wraps on Tempestshade’s leg and sighed. “Are you staying warm, Rattlepelt?”

“As warm as I can be,” Rattlepelt sighed. She strolled by the shelves of medicine sitting along the sand and wood. “I’m hoping to find something for my mood. Something calming. Lavender, maybe?”

“Ah yes, lavender in the middle of winter,” Honeybuzz scoffed, mustering a pathetic laugh. His sarcasm soured at Rattlepelt’s sharp expression. Honeybuzz cleared his throat, further tucked Tempestshade under their pelt, and said, “There are a lot of herbs for mood. What exactly are you experiencing?”

“What am I not experiencing lately?” Rattlepelt sighed, undoing a leather lid from a pot and glancing inside. “You’re the cleric, I would think you’d notice.” Honeybuzz refrained from telling her actually I’ve been quite busy trying to save Tempestshade’s life, interpret a prophecy, and deal with the identity of my mother’s killer, but yes Rattlepelt, I’ve absolutely been studying your mood.

“Mood swings?” Honeybuzz guessed. “Anxiety?” Honeybuzz took the leather lid back from Rattlepelt and sealed the pot.

“The first thing, I suppose,” Rattlepelt huffed. “According to my mate and mothers, I’ve been acting… out of character lately. Not quite as lively as I used to be. You must have something that can bring me back to normal.”

“It might not be herbs you need,” Honeybuzz suggested. “Have you talked with Spikecrash or Paleseed?”

“I don’t need a mediator,” Rattlepelt grunted with a thrash of her tail. 

“You talked with Paleseed all the time when your mother was held hostage,” Honeybuzz pointed out. “Why the refusal?”

“It’s different!” Rattlepelt snapped. She shoved past Honeybuzz and studied the herbs on the other side of the den. “I don’t want others talking about my business. I’d rather deal with it on my own time. You really can’t spare a pot of something? I just need to chew on something so I don’t chew on someone’s head.” Rattlepelt stuck her face into a basket.

“I don’t want to waste herbs on an issue a mediator could resolve,” Honeybuzz said. “Can you please stop looting through our supplies? We need them for Tempestshade.”

“Oh, so you’ll give medicine to an omen but not to one of your Clan’s only artisans?” The curl in Rattlepelt’s lip was like an angry warrior scaring a trespasser from the border. She flung a paw toward Tempestshade’s weak form. Honeybuzz stood his ground; he was not his mentor. Only StarClan could order him around. Defiant blue pierced through angry copper. Rattlepelt’s eyes widened. She groaned, recoiling back to the shelves. “This is what I’m talking about! Can you please just give me something?”

“Rattlepelt,” Honeybuzz said, stressing every word, “I am not giving you a lick of medicine until you speak with a mediator.” Rattlepelt deflated, veiny ears falling. Her claws unsheathed for a moment, stabbing the packed sand floor. She quickly covered them with her tail. She marched to her discarded fox pelt.

“I’d better leave before I do something else I’ll regret,” Rattlepelt grumbled, sliding the wet pelt onto her back. “Good luck with Tempestshade, Honeybuzz.” Rattlepelt stared at the thick falling snow outside the den. She slunk into the gray light with nary a shiver, the fire outside bouncing off her red leather pelt. Just when Honeybuzz began to process the new problem lumped onto his back, Rapidleaf scurried inside. Really? Now, of all moments?

“StarClan, that’s cold!” Rapidleaf yelped, shivering violently. Snow tumbled off her back as she shook.

“I thought you were assisting Troutpool with a ritual,” Honeybuzz sighed, turning to his shelves and pretending to check the herbs in an empty pot. 

“We just got back,” Rapidleaf panted. “I… wanted to talk to you before Troutpool joined you again.” Honeybuzz sighed deeply, gathering his strength. He couldn’t put this conversation off forever. “I’ve been waiting for you to say something to the Clan. Why haven’t you?” Ugggghhhhh why did Rapidleaf have to do this to him?

“You said it was an accident, right?” he huffed, finally facing Scrubmask’s killer. “You didn’t even remember what happened until later. So I’m staying quiet. It isn’t worth the pain.”

“But I killed her,” Rapidleaf said, soft and slow.

“And we moved on!” Honeybuzz groaned, throwing his head back. StarClan, this was like talking to a kit. “Mom took a new mate. My brothers and I graduated. Everyone thinks a Witch Hunter did it. Why would I hurt them all over again with this?”

“Because I killed her,” Rapidleaf said again, emphasizing each word, sinking in Honeybuzz’s strong presence.

“If you want to be punished so badly, confess to a codekeeper!” Honeybuzz snapped. “I am a cleric. I help my Clan. This, what you’ve done? Knowing that now will help no one. Don’t pretend to care about the right thing when you’re just a coward.” Rapidleaf bowed her head low. The bright fire outside turned her fur dark red like dried blood.

“If that’s what you think is right,” Rapidleaf muttered.

“Do your job and we won’t have any problems,” Honeybuzz growled, his golden face burning like the sun in the fire glow. He turned back to his empty pots and said, “Get warmed up. I don’t want to have to treat you for shivers.” He kept his ears perked as Rapidleaf’s paws crunched through the snow. He only looked back when he was certain she was gone. 

Honeybuzz groaned loudly, trudging to his nest and flopping into it. If he had to take this secret to StarClan, he was more than happy to do so. It was just easier. Now he only had three problems to deal with.

Well, that wasn’t true, even if he didn’t realize it yet. He had two problems.

Because Tempestshade had stopped breathing.

(Honeybuzz: 15, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Tempestshade: 28, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

(Rattlepelt: 50, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

(Rapidleaf: 85, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

Tempestshade dies from their mangled leg. Mosspounce tells fond stories of his littermate while Trumpetspore mourns and Scaleripple tries to push his feelings aside.

[Image ID: Scaleripple watches Trumpetspore and Mosspounce leave. Under him, it says + CONDITION: SENSORY OVERLOAD.]

---

James quietly loaded Tempestshade’s body onto his back as dawn glimmered through the snowfall. Troutpool gave up an old vole pelt from her nest so Tempestshade’s crusted, wounded leg could be covered during the funeral. The leather wrapped around their leg and concealed their deadly injuries. Dried herbs poked out from under the leather, hiding the decaying smell. 

Scaleripple could still smell it, though. He smelled every decomposing muscle and faded blood-scent that clung to Tempestshade’s pelt. He could smell Trumpetspore and Mosspounce’s sorrow, still strong after a night at vigil. He could smell the concoctions and ointments the clerics used at first to stop Tempestshade’s deterioration, then to soften the end. He could smell death clinging to the snow that drifted over camp.

“Tempestshade would probably say something silly now about how we should just talk to Oilstripe if we miss them,” Mosspounce scoffed, swallowing hard. Trumpetspore laughed softly, leaning hard into Mosspounce. The laugh was like claws tearing at Scaleripple’s ears.

“Do you three have something to mark their grave?” James asked, shifting awkwardly with the added weight.

“I do, I do,” Mosspounce sighed. He stood, groaning and stretching his back. “One of our bowls broke a few days ago. With how much Tempestshade cooked, I want to use that as their marker. What do you think, Scaleripple?”

“Fine,” Scaleripple said. He stared at the spot where Tempestshade’s body had laid all night. The snow formed a hole in their vague shape.

“Scaleripple?” Trumpetspore peeked around her brother. “I know we don’t talk much, but… thank you for being there for Tempestshade. Mosspounce and I can’t say enough how much that… I’m sorry, I can’t.” It took all Trumpetspore’s effort to get even those few words out. Mosspounce groomed his sister, purring through the pain.

“It’ll be a long walk with this snow,” James sighed. “Let’s get on our way.” Trumpetspore and Mosspounce followed James, but when Scaleripple stayed seated, Mosspounce stopped and glanced back.

“You two bury them,” Scaleripple said. “Be alone with them.” No one had any energy to argue; Mosspounce nodded after a moment and rejoined Trumpetspore on their slow procession to the graveyard. Scaleripple stayed trapped in the scent of death. It clung to his fur like salt. Scaleripple closed his eyes.

“Scale?” Weedfoot shuffled across the thick snow, catching fat snowflakes in her fur. The new scar she sported around her ankle made Scaleripple’s paws burn just from its look. Her whole body sagged like a dying weed as she slipped beside her son. “Do you need me today?”

“I’m alright, Mom,” Scaleripple said. Weedfoot’s pelt was a whisker’s length from Scaleripple’s, but it felt like she was laying on top of him. 

Scaleripple needed that.

“I would have thought you’d go with the others to the graveyard,” Weedfoot noted. 

“I didn’t want to,” Scaleripple said. His gaze was drawn back to the hole.

“Well, I won’t be sending you on any patrols for the next day or two,” Weedfoot explained softly (StarClan bless her, finally a soft voice for Scaleripple’s strained mind). “I know your sister has whitecough, but if you need someone to talk to, Paleseed can listen.” 

“I’d rather go on patrol,” Scaleripple said. His expression remained unchanged, neutral and stuck on the hole.

“I don’t think you’re truly alright, Scaleripple,” Weedfoot mumbled. She got between Scaleripple and the place Tempestshade once laid. Scaleripple blinked wildly, trying to focus on his mother’s form as his vision blurred. He knew what was coming as soon as his ears began to ring.

“Do you want the truth?” Scaleripple asked. The tensions in his shoulders made his muscles burn.

“Isn’t that obvious?” Weedfoot hummed softly.

“No, it isn’t,” Scaleripple said. There was no intended malice, yet his tone still struck at Weedfoot like a rat bite. The ringing in Scaleripple’s ears grew louder. “There’s a lot I don’t understand that others do. I understood Tempestshade, though. They understood me. Now no one understands me.” 

Scaleripple’s eyes could not focus, even with Weedfoot standing right in front of him. Color and shadow melted together like beeswax in a pot. His skin burned. Weedfoot said something, but her words were just like the camp; melted, dissolved, burning. No one understands. No one understands. No one understands No one understands No one understands No one understands NO ONE UNDERSTANDS.

Some part of Scaleripple’s mind heard his Clan gather around him, wondering just what he was muttering. He could see worried faces peering into his huge blue eyes, even if he had no way to react to them. Despite all that, all he could do was stare at nothing, pressure building in his chest, sinking deeper and deeper into himself. The caring words of his Clan blurred together, yet each phrase was clear as air, layering over the next in a bloodbath of screeching bird song.

“Scale, come on now, what are you saying?”

“We should get him out of camp.”

“StarClan, does everyone have to stare at him?”

“Scaleripple, it will all be okay.”

“I understand you, Scaleripple!”

“Leave him alone, this doesn’t concern you.”

“How would you feel if we swarmed you after a vigil?”

“We may not understand you, Scaleripple, but we love you.”

If only Scaleripple could thank the soft, careful voices that slipped through the noise. Perhaps later. There was nothing he could say now. Only collapse into the spiral of his own, odd mind.

(James: 143, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Tempestshade: 28, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

(Scaleripple: 20, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Trumpetspore: 28, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter

(Mosspounce: 28, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Weedfoot: 116, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Weevilkit and Yarrowkit make snow lumps at the entrance to camp.

[Image ID: Weevilkit and Yarrowkit build a snow cat as Wolfkit approaches. Yarrowkit says, “It looks a bit like a cat!” Under her, it says + PERMANENT CONDITION: ONE BAD EYE. Under Wolfkit, it says + CONDITION: BRUISES.]

---

Weevilkit couldn’t feel her nose, but she didn’t care. She rolled snowballs across the camp clearing toward Yarrowkit, who studied the large snow lump she and Weevilkit had cobbled together. The many, many kits of RippleClan had woken up from their sunhigh nap and now ruled the camp, running and screaming through the snow, entertaining one another. Yarrowkit protected the snow lump from her rampaging littermates, leaving light paw prints in its sides. Four snowballs sat along the corners of the lump like fat, lazy paws. 

