#webclan

“Wingfur…” Pumpkin nudges her mate, “are you awake?”

She knew the answer, of course. Wingfur hadn’t slept a wink, busying himself only with cleaning his daughter’s fur. He had licked out every drop of blood, fluffed the fur around every cut and wound, and Marrowpaw looked… almost alive, in the morning light. If Wingfur allowed himself to, he could almost believe the wind blowing her fur was the rise and fall of her chest. She was sleeping, yes, only sleeping…

“It’s first light, Wing.” Pumpkin purred delicately. Wingfur flinched in on himself.

“Not yet…” Wingfur croaks, thick with grief. “please, not yet.”

Pumpkin sighs, loafing beside her mate and leaning against him.

“It’s not fair.” Wingfur mewls, nudging at his daughter’s cheek with his snout. “She was- she was just a kit.”

“I know.” Pumpkin purrs comfortingly.

“It- it’s not right-!” Wingfur yowls, claws digging into the moss and lichen that coated the funerary post, “I’m her father! I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t outlive my daughter—!”

Pumpkin presses against him further, letting him wail at himself, and Starclan, and the whole universe, until his caterwauls turn into wordless whines.

She tries to let him recollect himself, but the sluggishly rising sun makes their deadline clear.

“Love… please.” Pumpkin presses her head against his, forcing Wingfur to look up at her. “It’s time. You need to let her go.”

Wingfur closes his eyes. He pulls away from Pumpkin, lowering his face back into Marrowpaw’s fur. He breathes deeply, taking in her scent one last time.

“…okay.” He surrenders, pulling away from Marrowpaw’s side.

Pumpkin purrs and rubs against him, attempting reassurance. She signals the rest of the funeral patrol over with her tail. Barrelface, Goldstar, and herself. It’s not many cats, but more than enough to carry an apprentice’s body out to the graveyard.

Wingfur has to force himself to look away, towards the rising sun, as they load Marrowpaw up onto Barrelface’s back. The older tom doesn’t stagger, familiar with the weight of his apprentice, that weight, which now crushes his soul as he guides her to her final rest.

The grave had been dug the night before, thank Starclan, and so they do not need to do much more. Just… burry. He crouches down beside the pit, shifting to allow Marrowpaw to roll off of him, and into the pit.

-—-

“Oof!” Marrowpaw yelped as she tumbled off of her mentor’s shoulders, “hey! No fair! I had you pinned!”

“Not well enough!” Barrelface shot back, diving to tackle and nip at his apprentice.

-—-

There is no cry from the pit. No playful whining or squeal. Barely even a tap as her body hits the earth.

Barrelface lowers his head, shooting a prayer off to Starclan, before he grabs the first paw-full of dirt.

The three cats make quick, but silent work of their task.

As they left, Wingfur watched a bright light fill the sky, a shooting star. He took it as a good omen, mumbling prayers to Starclan for his lost daughter.

Little did he know, the “shooting star” did not pass them by, instead, it slammed into the supple earth of the graveyard, burrowing in, and…

It found her .

Those who attacked fell to her.

Those who fell, did not rot.

Instead, their flesh began to knit back together,

until they were ready to rise anew, skulking off into the woods.

…

Marrowpaw, as they had known her before, had quite the news to share, whispering into the ears of their leader and deputy, sharing a vile, wicked secret with the pair of cats.

The young apprentice explained all of what had happened in the past weeks, from her own perspective. She had received a Gift From the Stars… just not the stars they knew. The cats of Silverpelt had forsaken them, but they were not alone!

They had the Gravekeeper to protect and guide them, now… but at a cost.

…

Goldstar wept as she climbed the high rock, calling all cats to attention.

“All cats of Webclan old enough to hunt for themselves, gather beneath the high rock for a clan meeting!”

Starclan had forsaken them, left them to their own devices, and…

and now, they served a new master.