“Is this big enough?” Weevilkit groaned. She shoved her giant snowball at Yarrowkit with one last mighty push. Yarrowkit trotted around the snowball, gauging just how big it truly was.

“Perfect!” Yarrowkit chirped. “Help me lift it on!” Yarrowkit and Weevilkit stood on either side of the snowball. They tucked their heads under their mound, snow crumbling into their eyes. Necks straining and muzzles aching, they lifted the snowball off the ground and threw it onto the mound. The bottom chunk of the snowball plopped off, making Yarrowkit and Weevilkit shriek.

“Pack it in!” Weevilkit cried. She and Yarrowkit scooped up snow and shoved it under their lump’s new head. Eventually, the lump no longer threatened to fall off. When Weevilkit was certain the structure was stable, she made two smaller snowballs and stuck them on the lump’s head. She bounced off the lump and admired it from the back.

“It looks a bit like a cat!” Yarrowkit chirped.

“Snow cat!” Weevilkit cheered, rearing onto her back legs like a horse.

It was at that moment that something strange occurred, something Weevilkit would not fully understand until she was older. In fact, in the moment, it felt more like a daydream than anything else, something that had come to her in the night and performed for her once more under the light of day. Yet the way she would describe it matched no daydream or typical trick of the mind.

On the other side of camp, Wolfkit eyed a snow pile a few tail-lengths behind Weevilkit. Harvest helped Robinkit and Currentkit build a mountain to scale and dig into like moles. As Weevilkit watched her sister, the gray kit’s form flickered. She stayed where she was, staring hungrily at the mountain, but another Wolfkit charged forward, slipping out of her body like a ghost. There was a fogginess to this second Wolfkit, a transparent and shiny nature that seemed like Oilstripe’s tales of StarClan cats. The real, solid Wolfkit did not react to this secondary form running out of her chest, unseeing.

But Weevilkit saw it all.

This ghostly Wolfkit darted past Yarrowkit. A misty version of Yarrowkit overlapped her living form, fur spiking and lips curling. Two cats existed in the same space, one in the other, making Weevilkit’s head hurt. Weevilkit watched as the other Wolfkit left deep pawprints behind her, even though the snow was no more disturbed than it had been. The other Wolfkit threw herself at the snow mountain. Harvest, Currentkit, and Robinkit gained their own foggy forms, stepping away from the ghost of the mountain. The nonexistent Wolfkit slammed into the mountain, but rather than the mountain collapsing into light and fluffy clumps, her head made a hole in the stiff snow. Wolfkit’s ghost collapsed at the base of the mountain. Weevilkit blinked, and the ghosts were gone.

And then it happened again.

Wolfkit darted past Yarrowkit. The brown and white kit jumped, fur spiking and lips curling. Harvest, Currentkit, and Robinkit hurried back as Wolfkit threw herself full-speed at the snow mountain. She face-planted into the unyielding snow and stumbled back with a loud groan. Weevilkit blinked again, this time shaking out her snow-dusted pelt.

A smart kit would have questioned that strange sight. However (and with no disrespect intended), Weevilkit was not smart.

“Are you okay?” Harvest asked, trying to force back her laughter at the face-shaped imprint in the snow.

“My face hurts,” Wolfkit grumbled, pulling herself out of the snow.

“That’s what happens when you run into a mountain,” Robinkit said matter-of-factly.

“It’s okay,” Currentkit promised. He slipped beside Wolfkit as the gray molly whimpered softly and rubbed her sore face.

“Wolfkit!” Yarrowkit snapped. “Don’t run past me like that! That’s my bad side!”

“Your bad side?” Weevilkit scoffed. “What does that mean?”

“You know!” Yarrowkit whined, smoothing out her fur. “Your bad side! Your dead eye! How would you like it if I scared you like that?” Weevilkit cocked her head so far to the side, her neck hurt.

“I don’t have a dead eye,” Weevilkit said. “How can an eye be dead?” While Robinkit and Currentkit teased Wolfkit, Harvest appeared behind Weevilkit.

“Mom, can you tell her about your dead eye?” Yarrowkit huffed. “Which one is it?”

“Yarrowkit, I don’t know what you’re saying,” Harvest said softly, getting to her daughter’s level. “Is something wrong with your eyes?” Weevilkit peered closer at Yarrowkit’s face. There was a droopiness to her right eye. Her pupil was huge compared to her other eye. A green haze covered the eye, depriving it of its usual sharpness. Harvest leaned in as well, staring intently at the right eye.

“Wait,” Yarrowkit gulped, “is your other eye supposed to do something?” Harvest sat up, swallowing hard. She buried her twitching tail under her flank.

“Yarrowkit,” Harvest said, “can you come with me? I want you to talk to Troutpool and Honeybuzz.”

“But I’m playing,” Yarrowkit huffed, placing a paw on the snow cat.

“You can go back to your game afterward, I promise,” Harvest stammered. “Now come along. You need to tell the clerics just what you’ve told me.” Yarrowkit deflated as Harvest looped around her and nudged her toward the medicine den. She glanced at Weevilkit as she passed, turning her head far to see her with her one good eye. 

Now, truth be told, while she would have to train around it, Yarrowkit would get along just fine with a bad eye. That was not what Weevilkit should have been concerned about.

(Weevilkit: 2, female, kit, bullying, curious about StarClan)

(Yarrowkit: 2, female, kit, noisy, stares at fire)

(Wolfkit: 2, female, kit, polite, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

(Harvest: 55, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Robinkit: 2, male, kit, unruly, avid play-fighter)

(Currentkit: 2, male, kit, polite, constantly climbing)

Anchovykit wakes up with a splitting headache and can’t get out of his nest.

[Image ID: Anchovykit says to Tempestshade, now a ghost, “Do you need help?” Under him, it says + CONDITION: SEVERE HEADACHE.]

---

It wasn’t fair. All the other kits were playing in the snow, screaming and cheering at their winter fun, kept warm by the fire crackling between the elder’s den and the warrior’s den. Anchovykit should have been out there. He had to go out there and play! He was missing out on all the joys of the day!

When Anchovykit stood at the edge of the nursery, looking out over camp, his eyes burned. His head smacked him about like an enemy warrior. The snow intensified the pain. He squeezed his eyes as tight as he could, trying to fight off the headache. Honeybuzz had told him to just rest, but how could he rest when everyone else was having fun?

But then again, with a headache like his, Anchovykit couldn’t play. Especially since it made him see things.

The headache added an odd sheen to the camp. A soft sparkle danced around the medicine den like stars in the day. Weevilkit and Wolfkit, laughing over their snowbound antics, shared in this sparkle. Oilstripe, who told her kits stories by the Shiprock, had a glow to her eyes that made Anchovykit’s pelt itch. Even though the shine clawed at his eyes, Anchovykit found it hard not to look at the odd ways his head toyed with him.

Still, the soft awe of the camp was nothing compared to the sheer horror of looking at Rattlepelt. The furless artisan watched the Clan from the corner of camp, using her fox pelt as warm flooring against the snow. Her single white ear twitched casually as she watched Weedfoot return from patrol with Lavendertwist, Waspdawn, and Puddlewhisper. Her claws poked through the snow as Weedfoot laughed at one of Lavendertwist’s jokes. She groaned softly, forcing herself to look away from the family. 

It wasn’t her gray skin or odd behavior that made Anchovykit nauseous, however. Slime covered Rattlepelt’s smooth skin, slick yet dull like mud. Her legs grew black the farther down they went. Slushy pools of black gunk collected at her paws. She had become a river of dark mud, her body as its source. And then there were her eyes. Gone was the warm and cheeky copper shine everyone found so familiar in Rattlepelt. Instead, bright yellow eyes burned with unhidden, unquenchable hatred, a hatred that threatened to seep into every wrinkle and fold of Rattlepelt’s bony body.

Anchovykit ran back into the quiet shadows of the nursery. Headaches were terrifying! He crawled into his empty nest with a whine. He shoved his muzzle into the moss and leather. The sooner he took a nap, the sooner this headache would go away, and the camp would look normal again. He breathed in the leftover scent of his mother and littermates. He was always safe with them. They would protect him from the horrors of his headache.

“You’re a funny little kit, aren’t you?”

“Clammask, go away,” Anchovykit whined through the moss.

“I sound like Clammask? Huh. Isn’t that funny!” 

Anchovykit wasn’t in his nest anymore. He opened his eyes to blackness below. It was not pure darkness, though; tiny stars glimmered far, far away. The floor matched the ceiling. All around Anchovykit, Silverpelt shone in small white specks. There was no ground for Anchovykit to stand on, but regardless, he stood. He could feel something warm and soft under his paws, but when he lifted them, there was nothing but Silverpelt underneath. His mother had told him that on some nights, Silverpelt glowed with a myriad of colors, but all he saw now was black and white. The sunless land was shockingly warm, warm in the way Anchovykit imagined summer to be, that beautiful season he had yet to see. The clawing, tearing pain in his head was now a small worm, wiggling about behind his eye. Anchovykit stated at his pelt. There was no source of light, but his body was not covered in shadow. There was a dullness to him, something in between light and darkness, the pure essence of his colors untainted by the sun.

“Weird dream,” he muttered.

“I don’t like involving a kitten like this, but they shouldn’t have to suffer for long.” Anchovykit turned around. A blue-gray molly stood behind him. Dark, swirling stripes like water criss-crossed her starry pelt. A moth’s wing hung delicately behind her ear in an impossible fashion, as though the moth had perched itself just on the stranger’s head. 

“You look like Weedfoot,” Anchovykit gasped.

“I should,” the stranger laughed. “I’m her daughter! My name is Ripplefern. I’m a member of StarClan, and I need your help.” Anchovykit’s eyes widened. His mother had grown up with second-paw tales of StarClan’s power, while Anchovykit and his littermates got to hear of their glory straight from the mouth of RippleClan. Now Anchovykit was one of those blessed souls that got visited by the ancestors in his sleep, even if he wasn’t a cleric! He kneaded the invisible ground, purring.

“Am I important?” Anchovykit purred, eagerly running up to Ripplefern.

“More than I can explain now,” Ripplefern sighed. “I have a friend who will spend a long time alone if you don’t help them. Do you think you can help my friend?”

“I’ll try,” Anchovykit promised. Ripplefern purred, her blue eyes growing soft as down.

“Follow me.” Ripplefern turned gracefully and wandered deeper into Silverpelt. Anchovykit stayed at her side, eyes scanning the strange land around him. If this was StarClan, it was really empty!

“Where are all the other StarClan warriors?” Anchovykit asked.

“They wouldn’t be here,” Ripplefern explained. “Sometimes, when a warrior dies, they don’t go straight to StarClan. Sometimes they need to wait a while as we sort through some problems. This is where they go to wait.” Ripplefern looked up into the endless speckled black. “My friend was born with a problem. When they died, the problem sent them here, and they can’t leave until we fix it. But it’s not a problem StarClan can fix alone. My friend could be here for moons if we got help the normal way. But we’re lucky. You’re here.”

“What’s the normal way?”

“Rituals, visions, other calls for assistance from the living clerics. Being alive makes you special.” Anchovykit walked a little taller. He was special.

A figure appeared in the distance. It was hard for Anchovykit to see them with their black fur. Anchovykit’s paws grew heavy when he saw black mud clinging to the figure’s legs. He only managed to recognize them when he saw their dark green eyes.

“Tempestshade!” Anchovykit gasped, leaving Ripplefern behind. “Do you need help?” Tempestshade gawked at the kit. They still looked alive; a little hazy, perhaps, but alive. Anchovykit had only known them with their leg bandaged, but now it was strong and free of scars. They could stand and look down on Anchovykit, just as confused as he was. 

“Do I know you?” Tempestshade asked.

“He was born while you were fighting your death wounds,” Ripplefern explained. Tempestshade only just noticed Ripplefern. They grew as still as they had been when their body laid in camp for vigil. 

“You look better than when I saw you last,” they managed to gulp.

“Anchovykit is here to help you,” Ripplefern said. “Do you see all that black ichor, Anchovykit? I need you to rip it off, like when you tear into a fish.” Anchovykit sneered at the ooze on Tempestshade’s legs. He was supposed to touch that? With his mouth? What could he even hold onto? It was mud!

“Why?” Anchovykit groaned.

“You’re the only one who can,” Ripplefern said. Hmm. Well, if StarClan asked it of him…

Anchovykit peered at the ooze. Maybe if he just bit the whole paw…. He shut his tiny jaws around Tempestshade’s front leg. Tempestshade hissed and smacked Anchovykit.

“Alright, not like that,” Ripplefern laughed. “Just… pretend you’re removing the lid off a pot. Peel the ichor off like you peel off the leather.” Oh, that made much more sense! 

Anchovykit spat out the gunk that stuck to his teeth. He took a big breath and dug his fangs into the black ichor. He pulled at the ooze with a violent, suctioning sound. It was like a paw trying to rip itself from the mud. There was no ground to gain a foothold on, but Anchovykit dug himself in regardless. The ichor stuck to Tempestshade like some many-legged monster of the deep. Anchovykit dug deeper into the ooze and pulled harder. As it stretched farther and farther from Tempestshade’s leg, it began to take a new form. Feline ears poked out of the black. A slender form took shape, its scruff in Anchovykit’s grasp. 

It was a cat, utterly soaked in the gut-heaving black ichor, no bone or pelt to speak of. It wasn’t much smaller than Anchovykit himself. Anchovykit dropped the mewling creature and gagged.

“What is that?” Anchovykit groaned. The creature squirmed and twitched like a newborn, making the worm in Anchovykit’s skull spasm once more in a headache.

“The power of the Dark Forest made manifest,” Ripplefern said, her tone low and serious in a way Anchovykit had never heard anyone speak in his short life. “This is Tempestshade’s curse in physical form, the evil energy that struck out against those who got too close. Your special sight shows you their influence, and the influence of the stars. You are the one who can pull them from idea and ethereal being to something tangible.”

“Huh?” Anchovykit said.

“Strike it along its neck,” Ripplefern sighed, waving her paw at the creature. “Now that you’ve pulled the curse off Tempestshade, you can fight it.” Ripplefern needed to get better at explaining things. Anchovykit may have been young, but he understood what it meant to fight like a warrior.

Anchovykit jumped onto the creature with a yowl more suited to a play fight than true battle. The pathetic thing was no match for a harsh wind, let alone Anchovykit’s tiny fangs. He shoved the creature onto its back and bit into its neck. The creature stopped squirming at once. As Anchovykit tightened his jaw, the monster’s ichor dripped through the invisible floor. It tumbled through the starry abyss below, everfalling, never landing. Piece by piece the creature melted away until Anchovykit’s teeth smacked together with nothing left to hold.

“I just fought a Dark Forest cat,” he gasped softly. His flank wiggled as he cheered, “I fought the Dark Forest!”

“In a sense,” Ripplefern chuckled.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised I didn’t go to StarClan,” Tempestshade said with an awkward scoff. “Can’t really let in an omen, I suppose.”

“It’s not your fault the Dark Forest latched onto you,” Ripplefern said. She slowly approached the black tabby. Anchovykit stepped back before he even thought to give them room. “You did well with what you had to bear. But now you don’t have to wait here anymore. You can come with me.” 

Ripplefern’s nose touched Tempestshade’s forehead. A spark danced where skin met fur. Stardust shimmered over Tempestshade’s head. A glittering wave coursed over their pelt. Brilliant stars danced along the stripes in their fur. The gunk that clogged their paws was now a shimmery, sparkling mist. Tempestshade gawked at their new form, lifting each paw to study the shine.

“Oh,” Tempestshade muttered.

“StarClan is excited to taste some of your food,” Ripplefern purred, bunting Tempestshade’s shoulder. “There’s a lot I want to talk to you about.”

“I just want to know how Moss and Trumpet and Scale are doing without me,” Tempestshade sighed, touching noses with Ripplefern. They paused for a moment, then stepped back. “Actually, no, that isn’t the only thing I want to know. What’s his story?” Tempestshade looked at Anchovykit.

“I’ll tell you in private,” Ripplefern promised. She set her tail on Tempestshade’s back.

“Aren’t you going to tell me?” Anchovykit asked, marching up to Ripplefern. “I don’t know my story either!”

“I’ve shown you what you can do,” Ripplefern sighed, shaking her head, “but you’ll have to work some things through yourself. I’m afraid StarClan can’t do everything for you. Just remember what I taught you, Anchovykit. Be good to your mother.” Ripplefern touched her nose to Anchovykit’s head. It was as cold as the winter chill blowing off the ocean.

When Anchovykit woke up, he still had a raging headache, but that was nothing compared to the complete and utter confusion that made his vision spin.

(Anchovykit: 2, male, kit, charming, curious about StarClan)

(Rattlepelt: 50, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

(Ripplefern: 18, female, historian, charismatic, talented swimmer, good fighter)

(Tempestshade: 28, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Billowkit can’t stop sneezing.

[Image ID: Billowkit asks Troutpool, “So I’ll be sneezing forever?” Under him, it says + PERMANENT CONDITION: ALLERGIES. In the back, Currentkit calls, “Let’s see what makes you sneeze!” Under him, it says + NEW SKILL: HAS LOTS OF IDEAS.]

(Troutpool: 28, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Billowkit: 2, male, kit, bossy, active imagination)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

Downstar didn’t want to think about Clammask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Downstar? Downstar returned to her den.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the best graduation gift ever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oilstripe probably should have felt bad about her father’s death. He was another founding member of the Clan, gone barely a moon after Fennelspot. And yet, Oilstripe was closer to Fennelspot in life and still didn’t grieve him. That was, in part, because she still saw him all the time.

Fennelspot loved to linger. Oilstripe was sure he would be one of the Blessed Ones, guiding the growth of herbs along, the Celestial of RippleClan Clerics (she was trying to get that title going for him early on, he was the first of their Clan after all). Oilstripe would see Fennelspot in the gardens often, trotting around the caretakers and eyeing how they tended his herbs. He would also show up in the medicine den, surprising Oilstripe when she went to see her daughter. Oddly enough, Troutpool was never shocked to hear of Fennelspot being around. She would say she “had a feeling” he was watching. Sometimes, Oilstripe forgot Fennelspot was dead at all. How could she grieve someone who never left?

That was how it was with Rustshade as the Clan sat at his vigil. Rattlepelt treated him well, weaving a crown of wheat stalks tenderly bartered from WheatClan, honoring his role in the Clan’s founding. His grandkits were with him now; Troutpool gently groomed his forehead as Honeykit, Splashkit, Leatherkit, and Drumkit, all just a few days away from their apprentice ceremony, pretended they weren’t still kits and kept quiet. Carnationspeckle, whose pelt was half-shaved from all the mats they had to cut off, sat with Downstar, offering a gentle word to her old mentor while her daughter and mate grieved. Except Oilstripe wasn’t grieving. She sat with Clammask, grooming the sadness off her pelt with Scrubmask on the other side, but Oilstripe’s eyes were off to the side. She wasn’t looking at her father’s empty shell, she was looking at Rustshade himself.

Rustshade sat with Fennelspot and Puddlespeckle, watching his own vigil. Valleybrook’s ghost sat a ways behind them (he had passed a while ago, killed by a human farming wheat). Oilstripe figured Rustshade needed time to process the fact that he was dead. She was sure it would have been a shock for him to fall asleep and never wake up. As Scrubmask collected her kits from Rustshade’s body, the ghosts wandered toward the exit. Oilstripe brushed against her younger sister once more and followed the spirits outside.

“Dad!” she called. Puddlespeckle continued on, vanishing into the tree line, but Fennelspot and Rustshade stopped and turned around. Oilstripe had to dig her back paws in to avoid tumbling through her father’s spirit. “So then, what did you think of your own vigil?”

“I’m happy with how I’ve been honored,” Rustshade sighed, whiskers drooping. “Take care of your sister and your kin, Oilstripe.” There was an odd finality to the phrase that made Oilstripe cock her head.

“You say that like I’m not going to keep seeing you around,” she laughed. Rustshade bristled and Fennelspot placed his tail on his friend’s back. One of the red petals that forever stayed in his fur slipped onto Rustshade’s pelt.

“I’m dead, Oilstripe,” Rustshade huffed like a mentor reminding their apprentice of an obvious fact. “That means I’m not going to be here to help you.”

“Yes, not in the same way you used to be,” Oilstripe chuckled awkwardly, one ear tilted to the side. “But you’ve always been a comforting weight at my side, and you’ll keep being that as a spirit of StarClan. You can join Applepelt when they shadow me sometimes. They’re good company.”

“No, Oilstripe,” Rustshade growled. “You don’t understand. The next time you see me, you’ll be a warrior of StarClan yourself.” Rustshade was right. Oilstripe did not understand.

“But I’ll see you when you visit the territories,” Oilstripe huffed. “just like I see Twinekit and Locustseeker and Burdockcreek.” A hole, not too different from the gnawing anxiety that bit her pelt when Carnationspeckle was held captive, opened in her chest.

“What your father means,” Fennelspot sighed, stepping closer, “is that he’s tired. He’s lost many of the cats he cared for. He is one of StarClan’s ranks who find returning to the Clans too painful. The friends you’ve known who have joined StarClan, they like to visit, but Rustshade wants to spend time with his long-gone children in the stars.”

“But no,” Oilstripe said, unable to stop a panicked laugh from slipping out, “that would mean he’s leaving me.” Fennelspot and Rustshade simply stared at Oilstripe, their gazes heavy. “Dad… Dad, no, I need you to visit.”

“You haven’t needed me in a long time, Oil,” Rustshade sighed. “You have a strong life built for yourself. You don’t need me.”

“No, Dad, I don’t know…” Oilstripe stammered. She reached a paw toward her father’s ghost. Rustshade stepped back. With a soft shake of his head and one last look with his stern heather eyes, he walked out toward the trees. “Dad, stop! Come back! Fennelspot, stop him! Bring him back!”

“I’m sorry, Oilstripe,” Fennelspot gulped. “Let him rest in peace.” Fennelspot ran to catch up to his old friend. 

“Stop!” Oilstripe begged. “You can’t leave like that! You have to come back! Even for one visit! Dad!” Fennelspot and Rustshade were nothing but specks of red among the early dawn trees. One blink and they were gone..

When the Witch Hunters captured Carnationspeckle, Oilstripe had not known what to do. There was an uncertainty in her heart, a hundred questions she could not answer. She supported Troutpool and Rattlepelt, demanded answers from Lemmy, and searched for reassurance when she could. She was scared, but she had not felt hopeless, because if Carnationspeckle had died, her spirit would have stayed at her side. She would return, not in the way she wanted, but she would have returned.

Was this what true grief felt like?

Oilstripe needed the pain to go away. She didn’t know how to handle it. It was killing her. She couldn’t breathe. She needed her father’s quiet support at her side. She crouched in the sand, shaking. Why would Rustshade leave her like that? Didn’t she mean something to her father?