The Gravekeeper, an entity that had taken residency among the Dead—

and of its prophet, Marrowpaw. She tells them of Starclan’s abandonment, of the pact Marrowthing had formed on their behalf in the soils of the graveyard— and of the sacrifices that pact requires.

Every five moons, the grave must feed- not on meat, or herbs like prey, but cats. Cats. It must eat. If they do not feed it, the Gravekeeper will come looking for them.

Every birth, every litter, the Gravekeeper will take it’s pick. Every apprentice, sent out to be tested, made to prove their worth.

The clan stares up at her in pure horror, ears pinned back as they search their leader’s face and body for any sign that this was a cruel joke, silence dawning as they find nothing but fear-scent.

Some cats screech out dissent, but Goldstar does not react. Her eyes are heavy as lead, trapped alongside her warriors within the living nightmare.

Yowls turn to murmurs turn to silence.

Goldstar swallows. There is only one more piece of news.

“Marrowpaw has- has proven herself, as a- as a medicine cat, and-“ she feels sick. “and spiritual guide of the clan!” Gold stammers out, keeping her gaze on the young molly with a shiver. “As such she- she has presented us with a new name, given by St… by the Gravekeeer itself!” Goldstar tried to puff her chest out, head raised. “She will henceforth be- be know. As Marrowthing!”

…

…

Nothing. Not a sound from the crowd as they all process what they’re hearing.

The stillness is broken with a wail of manic joy from Wingfur:

“MARROWTHING!”

Ashenfleck settles next to Goldstar in the nursery.

Goldstar (25 moons, molly), Ashenfleck (43 moons, molly)

Beetlekit (2 moons, tom), Antkit (2 moons, tom), Bugkit (2 moons, molly), Spiderkit (2 moons, molly), Nutkit (4 moons, tom)

The pair laugh together, while watching over their litters.

Yarrowbone enters the den, purring. He carries a basket full of small bundles of cut up fish wrapped in seaweed.

- — -

“Whasat, mama?” Spiderkit asks, poking her little head towards the jar of eggs.

“It’s roe- a fish’s eggs.” Goldstar replies. “This one’s from the sturgeon uncle Barrelface and Marrowp- Marrowthing caught! They’re very tasty.”

“Can I have some?” Spider asks, and Yarrow’s ears twitch uncomfortably.

Goldstar doesn’t notice the change in her mate’s demeanor, too busy smiling down at their kits. “Of course, sweetie.” Goldstar purrs, dipping her tongue into the jar to scoop out a few pearls for the kit, spitting them out onto a leaf of seaweed.

“Oh, oh! I want some too!” Bugkit squeals, toppling over her brother.

“Hey! Don’t leave me out! I want it!!” Antkit whines, coming up on his sister’s tail. Goldstar chuckles, scooping out some more of the roe for the other two kits.

“Aren’t you going to have some, papa?” Beetlepaw asks, looking up at his father with big, curious eyes.

“Nah.” Yarrowbone snorts, licking his son’s cheek. “I can’t stand the stuff! Stinky, slimy fish eggs!”

Goldstar lets out a playful hiss and bats a paw at him. “Quiet, you!” She turns to her friend. “Would you like some, Ashenfleck?”

“Nah, I already ate.” Ashenfleck stretches. “I’ll leave you guys to it! I’ve got a patrol to get to. Can you watch Nutkit?”

“Always.” Goldstar purrs, settling in around her kits.

“I can come too!” Beetlekit mews, trying to force the sleepiness from his body. “I’m a warrior! I can-“

Yarrow nudges him with his nose, and the kit topples with an annoyed mewwww!

“Yes, yes, very strong.” He purrs, gentle tapping his tail and against Beetlekit’s nose. “but the patrol is already full! Your job tonight is to get some sleep, yeah? Warriors don’t get big and strong if they don’t sleep!”

“Papaaaaa…” Beetle whines as the rhythmic tapping forces his eyes shut.

“Beetleeee…” Yarrow whines back, making the kitten giggle. “Goodnight, stinkbug.”