“Oilstripe.” Carnationspeckle’s soft, gentle fur pushed into Oilstripe’s stiff pelt. Her touch broke down the wall in Oilstripe’s throat. A deep, guttural sob broke free.

“He’s leaving me!” Oilstripe wailed. “He’s leaving me behind!” Carnationspeckle was strong; she could handle Oilstripe’s entire weight against her. Oilstripe shook so hard, she thought she might break like Trumpetspore’s half-finished pottery.

“When you rescued me,” Carnationspeckle said softly, “you told me you’d do everything possible to make my heart right again, and thanks to you, I know I’ll get there someday. I’ll do the same for you.” Each mate pressed into the other, clinging for life like debris along the sea.

(Oilstripe: 62, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

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

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

(Puddlespeckle: 156, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

(Carnationspeckle: 60, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

When Scrubmask and Clammask’s kits are apprenticed, Honeypaw asks to train as a cleric and gets cicada wings as decor. His littermates train as a historian, warrior, and caretaker respectively, apprenticed to Weedfoot, Trumpetspore, and Elmsprout.

[Image ID: Honeypaw, Splashpaw, Leatherpaw, and Drumpaw all have their apprentice forms, with Honeypaw sporting some cicada wings. Under Honeypaw, it says LEVEL UP! HONEYKIT -> HONEYPAW, NOISY -> DARING, + ACCESSORY: CICADA WINGS. Under Splashpaw, it says LEVEL UP! SPLASHKIT -> SPLASHPAW, NOISY -> BOLD. Under Leatherpaw, it says LEVEL UP! LEATHERKIT -> LEATHERPAW, IMPULSIVE -> VENGEFUL. Under Drumpaw, it says LEVEL UP! DRUMKIT -> DRUMPAW, QUIET -> LOYAL.]

(Honeypaw: 6, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

(Splashpaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still)

(Leatherpaw: 6, male, warrior apprentice, vengeful, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

(Drumpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, loyal, moss-ball hunter)

Waspdawn’s tail is injured by a fox.

[Image ID: Splashpaw sneaks off while Troutpool and Honeypaw surround Waspdawn, who has + CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL written underneath him.]

---

Elmsprout had gotten into a bit of trouble; Parsley accused her of giving prey to AshClan, as seen on one of her many strolls with Carnationspeckle. Waspdawn and Puddlewhisper, chosen as defender and inquisitor to the potential trial ahead, went out to investigate the scene and get information from AshClan. Unfortunately, they stumbled across a rather sickly and feral old fox that stuck a solid blow against Waspdawn, nearly biting his tail clean off! It threw the Clan into a bit of a whirlwind. Lavendertwist, who had gotten his stitches out but still wasn’t allowed to speak or eat hard foods, stayed at his wounded brother’s side. Weedfoot and James shared tongues outside the medicine den, waiting for news. 

That left Splashpaw deeply, deeply bored.

He probably should have felt worse about Waspdawn’s terrible injury, but he had no doubt he would be fine. Honeypaw had only been training for a quarter moon and was already great at his job. But with Weedfoot worrying over her kit, Splashpaw could only sit in camp and kick at clouds.

Leatherpaw and Drumpaw trotted out of the apprentice’s den, laughing. Splashpaw rolled to his paws, eyes gleaming.

“What are you doing?” Splashpaw asked, leaping to his littermates’ side.

“Trumpetspore and Elmsprout are taking us to our first sparring session!” Leatherpaw cheered with a playful wiggle of his flank. “I won’t lie, I’m a little nervous to see what actual battle is like, but I can’t wait to drive off predators and rogues!”

“Nervous?” Drumpaw laughed softly. “More like overeager. Trumpetspore will stomp that out.”

“Please take me with you,” Splashpaw begged, crouching pitifully. “I’m so bored.”

“Our mentors will be focused on our training, not yours,” Leatherpaw said. “You’ll have to keep yourself entertained.”

“But Honeypaw’s busy with Waspdawn, and our moms are on patrol!” Splashpaw whined. 

“Figure it out!” Leatherpaw said without a hint of sympathy. Drumpaw, at least, gently batted Splashpaw’s ear. Leatherpaw and Drumpaw ran to the entrance, where their mentors were already waiting for them. Splashpaw watched, envy bubbling in his stomach, as they sauntered off. As soon as they left, Mosspounce walked in, tail held low.

“Mosspounce!” Splashpaw called. “Can you show me some battle moves? Or take me hunting? Please, give me something to do.” Splashpaw rolled onto his back in front of Mosspounce.

“Not now, Splashpaw,” Mosspounce sighed, stepping over the gold and white apprentice. Splashpaw cocked his head, still upside-down.

“Did you not enjoy your walk?” Splashpaw huffed, turning right side up. Mosspounce groaned dramatically and gave into the apprentice’s insistence, sitting.

“It wasn’t just a walk,” he grumbled. “I was waiting by the river for Lemmy. Again.” Splashpaw had a very clear memory of Lemmy from her visit three moons prior, after Carnationspeckle went missing. She had seemed so fierce, even with her silly yellow collar. 

“She still hasn’t come to see you?” Splashpaw huffed. “I thought we were friends with the Witch Hunters now.”

“They could have found out about her dreams,” Mosspounce mumbled. “They would have labeled her a witch if they knew about them. It’s just that… I think I really liked her, Splashpaw. I wanted her to join RippleClan. I thought that’s why StarClan visited her dreams. But maybe not.” Mosspounce shook his head and slunk into the warrior’s den. As his black tail vanished, Splashpaw got an idea. A brilliant, stunning, heroic, fun idea.

Splashpaw glanced around camp. Most cats were focused on the medicine den, waiting for an update on Waspdawn. Splashpaw fluffed himself up and marched out of camp.

“Where are you off with such swagger?” Tempestshade was guarding the entrance and purred mischievously when Splashpaw appeared. The lie came to Splashpaw with shocking ease.

“Weedfoot said I could join my littermates at Battle Beach!” Splashpaw chirped. “It’s north along the shore, right?”

“Head straight there, and have fun,” Tempestshade said with a nod. Splashpaw chirped happily and jogged away from camp.

Splashpaw was going to be a hero. He was going to find Lemmy and bring her to RippleClan for the reward she deserved.

(Splashpaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still)

(Leatherpaw: 6, male, warrior apprentice, vengeful, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

(Drumpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, loyal, moss-ball hunter)

(Mosspounce: 19, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Tempestshade: 19, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Splashpaw heads into the human settlements to find Lemmy.

[Image ID: Splashpaw now wears a purple ribbon collar, and has + ACCESSORY: PURPLE RIBBON COLLAR written under him. He says to Lemmy, who has + CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH under her, “This is a rescue mission!” Lemmy replies, “Yet we’re both trapped now.”]

---

Splashpaw wasn’t sure why so many of his Clanmates talked about the human settlement like the Dark Forest on earth. Yes, it smelled, it was loud, and until just recently, the loners that lived there might have killed Splashpaw for visiting. But Splashpaw liked the intense smells and sounds. He liked the tall dens and whinnying horses. He could see why so many cats lived here, whether with humans or along the horse paths. Who knew what stories and adventures lay hidden among the humans and Witch Hunters?

Splashpaw trotted eagerly through the streets, largely ignored by the humans. It was late afternoon, and the humans were as active as a Clan full of kits. They yowled and jostled one another, waving their paws about and stepping around the horse dung that covered the paths. Splashpaw knew the dangers of a horse path; Spikecrash made it her mission to warn every new litter of the danger of horses, sharing the tale of her scar. Yet the horses and monsters they dragged about moved slowly, careful to avoid the humans.

As Splashpaw crept among the humans, one of their gangly pink paws reached down and stroked his back. He shivered at the foreign touch and scampered away. To his surprise, the touch didn’t feel too bad! If humans touched kittypets like that all the time, Splashpaw could see the appeal of the lifestyle. He shook himself out though. He needed to focus!

A group of humans yowled and gawked at baskets of strange fruit, set within a wooden structure. A lilac tom relaxed at the base of the structure, idly watching the humans.

“Excuse me!” Splashpaw yowled. He weaved around the humans to reach the tom. “I’m looking for Lemmy. She’s a tortoiseshell with a yellow collar. Have you seen her?”

“I haven’t seen Lemmy since before that trouble at the Singing Place,” the tom sighed. “Sorry, young tom. .” Splashpaw crept underneath the structure and around the chattering humans. Even the loners of the human settlement hadn’t seen Lemmy? What had happened to her?

Two pink paws wrapped around Splashpaw’s torso. He should have yowled and clawed, bitten and kicked at his attacker, scrambled away to rethink his plan. Yet as his paws left the ground, Splashpaw was frozen. What was happening? He looked overhead and saw the gleaming, furless face of a human. It bared its teeth and made a high pitched sound that hurt Splashpaw’s ears. Splashpaw hissed as his heart beat wildly. He snapped his jaws at the human’s small paws, but even as his fangs dug into the soft flesh, the human’s grip only tightened. It made that high pitched sound again and pressed Splashpaw to its chest. The billowing fabric around its lower half swished as it spun and took off down a side path away from the taller humans.

How had Splashpaw not seen the human reaching for him? He had been so distracted by the other humans and his own quest, he forgot to pay attention to his surroundings. That was the first thing Weedfoot told him when she showed him the territory; even when he was simply enjoying time outside camp, he had to pay attention. He could never predict when an excited dog or angry bear could stroll through the trees and pick Splashpaw as its next meal. He had forgotten that simple lesson, and now he was going to meet some cruel fate at the paws of a mad human. 

Splashpaw squirmed and clawed at the human’s pale overcoat, but he couldn’t break through the strange material. All of his efforts were met with a tighter hold that squeezed the air out of him. The human was slow, but its gangly walk disoriented Splashpaw. Eventually, as fewer and fewer humans appeared around Splashpaw and his captor, the human slowed. It stood in front of a den that was likely squat by human standards but still towered over any cat. Another small human waited by the den’s entrance with a long white pelt in its paws. It hurried over to its companion and wrapped the pelt around Splashpaw. His legs pressed into himself. He couldn’t move!

The second human revealed a new object from the ripples of its colorful pelt; a bright purple ribbon. It reminded Splashpaw of James’ ragged black ribbon he still insisted he wore. Splashpaw’s terror cooled for a moment as the human wrapped the ribbon around his neck. It was shockingly smooth; no wonder James and Lavendertwist wore theirs as much as they could!

The peace only lasted a moment, however, as the pair of humans carried Splashpaw around their den and toward a smaller wooden den. The second human hurried ahead and moved the wooden barrier that revealed the dark interior. The human carrying Splashpaw quickly unwrapped his restraints and tossed him into the shadows. He spun and bolted for the exit, but the humans quickly slammed the wooden wall shut.

“Let me out!” Splashpaw yowled. “I’m not a kittypet! I’m a RippleClan historian!”

“They’ll be back with food later.” Splashpaw jumped. He peered into the darkness of the small den, barely big enough for a few cats. Giant human tools sat against the wall, sharp points jutting toward Splashpaw, ready to kill. A black lump laid in the corner, deep blue eyes glaring at Splashpaw. The entire den reeked of sick. As Splashpaw’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could see the strange molly’s yellow collar and red patches.

“Are you Lemmy?” he gasped, trying not to sneer at the smell.

“You were one of the kits from RippleClan,” Lemmy huffed. She crept closer to Splashpaw before suddenly shivering. She coughed violently, bright yellow phlegm splattering onto the wooden floor. Memories of Rustshade’s phlegm crusted face splashed through Splashpaw’s mind.

“Stay back!” Splashpaw yelped, pressing against the wall. “You have yellowcough. You could get me sick.”

“I’ll try not to,” Lemmy grumbled as she shook from the effort of coughing. 

“Have you been here this whole time?” Splashpaw asked, claws digging into the wood. “Mosspounce has been looking for you.”

“I’m not surprised,” Lemmy sighed softly. “I was going to assist him in rescuing his friend, but those human kits snatched me and threw me in here. I think they want me to be their housecat.”

“A collar means you already have a human, though,” Splashpaw huffed. “Why would they take you from them?”

“I don’t believe my human is very popular among the others,” Lemmy grumbled, shaking her head as she shivered once more. “He tends to keep to his den. I wouldn’t be surprised if the kits thought they were rescuing me.”

“That’s what I’m here to do!” Splashpaw chirped, standing a bit taller. “This is a rescue mission!”

“Yet we’re both trapped now,” Lemmy said. She returned to her spot in the back of the den. “If you’re quick when they return, you can likely slip away.”

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Splashpaw huffed. 

“Then you’ll rot,” Lemmy growled, lips curled. Muffled yowls broke through the walls. Splashpaw backed up, ears perked. The yowling grew closer and closer. Suddenly, the wooden barrier tilted aside. Two big humans, male and female, crouched in the grass with long pelts in their paws. Splashpaw hissed, a warrior’s courage filling his heart. The humans cooed and clicked, but Splashpaw now knew better. He slashed at the long pelt and raked his claws along the big human’s paw. This time, the human yelped and pulled back.

“Still hopeless now?” Splashpaw yowled, kicking Lemmy. “Let’s go!” Life leaked through Lemmy’s cold eyes. She pushed herself up and, with whatever strength she had left, ran between the big humans. Splashpaw was right on her tail.

The human kits cried and wailed from the comfort of their large den as the older humans nursed their wounds. Splashpaw and Lemmy kept going. They ran across empty horse paths, as far from the human dens as they could. Splashpaw glanced back. Thank StarClan, the older humans were not chasing them; rather, they yowled at their wailing kits, utterly ignoring the escaping cats.

Lemmy collapsed as soon as they hit the trees. Splashpaw stopped, panting. Lemmy hacked up more phlegm, almost vomiting from the effort.

“I did it!” Splashpaw cheered, prancing around Lemmy. “I rescued you! I’m a hero!”

“We only got out because the adults finally realized their kits were keeping us trapped in there,” Lemmy growled, struggling to breathe.

“But maybe that realized that because they saw their kits grab me!” Splashpaw chirped. “And you said it yourself, you didn’t feel strong enough to run out on your own. So that means I saved you.” Lemmy laughed softly, shaking her head.

“That little black kitten kept telling me to stay strong,” she scoffed. “I never thought she would send a kit barely older than she.”

“I’m an apprentice!” Splashpaw huffed with mock indignation. “Wait, I never told you my name! I’m Splashpaw. Mosspounce has been waiting for you. He rescued Carnationspeckle thanks to you! Everyone in the Clan loves Carnationspeckle, so Downstar agreed that if Mosspounce found you again, he could offer you a position in the Clan!” Lemmy narrowed her eyes. “What’s that face for? What, do you not want to join RippleClan?” Lemmy seemed to have a sharp retort ready to go, but she tightened her jaw instead. 

Splashpaw took in their surroundings. Truthfully, he had no idea where he was. Still, he knew his directions, and if he kept heading south, he would eventually hit the Great Northern River. He wasn’t sure if Lemmy had the strength to swim, but if they could find the stepping stones, they would be back in RippleClan like that! It was close to sunset though; his mothers would be so mad when he finally got home.

“I should make my way back,” Lemmy muttered, but she did not get up.

“And break Mosspounce’s heart?” Splashpaw scoffed. “You do realize he is in love with you, don’t you?” Lemmy blinked, her emotions well hidden behind her calculated gaze.

“He does remember I tried to kill him, doesn’t he?” Lemmy said.

“I think that’s part of why he likes you,” Splashpaw admitted. “It’s a little gross to me, but you shouldn’t keep him waiting. He told the Clan you would make a great codekeeper. I think it’s like what you used to do with the Witch Hunters, but you’re enforcing the warrior code rather than what the Witch Hunters follow. The Witch Hunter Code? I don’t know.” Lemmy stared at Splashpaw for a while. She stared for so long that his long fur started to burn. Eventually, Lemmy got to her paws with another cough.

“I can at least get my cough cured, I suppose,” Lemmy sighed. Splashpaw couldn’t hide his glee as his tail rose high. Lemmy shook her head, but there was no longer any malice in her face.

“Then I’ll lead you home, new Clanmate,” Splashpaw chirped. 

As Splashpaw and Lemmy stalked into the trees, making their way toward their new shared home in the dimming light, Lemmy asked, “Do you know the way back?”

“I’m trusting my instincts!”

“So you don’t know?”

“...no.”

“This will be a long night.”

(Splashpaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he wasn’t alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wildclaw fought a big dog and got hurt.

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

Mosspounce sneaks off to the human territories to explore.

[Image ID: Mosspounce talks to Lemmy, who says, “Moss, this isn’t a game. Leave.” Achilles and Pearl walk away in the far corner.]

---

Ha! Downstar could not have picked a better day to give Mosspounce his full name. Even if he hadn’t had his vigil that night, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep. He could meet Lemmy not as a humble apprentice, but the newest caretaker of RippleClan! His paws carried him to the Great Northern River as soon as he could get away from camp.

Mosspounce and Lemmy had developed a routine since their “playful” spar by the river at the start of last summer. They met at the river around sunhigh every three days to chat and enjoy the cool breeze over the water. While Lemmy insisted they not talk about their homes for both their sakes (a statement that confused Mosspounce, although he kept his mouth shut), there was a lot they could talk about. They complained about annoying acquaintances (like how Scalekit had a creepy habit of staring at others across camp), the trials of navigating around noisy humans (Mosspounce couldn’t understand how Lemmy slept alongside them), and, truthfully, anything that came to mind. Lemmy was a standoffish molly, but Mosspounce couldn’t help but listen in awe at her intelligent words, like how she assured him that Mousesong would find peace on the “Other Side” after her death. He couldn’t help trying to make her laugh, and laughing harder when he heard her purr. He couldn’t help teasing her about her murderous friends and taking her biting comments about the Clans in return.

Mosspounce couldn’t help but like her!

He burst through the trees and preened in the river’s mist. He laid out across the river’s edge and stared at the sky, thick with clouds but bursting with a few powerful sunbeams. It would still be a minute before sunhigh, but Mosspounce could wait. Weedfoot had told him and Tempestshade that they had the day to themselves to celebrate their new positions, so Mosspounce could take all the time he wanted for his friend to arrive.

The problem was, Lemmy took a while to arrive. At least from Mosspounce’s perspective. Exhaustion from the long vigil wore at his eyes and worked with the midday weather to ease him into a nap. Yet he stayed half-awake, often sleepily lifting his head at a random noise from the other side of the river. Where was she? Had something gone wrong?

“I do have the day to myself,” Mosspounce mumbled, shaking out his damp pelt. He eyed the unknown trees beyond the river. Lemmy always made the trek to the river… why shouldn’t Mosspounce meet her halfway? He didn’t live in AshClan or SlugClan or any of the other Clans, who held a stigma against exploring beyond the land or being overly social with non-Clan cats. He was a RippleClan caretaker, and he could explore the land beyond the Clans as he pleased! Mosspounce strolled to the high stones and waded through the low water to the other side of the river. He shivered as he stepped on foreign territory. No one would yowl at him for this, yet there was an air of troublemaking to it that poured energy into his paws. 

Mosspounce took off through the trees, letting his nose guide him. He knew the humans camped to the north, but he didn’t know how far that camp was. If so many loners and kittypets from the camp came toward Clan territory, it couldn’t be too far. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before the stink of horses and humans flooded Mosspounce’s nose. Then came the sound. StarClan, the camp was loud. Yowling humans, thundering horses, the creaks and groans of human gadgets. Did humans ever shut up? It was only when Mosspounce broke out of the forest, legs aching from the jog, that he laid eyes on the huge settlement. 

Human dens were bigger than anything Mosspounce imagined. James, Parsley, and Rabbitjoy often talked about their days among humans, but their descriptions were nothing when compared to the hulking wood and stone structures that dappled the landscape. Smoke drifted from the ears of each structure like a foggy breath on a chilly day. Horses pulled monsters between the dens. Some humans even sat on their backs, guiding the horses down slimmer paths and around humans in strange, gawky pelts. Mosspounce had only ever seen humans from a distance, ones that James insisted were male. If that was the case, were the females the ones with the giant pelts? Why did they have such fluffy, brightly colored fur cascading around their flanks? Didn’t that make it difficult to move? 

Mosspounce braced himself as he left the safety of the forest and stepped into camp. The humans paid him no mind, but he kept close to the tall den walls, eyeing the passersby. The yowling made his ears hurt. How did Lemmy live among them? How did any cat? He could smell traces of loners and kittypets along the streets, even see a few pawprints in the muck and mud, but he had yet to actually see anyone. How could he hope to find Lemmy in this enormous place?

“Human kits have no sense,” a voice laughed. “Our kits, they tend to understand what’s dangerous as soon as they open their eyes. But little humans? I saw one pull on a horse’s tail until the brown beast kicked them in the stomach.” The voice wasn’t Lemmy’s, but it was a voice. Pelt pressed against the stone walls of the human dens, Mosspounce jogged toward the sound.

“They can be rather sweet, though,” another voice purred. “When the humans gather in the Singing Place, the kits will wander off and give me scraps.”

“By the crows, I will take my packed den over the Singing Place any day of the moon,” yet another voice groaned. Mosspounce’s ears perked up. That was Lemmy! He picked up his pace. There was a path cut between two huge dens. The voices echoed off the stiff walls. Mosspounce turned the corner… and froze. Lemmy sat facing Mosspounce, chatting with her companions. Those companions, whose pelts were as stuck in Mosspounce’s memory as Lemmy’s, had their back to Mosspounce, thank StarClan, while they spoke with Lemmy. The wind blew their scent toward Mosspounce. Achilles and Pearl. Witch Hunters.

“But the Singing Place is only that busy a few times a moon,” Pearl reminded Lemmy. Lemmy’s gaze froze on Mosspounce. A look of half-concealed shock and horror flooded her blue eyes. Mosspounce crouched back around the corner.

“Alright, enough chatting,” Achilles chuckled, stretching his back. “There are still a few cats we have to gather for the meeting.”

“I’ll continue down this alley,” Lemmy quickly suggested. “I’ll see you both soon.” Lemmy headed in Mosspounce’s direction. Mosspounce pulled his head back, praying Achilles and Pearl could not smell him. A few moments later, Lemmy appeared. Her shock had vanished, replaced by a hard glare that stuck Mosspounce to the wall.

“Moss, this isn’t a game,” Lemmy growled, rounding on the black tom. “Leave. Now.”

“Lemmy, I was just worried about you,” Mosspounce explained, tail tucked. “You always meet with me. I wanted to make sure something hadn’t happened.” Lemmy’s tail thrashed and her eyes narrowed, even though Mosspounce didn’t think it possible for them to get any narrower. “Alright, it was also an excuse to explore where you live, but I do have something I want to share!”

“Mosspaw, we can talk about this later,” Lemmy huffed. Her fur prickled in a sudden stiff wind. 

“That’s what I wanted to tell you!” Mosspounce chirped, a bit of his confidence surging back. “I’m not Mosspaw anymore. I graduated! You’re looking at Mosspounce, caretaker of RippleClan.”

“Good for you?” Lemmy said, looking Mosspounce up and down. “That doesn’t change anything. Mosspa—pounce, if the other Witch Hunters see you, they will kill you. You do understand that, right?”

“What exactly are the Witch Hunters?” Mosspounce asked. “My aunt’s seen a few others in your group by the river. Why are they interested in the Clans? Why did you ambush me all those moons ago?”

“You talk like we’ve known each other for years,” Lemmy sighed. Her shoulders stiffened and the frustration itching at her fur softened. She stayed quiet for a while, making Mosspounce shift uncomfortably. Finally, she said, “If you really want to know more, head west until you come across the stage. It’s a large wooden platform the humans built. There will be a lot of cats there, so you need to get to the roof of one of the dens behind the stage. Do not let anyone see you. When the meeting is over and everyone leaves, go home. We will talk more later.”

“What—” Mosspounce said.

“Promise me you will leave when we are done,” Lemmy snapped. Her nose was a whiskers-length from Mosspounce.

“I promise,” he said quietly. Lemmy eyed Mosspounce, testing the sincerity of his promise. Satisfied, she turned and jogged back the way Mosspounce came. Mosspounce glanced west. He braced his nose against the reek of horse dung and hurried between the crowds of bumbling humans.

[Image ID: Mosspounce hides in the corner while Achilles steps back, declaring, “Witch Hunters! We call your attention to our leader, the defender of the Other Side, the Crow Speaker, the Witch Finder General… Madeline!” In the center of the screen is a black and white molly with blue eyes and black feathers in her tail. Under her, it says NEW PLAYER: MADELINE, 100, FEMALE, FAITHFUL, OMEN SIGHT.]

The cats Mosspounce once struggled to see now flooded the paths, heading in the same direction as Mosspounce. A few wore ribbons and collars, but many were bare-necked, worn by the loner’s life. Where had they all been a minute ago? Did they all live in the human camp? Mosspounce kept his breath steady. He had never seen these cats before. His scent would be odd, but they had no reason to think he was a Clan cat. He could get through them.

Mosspounce followed the crowd to this “stage” Lemmy mentioned. Her description was apt; the humans’ impressive woodworking allowed them to make wooden designs far bigger in scale than anyone in the Clans could hope to create. A few cats, including Pearl and Achilles, sat on the stage. Mosspounce kept his head down. There was a tall tree that reached the pointed roof of a wooden den. Mosspounce snuck to the tree and scaled the trunk. He eyed the slim point of the roof. He wiggled his flank, gauging how far he would have to jump from the farthest reaching branch. And then, he jumped.

His paws dug into the harsh point. His tail kept him balanced. Easy. Mosspounce carefully sat on the tip of the roof and watched the stage. 

A short time later, Lemmy hopped onto the stage and joined a group of loners near the corner. That was interesting. Was Lemmy an important figure in her group? Or could anyone sit up there? As Lemmy got settled, Achilles strolled to the edge of the stage. A large crowd gathered below. It was like a Gathering!

“Witch Hunters!” Achilles yowled. The chatter of the crowd below died down. “We call your attention to our leader, the defender of the Other Side, the Crow Speaker, the Witch Finder General… Madeline!” Achilles stepped back as the crowd cheered. A gray and white molly took his place. Her white markings reminded Mosspounce of water dripping from a cat’s mouth and down their chest. Bright blue eyes, sparkling with life, watched the adoring crowd. A necklace of black feathers hung from her neck. More feathers decorated her flank and tail.

“Thank you!” Madeline purred, nodding to the crowd. “Thank you for the praise. And thank you all for making it. I know some of you have had to travel some ways to make it here today. You are all loyal scouts, and we thank you for your efforts.” She turned to Achilles. “I thank my second, who helps manage this mess of a community.” Achilles chuckled as Madeline turned to Pearl and the few cats gathered beside her. “We thank our Witch Finders, constantly searching for perversions to the Other Side.” Now she motioned to Lemmy’s group. “And we thank our enforcers, who assist us in our tasks. The crows say thanks to you all.” Madeline glanced up. A crow sat on a tree across from Mosspounce. The Witch Hunters stared at the bird like it was their leader, not Madeline.

“I called you all here for two reasons,” Madeline said. “The first is to celebrate two new additions to our enforcer ranks. Stella, Charon, join us onstage and claim your new positions!” The crowd cheered as two cats climbed onto the stage and joined Lemmy. They seemed comfortable with Lemmy, just like everyone else. It was nothing like the violent personas Pearl and Achilles took on when they tried to kill him.

“The other reason is another cause for celebration,” Madeline continued. “You all know of our plans to destroy the Clans of warriors that live to the south and disturb our ancestors day in, day out. The Clans who claim to speak to the dead and pull them from their peace as though it were a natural thing. Well today, dear scouts, we have struck a decisive blow against these witches. We have killed one of their clerics!” A grand yowl rose through the crowd. What? “After moons of studying the witches that call themselves SlugClan, we have killed their elder cleric, the center of their perversion!” 

No. They killed Bubblemoon? He had been alive at the last Gathering! He was one of Fennelspot’s closest friends! Mosspounce looked to Lemmy, but she either did not see him on the roof or refused to look at him.

“Today, we celebrate with a feast at Pearl’s farm!” Madeline cheered. “With me, everyone!” The Witch Hunters yowled and cheered. Madeline flicked her tail and marched off the other side of the stage. Lemmy, Pearl, Achilles, and all the other cats in the clearing around the stage followed her like a massive flood. Mosspounce crouched against the roof as they swarmed past.

In the words of his sister, what just happened?

(Mosspounce: 13, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Achilles: 80, male, Witch Hunter second, daring, eloquent speaker)

(Pearl: 33, female, Witch Finder, careful, explorer, clever)

(Lemmy: 28, female, Witch Hunter enforcer, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Madeline: 100, female, Witch Hunter General, faithful, omen sight)

Tempestshade and Ripplefern head out on patrol, but misjudge the strength of the ocean. Ripplefern is swept away.

[Image ID: Tempestshade yowls at Troutpool and Weedfoot “It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault!” Underneath Weedfoot, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

---

Tempestshade thought that rafts were one of the greatest things artisans and caretakers could have ever invented. They required a lot of wood to build and had to be taken care of, stored somewhere that storms and waves could not destroy them, but they allowed cats to venture farther into the ocean than ever before. Tied together with glue and twine, with flax leads that could connect swimmers to the raft, it was, in Tempestshade’s opinion, the best way to fish.

For this hunting patrol, it was Tempestshade’s job to tie Ripplefern to the tether and stay on the raft while Ripplefern collected the ocean’s bounties. Ripplefern was great at diving, maybe even better than Carnationspeckle! Every time she dove, she would come back with a new crab or clam or some other wonderful treasure. Tempestshade kept their catches safe, dozing off to the shifting waves below her. 

Ripplefern climbed back onto the raft with a big gasp, jolting Tempestshade from her nap. She shook out her pelt, gray fur clinging to the tether around her torso. Tempestshade blinked hard as saltwater stung her eyes. The wind sent a small wave billowing over the raft, almost washing away Ripplefern’s catches. Tempestshade quickly pulled them close, shivering as the cold water ran over her belly.

“Do you think we have enough for the day?” Ripplefern said with a yawn. “I’m too cold to keep diving.”

“I have some fun ideas for this crab,” Tempestshade purred, batting at the crab on the top of the pile. “I’m going to boil it whole. It’ll be delicious.”

“Hopefully we can have a bite of it,” Ripplefern laughed. “I’m sure my mom will want it to go to Clammask. Help me get my tether off.” 

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I clamped the crab’s claw to my ear and wore that to the next Gathering?” Tempestshade laughed. She put her face close to the dead crab. “Wouldn’t that impress the other Clans?”

“I think that might cross the line of how to treat our prey,” Ripplefern chuckled, squirming in her tether. “Now come on, this tether is starting to dig into me.”

“Alright,” Tempestshade hummed. As she groomed dripping water off her belly, a deep hum caught her ear. It was a deep, creaking, rushing sound, the sort of sound both Tempestshade and Ripplefern grew up hearing from beyond the nursery walls. A wave gathered along the edge of the ocean, growing in size and racing toward the raft.

“I don’t like the look of that,” Ripplefern gulped. “Just cut me out, Tempest.” Tempestshade nodded and searched for the sharp stone they always brought along for emergencies. Yet, when Tempestshade shuffled through the fresh-kill pile and scanned the raft, she could not find the stone. Carnationspeckle had taught her, time and time again, that when she was on the raft, using the tether, she needed the stone for moments like this.

“I can’t find it!” Tempestshade stammered. Ripplefern reached around and dug her teeth around the flax lead. She couldn’t get the right angle on the tether to pull it off. Tempestshade looked back to the approaching wave. Had it been that tall a moment ago?

“Tempest, help me,” Ripplefern snapped. “Help me, I can’t get it off!” Tempestshade grabbed the base of the tether, where the loop connected to the main lead, but she couldn’t stop shaking. It wouldn’t loosen! The tether was tied into the raft itself; Ripplefern dove at the tie and started chewing. Tempestshade joined her, fangs aching against the tight flax. 

Tempestshade looked up just in time to see the wave devour the raft.

Tempestshade flew away from Ripplefern in a haze of blue and gray. Bubbles thundered past her. The screaming of the wave flooded her ears with intense pressure. She’d taken a deep breath when the wave hit, but the force of the impact knocked the air back out. She flipped head over tail as the wave carried her stars-know-where.

Suddenly, Tempestshade skittered across soaked, brown sand. The remnants of the wave nearly reached the grass. Tempestshade shivered and choked on water, eyes burning from the salt. How in StarClan’s name had she not hit one of the many pebble-lined shores? She blinked violently, trying to shake the water off, trying to breathe, to understand where she was. She stared out at the ocean, which seemed black with the sun behind the clouds.

The raft bobbed and weaved not too far from shore. The wood was dark and utterly soaked. The twine and glue had given way to the intense pressure of the sudden wave, and part of the raft was gone.

The part that Ripplefern’s tether had been attached to.

“Ripplefern!” Tempestshade screeched. She scrambled toward the sea, paws sinking into the wet sand. StarClan, where was she? Tempestshade hacked up more water, shivering in the autumn chill. Her voice burned as she screamed, “Ripplefern!”

“Tempestshade?” The call, sadly, did not come from the water. Troutpool and Weedfoot, each with leather pouches around their neck, emerged from the trees and hurried up to Tempestshade. Tempestshade spun around like she was cornered by dogs. Troutpool and Weedfoot both startled.

“It’s not my fault,” Tempestshade stammered, breathing hard. “It’s not my fault!” No. No, no, no. Tempestshade didn’t understand. She didn’t know what happened! Why couldn’t she get Ripplefern free?

“Tempestshade,” Weedfoot said, eyes catching on the broken raft. “Tempestshade, where is Ripplefern? Where is my daughter?” Fear overtook her voice at the end.

Tempestshade couldn’t breathe. She crouched on the sand, falling deeper and deeper into a whirlpool of her own mind, the image of the wave taking over her senses.

(Tempestshade: 13, female, caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

(Ripplefern: 18, female, historian, charismatic, talented swimmer, good fighter)

(Troutpool: 13, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

She saw him. Oilstripe saw her father, a glimmering ghost standing between the trees, heather blue eyes coldly watching as she ran towards him. Why wouldn’t he visit? Why did he have to so coldly reject his own daughter? Downstar told her she saw Rustshade in StarClan when she lost her life to the humans, a soft comfort to ease an awkward relationship, so why, why would he see Downstar and not Oilstripe? Why was he always a bit too far away for Oilstripe to reach him? He didn’t need to speak! He didn’t need to do anything! He just had to be the quiet, comforting backbone Oilstripe grew up with. She needed her father!

Oilstripe woke up in the earliest moments of the new day with a lump in her throat. The dull embers of the campfire glowed against the edge of the den. Oilstripe’s Clan was still asleep, piled on one another in peaceful dreams. Clammask and Halibutdusk were awake, tucked into the same nest, muttering to one another. Oilstripe and Halibutdusk made eye contact, but Oilstripe quickly looked away, trying to breathe., She crawled out of her nest. She tiptoed around Wildclaw and Rattlepelt, gently tucked under their fox pelt. Oilstripe stepped into the cool, salty night.

Scrubmask’s ghost laid just outside the warrior’s den, startling Oilstripe. The dead warrior did not move, ears still turned to the den. Her eyes passed over Oilstripe and her raised fur. Scrubmask scoffed.

“You’re so distracted by your dream,” she said, “I would bet you didn’t notice your mate was gone.” Oilstripe looked back inside. Sure enough, Carnationspeckle’s spot by Oilstripe’s nest was empty. Oilstripe sniffed. Her mate’s scent was fresh, and still close by. She followed the scent out of camp. 

Carnationspeckle was on guard duty. Her fur drifted in the soft breeze. When she saw Oilstripe, it was like her soul returned to her body, her usual soft glimmer sparking in her eyes once more. Oilstripe curled up beside Carnationspeckle.

“You look tired,” Carnationspeckle whispered.

“I am,” Oilstripe mumbled. “I’m not having good dreams.”

“Have you talked to Paleseed?” 

“She’s been… I don’t know, distracted. Besides, I feel stupid for not knowing how to deal with this. Everyone else is able to grieve. I get to see other spirits all the time, and it might still hurt to know they’re not here anymore, but I can check in on them. My dad… he doesn’t want to see me. He’s making the active decision to not be involved in my life anymore.”

“He wouldn’t be able to see Clammask whether or not he visited. Maybe he wanted to be fair to both of his daughters. Maybe he knew Scrubmask was going to die, and didn’t want to make his own passing any worse for Clammask.” Carnationspeckle whimpered a bit as she said Scrubmask’s name. Oilstripe sat up.

“Life’s been hard for us lately, hasn’t it,” Oilstripe sighed. Carnationspeckle leaned against Oilstripe.

“I don’t like being alone in dens anymore,” Carnationspeckle muttered. “I get nervous, no matter how much I talk myself down. I get nauseous when I eat prey as-is, no matter how well-cooked it is. My mind thinks it’s raw, like it was with the Witch Hunters. I got so sick with them.”

“You haven’t told me that before.” Oilstripe nuzzled Carnationspeckle’s shoulder.

“Spikecrash has been helping me. I didn’t want to give it power by mentioning it to anyone else. I thought it was getting better, and then Scrubmask… do you think it was a Witch Hunter? Do you think we’ll ever know? I’m terrified, Oilstripe. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Me neither.” 

Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle buried their faces in one another’s fur, breathing in the other’s warm scent. All Oilstripe could hear was Carnationspeckle’s soft whimpers.  and the breeze in the trees. All they had lost in the past few seasons, friends and family and sleep and normalcy, bit at Oilstripe like a pack of rats. Rustshade was not there, but Oilstripe could feel her father in her heart, his voice springing to life. You’ll lose a lot more before your journey’s done. Find something to fill the space around that void.

“We need a fresh start, Carny,” Oilstripe sniffled, stepping back. “We’ve been chasing one tragedy after another, we need something new.” Her words got stuck in her throat. She forced them out like a cough. “We were trying to get pregnant when you were kidnapped. Let’s try again.” Carnationspeckle stared at Oilstripe like she said the ocean was made of bone broth.

“Now?” Carnationspeckle asked. “I… Oilstripe, I don’t know if we’re in the right place to do that.”

“And I don’t know if we can wait!” Oilstripe groaned. She leaned her head against Carnationspeckle’s head. “Raising Troutpool with you has been incredible. She’s so much like you, clever and caring and good at what she does. I’d like a kit or two like me!”

“Troutpool does have your eyes,” Carnationspeckle pointed out, a bit of laughter breaking through her sorrow and shock.

“She and Rattlepelt are great daughters,” Oilstripe chuckled, mind fuzzy with Carnationspeckle’s scent. “Maybe we can add a son to the pot. We can teach them all about Scrubmask and my dad and, and anyone else we may lose. I want to keep going with you.” Carnationspeckle took a moment. Her breath caught. Her nose touched Oilstripe’s.

“Let’s find a suitor somewhere beside the human settlement,” Carnationspeckle gulped, a sob mixing with her joy. Oilstripe laughed, love pressing against the hole in her life as she pressed against Carnationspeckle.

Yes. This was what they needed. A fresh start.

(Oilstripe: 66, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Halibutdusk: 54, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Scrubmask: 76, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Carnationspeckle: 64, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

Halibutdusk has been a comforting presence in Clammask’s life for as long as she can remember, and with Scrubmask gone, she decides to commit herself to them.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Clammask have + MATE: CLAMMASK and + MATE: HALIBUTDUSK written under them respectively.]

---

Clammask’s shifting and muttering woke Halibutdusk up. It had been a dreamless sleep, easy to disturb and hard to return to, which meant the rest of RippleClan was left in their peaceful slumber despite Clammask’s state. Halibutdusk had moved their nest closer to Clammask after Scrubmask’s death, giving them a perfect view of how Clammask’s back leg twitched and the tip of her claws peeked out of her paws. Halibutdusk scooted to the side of Clammask’s nest. They quietly watched their friend’s tremors. Their soft breath stirred Clammask’s whiskers. The golden molly opened her eyes partially, the faint embers outside catching her irises.

“Halibut?” she grumbled, throwing a paw over her muzzle.

“Sorry,” Halibutdusk whispered, giving Clammask room to breathe. “I wanted to check on you. Your dreams seemed cruel.”

“In a way,” Clammask yawned, slowly blinking. She sat up, prompting Halibutdusk to their paws. She hesitated as she spoke. “You’re a warrior, Halibutdusk. Do you ever dream about killing other cats in battle?” Halibutdusk wondered if the truth was appropriate in Clammask’s situation. It was Clammask, though; she would understand.

“Do you remember when my littermates and I snuck out of camp to reclaim territory from AshClan?” they asked.

“Of course I do,” Clammask whispered. “Downstar was so scared when my father brought you home.” Halibutdusk felt younger for a moment, an apprentice once more, wrapped up in Wildclaw and Shadowdrop’s antics, pulling them into their own. Shadowdrop clawed at Halibutdusk’s heart, sticking to them like bitter honey.

“I blinded Heronflank,” Halibutdusk said. “I could have killed him. It was the first serious wound I inflicted on another cat. Outside of a few fights with rogues, I haven’t hurt anyone else like that since. Sometimes, when I’ve had a difficult day, Heronflank sneaks into my dreams, and this time, I don’t just blind him.” Clammask nodded softly. As she did, Halibutdusk noticed Oilstripe on the other side of the den, bright blue eyes wide. They stared at each other for a moment before Oilstripe slipped out of the den. It seemed Clammask wasn’t the only cat having a difficult night.

“So you regret it in your dreams, then,” Clammask muttered. Her shoulders tensed. “Am I wicked for not feeling regret until I wake up?”

“Only the dead can control their dreams,” Halibutdusk reminded her. “Dreams just happen. You can’t be blamed for what your heart does when you’re not in control.”

“Will you judge me if I tell you what I dreamed of?”

“Never.”

“I killed the Witch Hunter that killed Scrubmask.” So it was about Scrubmask. Just not in the way Halibutdusk assumed. Clammask stared at the wall as she spoke. “I know we aren’t sure it was a Witch Hunter, but who else could it have been? I dreamed I drowned them like they drowned her, and I didn’t regret it.”

“I miss her too.” Halibutdusk laid back down, tucking their paws under them. “How are the toms taking her death?”

“They have been asking Rapidleaf for stories of when Scrubmask was an apprentice,” Clammask said. “They don’t have much else to do since three of them are still recovering from that bad rabbit. They’ll be okay. I’m proud of them! They’re strong toms. They have Scrubmask’s spirit.”

“And you?” Halibutdusk wondered. Clammask was not as quick to reply this time around.

“It feels wrong to feel better,” she eventually muttered. “I’m always going to miss her, but I don’t want her death to be something that keeps me down forever. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be like Downstar when her mood sours.”

“You didn’t offend me,” Halibutdusk promised. “My mother knows it’s hard to be around her when she’s struggling. She doesn’t want to be like that either.”

“I never want to let Scrubmask go,” Clammask gulped, fur bristling, “but I don’t want her to keep me stuck, either. I want to carry her with me and start my life again. I want to grow closer to Oilstripe. I want to see my sons through their apprenticeships. I want to fall in love again!” Nearby warriors stirred slightly at the emotion in Clammask’s voice. Clammask flinched and leaned closer to Halibutdusk. “Is that wrong?”

“Why would it be?” Halibutdusk asked. Clammask’s eyes softened. Her breath grew so slow and soft, Halibutdusk could not see her body move.

“Can we go on a walk together?” Clammask asked. Halibutdusk was about to agree when Clammask quickly muttered, “Not as friends.” Halibutdusk cocked their head. Clammask took a giant breath. “I jumped right into having kits with Scrubmask because she won me over so quickly, and I love her, but I want to see what it feels like to flirt and let a relationship grow like Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle did, or like Weedfoot and James, so if you’re interested we can see what it’s like to look at each other as mates rather than friends.” She panted as she finished her anxious rambling. “Sorry. I… really needed to say that.”

Halibutdusk’s mind was still behind. Mates? Romance? With them? Halibutdusk didn’t consider themself a handsome or even good looking cat; dusky gray fur without any special markings, about as bland as a tabby could look. They had friends, there wasn’t a reason they wouldn’t, but for someone to actually take a romantic interest in them… especially Clammask, of all cats! This gorgeous golden molly who helped all the caretaker apprentices with their chores and helped Halibutdusk tell stories… what else could they say but—

“Where do you want to go?”

(Halibutdusk: 54, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Clammask: 56, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Oilstripe: 66, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Parsley wanders out into the territory. She is later found dead, a peaceful expression on her face. Carnationspeckle is hit hardest.

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe face Parsley’s ghost.]

---

If RippleClan had not known about Oilstripe’s wonderous ability, they would have called her mad as she yowled at nothing, demanding that Parsley, whose gray-speckled body laid in camp, explain why “in the Dark Forest would you leave camp like that without a word to Carnationspeckle?” Carnationspeckle loved her mate and how fiercely she fought for her, even if a new part of her soul felt empty without the confident former loner in her life. Even though she was sluggish with her recently developed pregnancy, even though she still wasn’t sleeping well, Oilstripe insisted she join Carnationspeckle, Rabbitjoy, and Trumpetspore in burying Parsley beside Scrubmask and Fennelspot. If Oilstripe wasn’t encouraging her, Carnationspeckle wasn’t sure she would have been able to make the journey to the graveyard.

Rabbitjoy had a sense of humor with Parsley’s burial accessory. She found some parsley leaves and wove them into a wrap around the small remnant of her tail. Parsley’s ghost was likely laughing at that. Carnationspeckle could hardly imagine Parsley with her tail, and the wrap would have been painfully tight had she been alive. 

Had she been alive.

Burying Parsley was a quick affair. Her body had been blessed, her memory honored, and all that was left was to put her old, frail form in the dirt. Rabbitjoy and Trumpetspore took up the bear’s share of digging. Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle sat to the side, too tired to contribute. It was just after sunhigh, and it seemed like the sun wanted to treat Parsley’s body like prey on a fire, cooking everyone else with her. They buried her in the shade, all four mollies silently noting that Parsley would have been upset if she was buried in the middle of the hot sunshine.

According to Oilstripe, Parsley agreed with that. The awkward expressions on Rabbitjoy and Trumpetspore’s faces silenced any further ghostly discussion.

“StarClan, that took a while,” Rabbitjoy sighed as she kicked the last of the dirt over Parsley’s body. “Enjoy your rest, Parsley. RippleClan is glad to have met you.”

“I know I have no say in tonight’s meal,” Trumpetspore said, grooming clumps of dirt off her paws, “but I remember Scrubmask telling me how she convinced Parsley to stay in RippleClan. I believe she won her over with some pemmican. Could we make that for the Clan in Parsley’s honor?”

“Mosspounce and Wildclaw are on stove duty tonight,” Rabbitjoy sighed, “but if you mention that idea, they should agree. We just have to check the ingredients. What do you think, Carnationspeckle?”

“I like that,” Carnationspeckle said, a bit of life returning to her voice.

“Let’s head home, then,” Rabbitjoy said, patting Parsley’s grave.

“Actually,” Oilstripe said, nuzzling Carnationspeckle, “we may stay here a while longer.” They would? Carnationspeckle looked back at her mate. Why linger in the loss? Hadn’t they promised each other only half a moon before that they would work to grow around the holes in their spirits? But Oilstripe placed her tail over Carnationspeckle’s, and the brown ticked molly remembered how much she trusted her star-sighted mate.

“If you need to,” Rabbitjoy said. She touched noses with each molly and said, “We’ll be sure to save you both some pemmican. We’ll see you back at camp.” Rabbitjoy flicked her ears at Trumpetspore. The black molly nodded to Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle, then followed Rabbitjoy out of the graveyard, bugs singing them home.

“What are you thinking?” Carnationspeckle asked when Rabbitjoy and Trumpetspore were out of earshot.

“The better question would be, what is Parsley thinking,” Oilstripe awkwardly admitted, laying on her side. Carnationspeckle looked around, as though she expected to develop Oilstripe’s gift and see her tortoiseshell friend standing at her own grave. “It turns out that my little outburst in camp gave her a few things to say to you before Applepelt takes her away.” 

“Applepelt’s here?” Carnationspeckle gasped. “How are they?”

“As silly as usual,” Oilstripe chuckled. She gave a performative gasp and scoffed, “Don’t make that face at me! You know I’m right!” 

Carnationspeckle purred at that. It was hard to picture Applepelt’s brown face and friendly eyes, but knowing she did her best to stay a part of her friends’ lives eased the loss a bit. Truthfully, the more Carnationspeckle embraced Oilstripe’s sight, the weaker death struck her vigil after vigil. In some ways, they weren’t dead at all; they were just across the border, or on a quest, their reunion with Carnationspeckle guaranteed.

“So what’s about to happen?” Carnationspeckle asked, laying next to Oilstripe. 

“I’ll tell you what Parsley says,” Oilstripe explained. Carnationspeckle nodded and closed her eyes. The warmth of the sun acted like a fire on a chilly night. The buzzing bugs quieted the sorrow in her heart and her many questions. “What are you doing?”

“If I don’t close your eyes, I’ll just hear you, not Parsley,” Carnationspeckle explained. Oilstripe hummed and scooted closer to Carnationspeckle. To Carnationspeckle’s ears, it was not Oilstripe that spoke next, but Parsley.

“Hello again, stranger.”

Carnationspeckle couldn’t help it; she gave an undignified, snorting sort of laugh.

“Is that what you think she sounds like?” she laughed, staring at her flushed mate.

“You all need to stop laughing at me, that is an accurate accent!” Oilstripe whined, her whiskers giving away her shared laughter. The bugs almost sounded like Applepelt and Parsley, laughing at Oilstripe’s odd attempt to translate for Carnationspeckle. Carnationspeckle rested her head in the direction of Parsley’s grave and closed her eyes once more, purring.

“Hi, Parsley,” she said.

“I suppose Ms. Oilstripe was right,” Parsley sighed. “Knowing how the Clans work, I probably shouldn’t have just wandered off to die like that. You gotta understand though, Carnationspeckle, some cats… we just wanna be alone in our last moments. You can feel death coming up on you, and you don’t want everyone crying and screeching over you. It’s a natural thing, you know. Most cats are solitary folk. Death, it makes you scared. You feel weak, knowing you can’t protect yourself. Don’t get me wrong, I felt as safe as can be in RippleClan, but it’s not the sort of instinct you can easily ignore.”

“I just wish you went to fetch me, instead,” Carnationspeckle muttered. “You were old enough to be my mother many times over, but ever since you came to RippleClan, I considered you one of my closest friends. Why else would I trust you to watch Troutpool when she was a kit?”

“And I loved that, don’t misunderstand me,” Parsley said. “I wasn’t seeing clearly. Literally, the world looked covered in fog, and my ears felt like they were full of bugs! You try to think logically when you feel like that.”

“But if you had been thinking clearly, would you have let me know? I could have been with you. Wasn’t it lonely, dying outside of camp like that?”

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. I felt a bit better curled up in a bush like that. It was what I needed. But yes, to answer your question, I would have let you know. I might have still wanted to go out on my own, though.” Carnationspeckle’s body tightened. 

“All I thought when I was with the Witch Hunters was, I don’t want to die away from my family.” She couldn’t help it, she was crying again, shaking despite Oilstripe’s pressure on her side. “I hate thinking you might have felt like that. I don’t want anyone to feel like that.”

“And I didn’t, Carnation. I really didn’t. I know I’ll be the wild old molly in a lot of cats’ memories, and I’m happy with that. Don’t feel bad for me, really. I’m excited to see what your afterlife is all about, what with all the recent noise around death and ghosts we’ve been through. And apparently, I can come visit whenever I’d like, so I’ll be doing that a bit. I’ll be lingering around the nursery once your next litter is born, I can promise you that. Now, I know you can’t feel it, but I’m pressing my nose against your head. Just imagine it for me, alright? And don’t feel too bad for old Parsley. She’s got it under control.” 

A cool nose touched Carnationspeckle. She gasped, eyes flying open, only to find it was Oilstripe’s nose on her head, not Parsley’s. Carnationspeckle leaned into it, purring through her pain.

(Oilstripe: 66, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Carnationspeckle: 64, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Rabbitjoy: 99, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Trumpetspore: 23, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter, good storyteller)

(Applepelt: 31, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Parsley: 156, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

Paleseed and Darkkick discuss Terracottafoot’s proposition.

[Image ID: Darkkick says to Paleseed, “Why do you think you have to live up to anyone?”]

---

Darkkick did not want to be alone with Tempestshade. The cursed caretaker was an incredible cook and could stir a purr out of even Darkkick’s grumpy old heart with their kit-like antics, but, at no fault of their own, they were still cursed, and Darkkick didn’t trust that she would make it home if she left camp with just Tempestshade at her side. So, when Tempestshade invited her to collect a few fresh herbs for a heart-strengthening stew, Darkkick casually dragged Paleseed with her.

Tempestshade trotted ahead with a basket, leading the pair through the humming mid-morning forest toward their favorite herb patches. They sang under their breath, seemingly happy just to have some company as they hunted down fresh thyme. Darkkick and Paleseed walked beside one another, enjoying the sunshine through the trees and the warm dirt under their paws.

“We don’t need you destroying any of these roots, remember that!” Darkkick called to Tempestshade.

“I know better than to do that!” Tempestshade laughed, spinning around and walking backwards. “Besides, who wants thyme roots in their stew? No thank you!” They spun back the right way and continued their happy trot.

“I don’t think thyme strengthens the heart,” Paleseed whispered to Darkkick.

“Whatever they have planned, it should taste good at least,” Darkkick sighed. Paleseed hummed in agreement. Her tail twitched with unspoken nerves. Her chin drooped and her eyes grew lost in thought. 

“Harvest Moon is less than a moon away,” Paleseed muttered. She glanced Tempestshade’s way, but the young caretaker was too absorbed in their task to hear. “My mom and I spoke with Terracottafoot, and we agreed to help them with the Autumnstar situation.”

“Really?” Darkkick scoffed, unable to stop the ice in her voice. “That Clan was going to let Weedfoot die, and now she wants to help them?”

“You didn’t hear her at the Gathering,” Paleseed huffed, head rising to contest Darkkick’s ire. “She talked to a lot of the AshClan cats there. They’re so apologetic. Whether they were alive back then or not, most of the Clan regrets what they did to my mother and her friends. She won’t let Autumnstar hurt more cats.” Darkkick’s pace slowed. Paleseed sounded more like her namesake than herself for a moment. The summer sun’s glimmer on her pelt reminded Darkkick of Paleshade’s ginger patches.

The moment faded as quick as it came. Paleseed ducked her head once more, her moment of confidence come and gone.

“And you?” Darkkick sighed. “You’re no fighter, Paleseed. I don’t know what StarClan expects you to do in the Dark Forest.”

“I don’t know either,” Paleseed admitted, “but I want to be brave. I want to do my part to make a difference in someone’s life.”

“You do that just fine already,” Darkkick scoffed, stopping altogether. Tempestshade didn’t notice, continuing through the trees without them. Paleseed stood in front of her, confused. “You don’t need to give up your life for a Clan that never wanted you born.”

“Maybe I’m not just doing it for AshClan, then,” Paleseed suddenly snapped, her tail bristling. “Maybe I want to do more than help grieving cats. How am I ever supposed to live up to Paleshade if I can’t do what StarClan asks of me?” Darkkick’s scarred tail pointed down. Her small ears tilted to the sides. 

“Why do you think you have to live up to anyone?” Darkkick growled. “You think you have to be a hero to be important? You think you have to be Paleshade? If you weren’t aware of it, you aren’t Paleshade. You’re your own cat, you can do nothing else with your life and still be as important as she was.” Paleseed’s frustrated warped to shock as her bristling tail slid between her legs. “By the stars, don’t be scared! You think I’m mad at you? I’m just trying to tell you that forcing yourself to live up to what others want of you will just make you miserable. Being a cleric, a tom, an AshClan cat, that was what everyone else wanted for me. My family, Autumnstar, even StarClan! If I don’t have to be those things, what makes you think you have to be Paleshade? Do you think Waspdawn believes he has to live up to a long dead apprentice? Does Lavendertwist have to pretend to be the molly Rabbitjoy fell in love with? You shouldn’t be going on a dangerous quest like this just because it’s what Paleshade would have done!” 

By the end of it all, Darkkick was out of breath. Paleseed’s eyes were huge, staring at the old molly as she panted and tried to smooth her pelt. Paleseed gulped, forcing her tail out from under her. Darkkick sat, the rain-hungry trail exploding in dust and coating her flank.

“Mediators would call that a breakthrough,” Paleseed muttered, slightly out of breath. 

“Well,” Darkkick huffed with a lick of her chest, “it needed to be said.”

“I still want to do it,” Paleseed said. “I promised Terracottafoot I would help. I think you should help too.”

“You think you can convince me?” Darkkick sighed.

“It’s not exactly the sort of reason a mediator should give for something like this…” Paleseed groaned, tail circling overhead as she approached, “but spite. Do it out of spite.”

“Spite,” Darkkick said, monotone.

“Autumnstar hurt you,” Paleseed said, sitting. “It might help you if you got to show him how much you’ve grown since then.” Darkkick thought it over, rolling the word on her tongue. Spite. Spite.

“You should have someone else go with you anyway,” Darkkick conceded. “If I need to go with you—”

“What’s slowing you down?” Tempestshade trotted back down the path, ears tilted down. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Sorry, we got distracted,” Paleseed said, slinking to Tempestshade’s side. “We just… had to talk something through. I think we’re in agreement now.” 

That they were.

(Darkkick: 122, trans female, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Tempestshade: 23, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)